CHAPTER VIII
AND MARY WENT TO DENVER
Mary Jasper did not know that she went to Denver because she had readPearl Newcome's romances; but so it was. She was in love with Ben, andexpected to become his wife by and by, but her day-dreams were ofconquests and coronets.
The alluringly beautiful lace of Sibyl had reappeared in ParadiseValley. On her first visit, long before, Sibyl had marked the raredark beauty of Mary Jasper. Mary was now a fair flower bursting intorich bloom, and wherever a fair flower grows some covetous hand isstretched forth to pluck it.
Though Sibyl had flung Curtis Clayton aside with as little compunctionas if his pure heart were no more than the gold on the draggled wingsof the butterfly crushed in the road, curiosity and vanity had drawnher again and again to the little railroad town at the base of theflat-topped mountain. There in the home of an acquaintance she hadfound means to gratify her curiosity concerning the life led byClayton, and could feed her vanity with the thought that he hadimmured himself because of her.
Twice she had seen him, having taken rides through the valley for thepurpose; once beholding him from afar, watching him as he strollednear the willows by the stream, unconscious of her surveillance, hisbent left arm swinging as he walked. On the second occasion they hadmet face to face in the trail, while he was on his way to the town toinspect some books he had ordered conditionally. Sibyl was on amettlesome bay, and he on his quick-stepping buckskin broncho. Shetowered above him from the back of the larger horse. He lifted his hatwith a gentle gesture, flushing, and holding the reins tightly in hisstiff left hand.
"You are looking well!" she cried gaily. It touched her to know thathe still carried himself erect, that he was still a handsome,pleasant-eyed man, whom any woman might admire. "And really I've beenthinking you were moping down here, and suffering from loneliness andhopeless love!"
"Love is no longer hopeless, when it is dead!" he declared, voicing anindifference he did not feel. Her light laugh fell like the sting of awhip. "Oh, dear me! Is it so serious as that? But of course I don'tbelieve anything you say. Love is a bright little humming-bird of aboy, who never dies. Truly, it must be lonesome down here, in thispoky place. I can't understand why you stay here. You might come toDenver!" She looked at him archly, half veiling her dark eyes withtheir lustrous lashes, while her horse pawed fretfully at the bank. "Imean it, Curtis. You could be as far from me in Denver as you are downhere, if you wished to be. You know that as well as I do."
"I don't think I could," he said, and though his voice showed pain itshowed resolution. "I find this a very good place. I like the quiet."
"So that no one will ever trouble you while you're studying orwriting! You'll be a great author or scientist some day, I don'tdoubt."
He did not answer.
"Well, good bye, Curtis. I'm not so bad as I seem, perhaps; you don'tsee any horns or cloven hoof about me, do you?" She waved her hand."And I'm glad to know you're looking so well, and are so contented andhappy!"
She gave her horse a cut with her riding whip and galloped away.
How many more times Sibyl Dudley (she had taken her maiden name) cameto the little town by the mountain Curtis Clayton did not know, andnever sought to discover; but one day he was almost startled, whenJustin brought him news that Mary Jasper had accompanied Sibyl toDenver, and was to remain there with her.
Clayton at once mounted his horse and rode up the valley in the waningafternoon, to where Sloan Jasper's house squatted by the stream in themidst of a green plume of cottonwoods of his own planting. He foundJasper in a stormy temper. There had been heavy August rains and acloud-burst. The sluggish stream had overleaped its banks, smearingthe alfalfa fields with sticky yellow mud and a tangle of weedy drift,in addition to softening the soil until it was a spongy muck. Hundredsof cattle had ploughed through the softened soil during the night, forthe storm had torn out a section of fence and let them drift into thecultivated area of the valley. Standing with Jasper was ClemArkwright.
"Glorious, sublime!" Arkwright was saying.
He had taken off his hat, and stood in reverent attitude before thelighted mountain, a young, red-faced, pudgy man, with thick mustache.Though Sloan Jasper was not gifted with keen discernment he felt theattitude to be that of the Pharisee proclaiming his own excellencerather than that of his Maker. Arkwright seemed to be saying to him,"Behold one who has been endowed with a capacity which you lack, thecapacity to appreciate and enjoy this sublime picture!"
All the way up the valley trail Curtis Clayton had been delighting inthe beauty of that evening scene. The misty clouds lingering after thestorm had hung white draperies about the wide shoulders of themountain. Into these the descending sun had hurled a sheaf offire-tipped arrows, and straightway the white draperies had burned redin streaks and the whole top of the mountain had flamed. The colorswere fading now.
"Glorious, sublime!" Arkwright repeated.
"The sunlight on that mountain don't interest me a little bit,Arkwright," said Jasper, with curt emphasis; "what I want to know ishow I'm going to protect myself? You say there ain't any herd law.You're a justice-of-the-peace, and I reckon a lawyer, or a half of aone. We can have a herd law passed, can't we? And what's to keep mefrom shootin' them steers when I catch 'em in here? Powder and leadair cheap, and that's what I'll do; and then I'll let Davison do thesum'. I ain't got nothin' much, and he'll find it hard work to gitblood out of a turnip. Let him do the sum', and see if he can collectdamages; you say I can't."
"You're hopeless, Jasper!
"'A primrose by the river's brim, A yellow primrose was to him-- And it was nothing more!'"
Arkwright made the quotation and sighed, as Clayton rode up. "But seethe fading light on those clouds! Was there ever anything like it?What does it make you think of?"
"It makes me think that if I had my way I could improve on nature abit in this valley; I wouldn't send all the rain in a bunch and jumpthe river out of its banks and roll it over everything, but distributeit a little through some of the other months of the year."
Arkwright turned his pudgy form about.
"Ah, Doctor! Glad to see you. You ought to get over to the townoftener. You wouldn't care to ride up this evening, I suppose? Thesunlight is going, and I must be going, too."
Clayton did not care to ride to town. When Arkwright was gone hequestioned Jasper concerning the occasion of his visit.
"I reckon he come down for a word with Ben Davison; I don't know whatelse. He and Ben air gittin' thick as fleas lately. It's my opinionthat Ben's gamblin' away his wages up there in the town with him, butI don't know; and I don't care. I'd be glad to have both of 'em keepaway from me. Look at that millet, Doctor; just look at it! Ruined byDavison's cattle; and Arkwright tells me I can't do anything, becausethere ain't any herd law in this county. But I can shoot 'em; and I'lldo it next time they git in here, see if I don't."
Clayton had heard Jasper rave in that way before, and nothing had evercome of it. Other settlers had raved in the same manner, and thenrealized their helplessness. Looking into Jasper's angry face, hetried now to speak of Mary.
"I hear that your daughter has gone to Denver, Mr. Jasper!"
Jasper drew himself up, forgetful for the moment of his millet. A lookof pride and pain overspread his hairy face.
"Yes, she's gone there to stay awhile with Mrs. Dudley. I didn't wanther to, but she would go; it makes it mighty lonesome here, but she'llbe happier up there, I reckon. Mrs. Dudley took a likin' to Mary, andwants to give her a better chance fer an ejication and other thingsthan she can have here. So I reckon it's all right, though I didn'tsee at first how I could git along without her."
All at once Clayton's heart seemed to shrivel and shrink. He fumbledwith the yellow mane of the broncho and with the reins that swungagainst its neck. When he spoke after a little, trying to go on, hisvoice was husky.
"That woman is--"
"Yes, I allow Mrs. Dudley is a fine woman!"
Clayton's resolut
ion failed utterly.
"And she's smart," Jasper declared, "smart as a steel-trap; when shetalked with me about takin' Mary, and what she could do fer her, Icould see that. She's mighty good-lookin', too; though I don't thinkanybody can come up in looks to my Mary. I wisht you could have seenher with some of her new fixin's on, which Mrs. Dudley bought fer her.She was certainly handsome. And she's goin' to enjoy herself there, Idon't doubt. I've already had a letter from her, tellin' me how happyshe is. I reckon I ought to be willin' fer her to have things hermother never had, fer she's fit fer it, and not have to slave as hermother did, and as I've always done. Yes, I reckon I'm glad she'sgone; though 'tis a bit lonesome here, fer I ain't got anybody with meat all now, you see."
Though Curtis Clayton had visited Sloan Jasper for the express purposeof uttering a warning against Sibyl, he permitted Jasper to talk on,and the warning words remained unsaid. Jasper was inexpressibilylonely, now that his daughter was gone; yet it was plain that he wouldnot call her back, and equally plain that he knew she would not returnif he called never so loudly. And he was trusting that the thing hecould not help was the very best thing for the child he loved. Claytonfelt that he could not stir up in the heart of this man a useless,peace-destroying, and perhaps a groundless, distrust.
So he rode away as the night shadows were falling, and gathered agreat contempt for himself as he returned slowly homeward. He had noright to judge Sibyl, and possibly, very probably, misjudge her, hethought; yet he had a fear, amounting almost to conviction, that shewas not a woman to whom should be given the charge and training ofsuch a girl as Mary Jasper. That fear had sent him to Jasper; hisretreat seemed a cowardly flight.
As for Mary, she was childishly happy in Denver. The only presentcloud on the sky of her life was that her father had not really wishedher to go. He had objected stoutly at first, but ever since hermother's departure from the earthly Paradise, which had been full ofall manner of hard labor, to that upper and better one where, hersimple faith had assured her, she should toil no more, Mary hadcontrived to do pretty much as she pleased. Her head was filled withromantic ideas, garnered from Pearl Newcome's much-read novels. Inthis matter, as in all others, she had taken her own way, like ahigh-headed young horse clamping the bit tightly between its teeth andchoosing its road in defiance of the guiding rein. And her father hadsubmitted, when he could do nothing else, had admired and praised herin the wonderful new clothing provided for her by Mrs. Dudley, and haddriven her to the station with her little trunk packed with prettytrifles. He had kissed her good bye there, bravely enough, with hardlya quiver in his voice, and so she had gone away. She recalled himoften now, standing, a pathetic figure, in his cheap clothing, wavinghis hand to her as she looked from the car window to throw a kiss as afinal farewell.
But this picture seldom troubled her long. Denver was too attractiveto the girl who had scarcely in her whole life seen a place largerthan the little town at the base of the familiar flat-topped mountain.And what a gay, care-free life Denver led, as viewed by her throughthe eyes of Mrs. Dudley! This was Vanity Fair, though Mary had nevereven heard that name. Mrs. Dudley kept a carriage, which rolled withshining wheels through the Denver streets to the merry tattoo oftrotting hoofs and the glint of silver-mounted harness. A driver saton the box in blue livery, and the easy sway and jounce of the springsmade her feel as if she were being lifted forward on velvet cushions.
Young men and old men turned about to admire her and the woman who satby her side, as the carriage rolled along. Women looked at them, too,sometimes with shining eyes of envy; looked at the carriage, at thebeautiful clothing, and the two bright faces. Mary wore jewels now,and Sibyl had roped her slender neck with a heavy gold thread whichbore a neat little locket at its end. Into that locket Mary had putthe gnarled wisp of hair which in a moment of devotion at home she hadclipped from her father's head. To wear it now was something of apenance for leaving him in his loneliness.
Sibyl had a "set," which was very gay and overflowed with partieswhere cards were played for favors, and in little dances which weresaid to be very "select." Gay debonair men and handsomely dressedwomen attended these dances and parties and made life one never-endinground of merriment. Mary thought she had never known what it was toreally live until now. Sibyl delighted in her; the girl's freshflower-like face and inevitable gaucherie set off and added to Sibyl'sown attractiveness.
Mary wrote to her father with religious regularity every Sunday.Sunday was a religious day, and the writing of a letter to her fatherwas performed almost as a sacred duty, so that Sunday seemed theappropriate day for it. She wrote also to Ben Davison, more fully thanto her father, describing to him the joys of her new mode of life, andappealing to him not to be "savage" about her comments concerning someof the young men she met.
"Dear Ben," she said in one of her letters, "Sibyl Dudley is a perfectdarling. I am surprised that you didn't know she had been married. Ithought you knew all the time. She is divorced now, I think, thoughshe never says anything to me about it. I'm sure there must be abeautiful romance in her life, as lovely as any of those Pearl reads,for sometimes when she thinks I'm busy she sits for a long timeperfectly silent, as if thinking of something serious. But in spite ofthat she is as gay and happy as can be. Yes, she is a darling; and soare you, you old grumpy, grizzly bear! I wish you could send me apony--not a broncho! It would be such fun to go galloping on my ownpony through the streets. I ride a good deal, but these Denver horsesare such big things. Mrs. Dudley is a superb horsewoman. Is thatright, horsewoman?--it sounds funny, worse than cowboy. Sometimes whenwe meet people she introduces me as her niece, and the people smileand say how much we look alike. Isn't that funny, too?"
Sibyl abounded in "charities," and had numbers of feeble men and oldwomen who devoutly, or otherwise, blest her shadow as she passed.Under her tutelage Mary also found it pleasant to play Lady Bountiful.It gave her quite as much comfort as the penning of that Sunday letterto her father. Her father had lived a saving and scrimping life andhad never given anything to anybody, so that to Mary this was anentirely new and pleasing phase of life's conduct. It made her feel sosuperior to bestow with unstinting hand, and be blest for the largess,as if the donor were a veritable gift-showering angel, orluxury-distributing fairy, with red gold on her wings.
All in all, Mary found Denver to be a place of unheard-of delights, inwhich, especially to those who were not poor and in want, life passedlike one of the plays which she sometimes witnessed from a box in theopera house, or after the fashion of the rollicking fanfare of theromances in Pearl Newcome's wonderful trunk. And it was good, all ofit; much better than Paradise Valley, or even the society of BenDavison, though she was sure that she still loved Ben.
Justin Wingate, Ranchman Page 8