CHAPTER X
IN THE CRUCIBLE
In his room at the hotel, Justin re-read that little memorandum bookmany times that night, and tried to accommodate his mind to its newenvironment. It was a difficult task. But at last the harshness he hadfelt toward Philip Davison went out of his soul. By degrees thesubmerged longing for a father's love began to make itself felt.Philip Davison was his father; he did not doubt it now, though itseemed so strange. He had known from Ben and Lucy that Philip Davisonhad married twice. Ben was the child of the first marriage, and he thechild of the second; and Ben was his half brother!
He saw resemblances now that he had never thought of. Looking at hisreflection in the mirror, he beheld blue eyes like those of PhilipDavison. The forehead, the nose, the length of body and limb, wereall, when thus studied, reminders of Philip Davison. Davison wasflorid of face, and Justin would probably be florid of face when hegrew older, for his complexion was now of that type. Davison's facewas seamed with the marks of petulance and many outbursts of badtemper. Justin did not see any of those marks in his own smoothyouthful countenance, but he knew that if he gave way to the fits ofrage that swept over him at times with almost uncontrollable force,similar marks might set there the seal of their disapproval.
He was sure, however, that in many ways he was not like PhilipDavison, even though he had as a boy so admired Davison; and he wasglad to believe that these better traits he inherited from his mother.Though he did not know it, from his mother he had inherited the ironwill which was manifesting itself. It had manifested itself in herwhen she refused to turn back to the home from which she had fled, buttraveled on, weak and faint, until death claimed her. Her body hadbroken, but her will had stood firm to the last; and it had shownitself up to the end in her resolute manner of putting down in thatlittle book her story for the benefit of the child she hoped wouldlive after she had failed and passed on. To Ben, the child of thefirst marriage, had descended Philip Davison's weaknesses and from hismother had come the slight stature and the pale face. Except in hismental characteristics Ben resembled his father less than Justin did.
Justin did not sleep that night. He knew that Philip Davison was intown, and he began to long to see him. This desire rose by and by as aswelling tide, bearing with it the years' suppressed longing for afather's love. As a child Justin had felt that inexpressible longing.It had moved within him when Clayton came first to the preacher'shouse and he had pressed closely against Clayton's unresponsive kneeswhile exhibiting the little Bible in which his mother had written.Clayton had afterward satisfied that longing in a measure; but onlythe knowledge that the touch of the hand laid on him was really thetouch of the hand of his own father could ever satisfy it fully.
So, through the years, that desire had yearned. Justin felt it againnow, deeper than hunger, more anguishing than thirst. And it was notlessened by the feeling that Philip Davison might not wish to satisfyit, and perhaps could not. For circumstances stood now like a wallbetween this father and son; circumstances which were not the choiceof either, any more than were the intuitions and the motives, selfishor otherwise, which led them. They had traveled by different paths,and they stood apart. Nevertheless, the yearning was there, deep,pathetic, and it seemed that it would never be appeased. Justin forgotthat white indignation that at first had burned with furnace heatagainst Philip Davison. Love took its place. Philip Davison was hisfather!
As this desire gained in strength Justin made an effort to see hisfather. He decided that he would put that little diary into hisfather's hands and be guided by the result. He surely could trust thebetter impulses of his own father! But he failed to find Davison. Foggwas absent, probably in attendance upon some all-night caucus, andFogg was the only man likely to know where Davison could be found.
In the morning Justin discovered that Davison was temporarily absent,possibly out of town, but was expected at any moment. Fogg told himthis, and observed that Justin showed a flushed, anxious face and hadpassed a sleepless night. Thereupon, remembering the promise of SibylDudley, Fogg's courage rose. He dared not question Justin, and Justinwas non-committal. This new knowledge Justin wished to share first ofall with his father.
In his room a brief note was brought to him. Lucy Davison was in theladies' parlor, and he went down to see her. She was seated by one ofthe windows that overlooked the noisy street. When she arose to meethim he saw that Sibyl had told her everything. There was sympathy andglad happiness, mingled with anxiety, in her manner. Her emotionstinted her cheeks and shadowed her brown eyes. Being a man, Justin didnot note how she was dressed, except that it was very becomingly.Being a woman, she not only knew that she was entirely presentableherself, but saw every detail of his garb, from his well-polishedshoes to the set of his collar. And she knew that he was clean andhandsome. He had never questioned that she was the most beautifulwoman, as to him she had been the most beautiful girl, in the world.Mary Jasper's rose-leaf complexion and midnight hair were juvenile andinane beside the glory of Lucy Davison's maturing womanhood.
"I am so glad, Justin, for you!" she said, and gave him her handswithout reserve.
"And I am glad!" His voice choked, as he led her back to the window,where the rumble of the street noises stilled other sounds. "I amglad; though at first I couldn't believe it, for it seemed soimprobable. But I'm sure now it is true."
She looked at him with fond admiration; at the straight firm features,at the handsome head with its crown of dark hair, at the tall muscularform, and into the clear blue eyes. And the blue eyes looked into thebrown with love in their glance.
"And you're almost related to me," she said, sympathetically, "foryou're Ben's half-brother!"
He smiled at her, and tried to assume a cheerful, even a jovial tone.
"I had thought of that, and of what a good thing it is that we're notwholly related!"
"Let me see! What is our relationship now?"
"You are my sweetheart now, and will be my wife some day!"
She flushed attractively.
"I didn't mean that. Let me see--Ben's mother and my mother weresisters. So Ben and I are cousins."
"And I am Ben's half-brother, so you and I are half-cousins."
He tried to speak in playful jest.
"No, we're not related at all!"
"Then we shall have to become related, at an early day."
"Uncle Philip is my uncle by marriage, but not my blood uncle. I am acousin to Ben through my mother and his mother, who were sisters. Soif I have no blood relationship with Uncle Philip, your father, I havenone with you, for your mother was not related to me in any way."
"And I say again I am glad of it." He retained his jesting tone,though his mood was serious. "But if you marry me you are going tomarry bad luck, for it seems that my name is Davison. You know therhyme:
"'To change the name and not the letter, Is to change for worse and not for better.'"
"You insist on joking about it. You know that Davison was not myfather's name, but only the name I took when Uncle Philip adopted me."
"And that will break the bad luck spell!"
"Don't you think it will?"
"I think it will; I know it will!" he declared.
"I came to see you about something, as well as to congratulate you andsympathize with you."
"I tried to see you last night and failed."
"Yes, I know. I heard about it this morning. I wish I could have seenyou last night, but it is as well this morning. What I want to ask youis if you intend to vote against the cattlemen to-day?"
The cheery light died out of his eyes.
"I have thought it over, and have talked with Mrs. Dudley, and itseems to me it is your duty to consider the matter very carefully nowthat you know your relationship to Uncle Philip."
A conservative by nature, and unconsciously influenced by theatmosphere of the Davison home, Lucy Davison had begun to fear thatJustin was in the wrong. From that there was but a step to theconclusion that it was her duty to tell him
so. She did not dream thatshe was but a pawn in the game which was being played by Sibyl Dudley.
Justin looked into the earnest brown eyes, and his voice was grave.
"If any one in the world could make me vote against my opinion itwould be you. I'm not going to argue with you, but let me say justthis. If I vote with the cattlemen, or refuse to vote at all, it willplace me in the position of sustaining them in a rebellious defianceof the national government, in addition to upholding the unshelteredrange, a question on which perhaps we could not agree. But the fenceswhich they maintain on government lands are so clearly illegal thatthe government has in some instances ordered them down. The cattlemenhope by sending a senator to Washington to have that order rescindedand the entire matter dropped. They have fenced untaken public lands,and lands which settlers occupy, or wish to occupy, and they want tocontinue this without interruption from Washington."
"You said you didn't intend to argue!"
"I do not intend to argue. I'm simply going to ask if you think Iwould be justified in using my vote, or withholding it, to continue apractice that is in defiance of the orders of the land department,even to please my own father?"
"That order is not, as I understand, a legal enactment, and it mightbe changed," she urged.
"It will be changed, no doubt, if the cattlemen win; but should it bechanged, or withdrawn?"
"It seems to me that the settlers are doing well enough, and thosefences aren't injuring anybody."
He was silent a moment, thinking.
"I want to please your Uncle Philip--my father--and I want to pleaseyou. I'll admit that I have myself had some doubts on this questionlately, serious doubts. Yet I cannot make myself think that I have notbeen in the right from the first. If I thought I was wrong I wouldchange in a minute without regard to the consequences."
"It wouldn't be right for me to urge you to vote against yourconscience," she admitted, touched by his fine sense of honor. "Only,as I've tried to think it over and get at the right of it, it hasseemed to me that there are, must be, two sides to the question. Everyquestion has two sides, you know."
"Yes; that is so."
She went on, not sure of her ground, nor altogether certain ofherself; yet feeling that this was a crucial moment and that everyargument ought to be duly weighed and considered.
"You won't feel hurt if I remind you that you are inexperienced? Newlight may come to you, so that the opinions you now hold you may nothold a year from now."
"That is true; but so long as I do hold them I must be honest aboutit."
"It is the opinion of Uncle Philip that this annoyance of the settlerscannot last. He says there are only a few places where they can farmsuccessfully. But in the meantime, while they are trying every place,they are making a vast amount of trouble, by thus spreading all overthe country. You know, yourself, that some of them are taking landwhere water can never be got to it. The immediate result will be,Uncle Philip says, that the ranchmen will be almost ruined, by beingforced to surrender land to them that can never be fit for anythingbut a cattle range. The settlers will find out by and by that the landcannot be farmed; but while they are finding it out, and bringing lossto themselves, they will bring the downfall of the cattlemen."
"I have thought of all these things," he said.
He looked at her earnestly. He was troubled.
"Lucy, I wish I only knew what I ought to do in this crisis! I mustface it and do something. I have looked for your Uncle Philip, andintend to look for him again, and shall try to have a talk with him.He is my father, and when he knows that he is, and I ask him to adviseme as a father would advise a son----." He stopped, in hesitation."Anyway, whatever I do--whatever I do--remember that I love you!"
As soon as she was gone, he began another search for his father,driven by the feeling that he must explain fully to Davison his viewsand motives, as well as hear Davison's arguments and opinions, and soperhaps be able to stand erect in Philip Davison's estimation, as wellas in his own. This was an anxious, even a wild desire, and it pressedhim hard.
Fogg, scenting a reconciliation, sent a messenger in hurried search ofDavison. At the hotel, and at the state house, the lobbies wereoverflowing. Men began to come to. Justin not singly but in platoons.Somehow the word had gone round that he was weakening. But he was notready to talk. To friends and enemies alike he was non-committal. Hewanted to see his father; he wanted to place in his hands thatmemorandum book, and get an acknowledgment of their relationship. Theinterminable buzz of the anxious and excited politicians struckagainst deaf ears.
Philip Davison was out of town.
Fogg, with telegraph and telephone, was wildly trying to reach him.Sibyl Dudley had come to the state house in shivering expectancy. Thejarring hum of the political machine rose ever higher and higher, yetJustin gave no indication of a changed or changing purpose.
The ordeal through which he had passed since coming to Denver hadtaught him how to keep silent amid the maddest tumult. At first he hadsought to justify whatever course he intended to pursue, only to findhis statements snapped up, distorted, spread abroad with amendments hehad never thought of, and so mutilated that often even he could notrecognize the mangled fragments. So, having learned his lesson well,he kept still. Other men could do the talking. To the men who besiegedhim he had "nothing to say." Until he saw Philip Davison and placedthat diary in his hands he felt that he could have nothing to say.Even then he might act without saying anything. From time to time heobserved Fogg watching him covertly.
While he waited, senate and house convened and began to vote for thesenatorial candidates. Fogg went into the senate chamber, afterspeaking to a member of the lower house. Justin, whose name was fardown on the rolls, remained in the lobby until a sergeant-at-arms camesummoning members of the house to vote. Then he entered. When hedropped heavily into his seat he was greeted by suppressed cheeringand a buzz of anxious and excited comment. These things did not movehim; what moved him was a mental view of his father's face, and thatinner tide of feeling demanding the satisfaction of a father's love.
Suddenly he recalled Fogg's covert and anxious looks, and like a flashcame the question: Could this whole thing be but a plot to bewilderhim and cause him to vote with the ranchmen, or not at all? He knewthat Lucy would not deceive him, but she might herself be deceived. Hecould not doubt that record in the handwriting of his mother, butafter all the reference might be to another Philip Davison. His nervestingled and his brain reeled under the influence of this startlingsuggestion.
While thus bewildered, his name was called. He half rose, staggeringto his feet, hardly knowing what his physical actions were. But hismind began to clear. Clayton's face, the dream of Peter Wingate, andthat picture of the unsheltered range, rose before him; again he sawthe illegal fences; again starving cattle looked at him with hungryeyes, and their piteous moans were borne to him on the breath of thefreezing wind. Once more he was the thrall of the past. His couragestiffened, the firm will was firm again. He felt that there was butone rock on which he could set his trembling feet, and that was therock of righteousness. If in this crucial moment he failed to standfor that which in his innermost soul he knew to be right, theself-respect which had nurtured his sturdy young manhood would begone. His face whitened and his hand shook; but his voice was firm,when he announced his vote. It rang with clear decision through thesilence that had fallen on the house.
Sibyl Dudley had lost.
Justin Wingate, Ranchman Page 26