CHAPTER IX
A REVELATION OF CHARACTER
William Sanders did not forget nor forgive.
He ceased to annoy Lucy Davison, and even in time affected to overlookthe humiliation to which he felt Justin had subjected him; but deep inhis heart he nursed both for Philip Davison and Justin an ineradicablehate, which revealed itself at times in disputes fomented with thefarmers.
Sanders' half-veiled enmity troubled Justin less than the discoverywhich came to him one day of the innate dishonesty of Ben Davison'scharacter.
Philip Davison was in one of the bunk rooms, paying off his "hands,"when Justin and Ben arrived from the high mesa where for a month theyhad been line-riding together. Bronchos stood outside on the trampledgrass. Within, where the walls above the rude wooden bunks were hungwith bridles and quirts, saddles and ponchos, ropes and spurs, satDavison, at a small unpainted table, counting out money to hisemployes and keeping a record of the amounts paid by writing names andsums with a stub pencil in a soiled account book. Davison was fiftyyears of age now, red-faced, blue-eyed, and bearded. Justin hadlearned to admire and like him, for there were admirable traits in hischaracter. Though he swore horrible oaths at times, which hecomplained a man had to do if he handled cattle and cowboys, he hadgenerally been kind to Justin, and he had conceived a fondness forClayton, whom he respected for his learning and skill as a physician.
Having received his wages from the hands of Philip Davison, Justinwent out behind the bunk house, and was counting his bills in thedrizzle that was falling, when Ben appeared, his manner nervous andhis eyes shining.
"I'm ahead this time!" he said.
Then, to Justin's astonishment, he lifted one of his boots, and there,sticking to the muddy sole, was a five-dollar bill. He pulled it awaywith a chuckle, wiped off the mud as well as he could, and added it tothe pile in his hands.
Justin stared at him, with a look which Ben resented.
"Some money was on the table and the wind flirted that bill to thefloor. I set my boot on it, and when I walked out it walked out withme."
"You didn't do that!"
"What's the difference? Father will never know! And he's got plentymore where that came from. He only pays me beastly cowboy's wages,when I'm his own son. So I helped myself, when I saw my chance."
Justin's look showed reproof, and Ben flushed in angry irritation.
"You'd tell, would you?"
"That's stealing!"
A flush of red waved into Ben's face. Stung by the inner knowledge ofhis wrong, this blunt condemnation roused the latent devil in him. Heleaped at Justin blindly, and struck him in the face.
Justin had never fought any one in his life, nor could he rememberthat he had ever before been struck in anger. But when that blow fellon his face with stinging force, his head became unaccountably hot, hetrembled violently, and with a hoarse cry gurgling from his lips hesprang upon Ben and struck him to the earth with one blow of his fist.
Having done that, he drew back, shaken and dismayed. He had knockedBen Davison down, when but a moment before they had been friends! Hestared at Ben, who had dropped heavily to the ground. Already he wasremorseful and almost frightened. Ben scrambled up, cursing.
"I'll make you pay for that!" he said, wiping a speck of blood fromhis trembling lips with his hand.
"It--it was your fault! I--"
Philip Davison came round the corner of the building upon this scene,having heard the blows and the fall. He saw Ben's cut and quiveringlip, his clothing wet and muddy, and Justin standing before him withhot, flushed face.
"You struck Ben?" he cried.
Ben was his pride.
Justin looked at him, after an appealing glance at Ben.
"Yes," he acknowledged, with humility and a feeling of repentantuneasiness. He had gained Ben's enmity, and he feared he had lostPhilip Davison's regard, which he valued highly.
Ben was crumpling together the wad of bills, and thrust them into hispocket.
"Yes, he struck me, but I hit him first," he confessed. "We had alittle quarrel, a few words, that's all."
Though no larger than Justin, he was older, and it humiliated him toconfess even this much.
Davison was annoyed and angry.
"Go into the house, Ben," he commanded; "I'll see you later."
When Ben was gone he turned to Justin.
"I've tried to do right by you, Justin, and I've liked your work; butyou must remember that Ben is my son. I can't think that you had anygood reason to strike him."
"I didn't intend to strike him," Justin urged, "and I shouldn't havedone so if he hadn't struck me first."
"Well, I won't have you two quarreling and fighting. Just rememberthat, will you?"
"He struck me first!" said Justin, sturdily, though deeply troubled bythe knowledge that he had offended Philip Davison.
Davison followed Ben into the house, leaving Justin weak andbewildered. He had smothered his sudden explosive rage, yet he stillfelt its influence. That he could have struck Ben in that way seemedincredible; yet he tried to justify the deed to himself. He was aboutto walk away, when Ben reappeared and came up to him.
"Justin, you're a brick, to stand by a fellow that way! You knocked medown, but I don't hold it against you, for you can keep your mouthshut."
"You still have that money?"
"Of course."
"I haven't changed my opinion about that!"
Ben's face reddened again.
"What if I did keep it? You're fussy, and you're a fool! What is myfather's is mine, or it will be mine some day; I just took a little ofit ahead of time, that's all. It will all be mine, when he goes overthe divide."
Justin was horrified. Ben had expressed reckless and defiant views onmany subjects, but nothing like this flippant speculation concerninghis father's death.
"I won't listen to you when you talk that way," he declared; and hemoved away.
Justin Wingate, Ranchman Page 9