CHAPTER XI
FATHER AND SON
Philip Davison saw Lucy before she returned to Paradise Valley andlearned from her the strange story which had been told by WilliamSanders. From Fogg and others he had already heard how Justin hadvoted. And the discovery that even after Justin had been informed ofthis relationship he had voted against the cattlemen hardened hisheart. He refused to see Justin now, and went back to Paradise Valleyangry and uncomfortable. There he sought out Sanders and obtained thestory direct from him.
After his talk with Sanders, a talk in which Sanders revealed to thefull the bitterness and vindictiveness of his narrow mind, PhilipDavison shut himself up in his room at the ranch house, where he wouldnot see any one, and through the greater part of the night satreviewing the past, while he smoked many cigars. The drinking habitwhich had been the curse of his earlier years he had conquered. Sincethe night in which his wife had fled never to return, he had not setliquor to his lips; and Ben's growing habits of intoxication threw himcontinually into a rage. Only that morning, encountering ClemArkwright and Ben together in the town and seeing that both had beendrinking, he had cursed Arkwright to his face, and with threats andwarnings had ordered Ben home. That Ben had not obeyed did not makePhilip Davison's cup the sweeter that night.
The prosaic accuracy of the details of the story told by Sanders, withwhat he knew himself, convinced Davison of its truth, in spite of hisprevious belief that the cloud-burst which came shortly after his wifehad fled from home had engulfed and slain both her and her child. Hisbelief of her death had been based on the fact that nearly a yearafter her disappearance the unidentified bodies of a woman and childhad been found in the foothills; and in a little, remote cemetery,where these bodies rested, a simple slab held the names of Esther andJustin Davison.
Davison recalled now that it was the name, more than anything else,that had induced him to give Justin employment on the ranch. The nameof Justin and the memories it evoked had touched some hidden tendrilof his heart, and had made him kind to Justin at times when but forthat he might have been otherwise. As often as he had felt inclined toturn upon Justin in hot anger that name had softened his wrath. He hadnever a thought that Justin was his son; yet the name had won forJustin a warmer place in his regard than Justin could have won by hisown merits.
As Davison sat thus in the shadowed memories of the past, there cameto him a stirring of natural affection. But, whenever he turned towhat he considered Justin's dastardly betrayal of the ranch interests,this vanished. To combat it there was, too, a long-smoldering feelingagainst the woman who had deserted him, and who by so doing hadrevealed to the world his drunken rage and cruelty. That desertion hehad never been quite able to forgive. For years he had tried not tothink of her; but that night her memory rose strong and buoyant. Heknew he had wronged her deeply, and had outraged her feelings cruelly.Perhaps that was at bottom why this long-smoldering recollection ofher aroused his smothered anger.
By degrees, as he thought over the past, Davison began to resent whatseemed an injury done him. It was as if fate had preserved this boythrough all the years to avenge the wrongs of the mother. His own sonhad risen to oppose him, to thwart his desires, to smite him withmailed fist. And he had helped unwittingly to fit fighting armor tothe stalwart shoulders of this son; for it was through his position onthe ranch, as the companion and friend of the cowboys, that Justin hadarrived at that condition of comradeship with them which had reallygiven him his present place. Davison felt that Ben should have heldthat position--Ben, who had the ranch interests at heart, and wouldhave voted right. Ben was disobedient, wild, intractable, but Benwould have voted right! Davison loved Ben. Justin seemed still anoutsider, an intruder. And the feeble stir of natural affection passedaway.
Justin remained in Denver through the remainder of the legislativesession and cast his vote with the agriculturists on a number ofquestions. He wrote to Lucy frequently, but she did not re-visitDenver, so he did not see her again until his return to ParadiseValley. In her letters she acquainted him fully with the fact thatPhilip Davison did not feel kindly toward him. Justin wrote a letteralso to Davison, but it was not answered. He did not again see SibylDudley, nor Mary Jasper. And Fogg apparently had been permanentlyalienated.
When Justin came home, and it was known at the ranch that he was atClayton's, Philip Davison sent for him. Justin obeyed the summons withanxious hesitation, and took the little memorandum book with him, andalso his mother's Bible. He had not sent the diary to Davison with theletter as proof of their relationship, and he was resolved not to partwith it now. Davison might examine it as much as he liked, but heshould not keep it, nor should he destroy it.
Davison received Justin in the upper room where he had sat that nightthinking of the past. His bearded face was flushed and his manner wasconstrained. Justin had a sense of confusion, as he stood face to facewith this man whom he now knew to be his father. It seemed anunnatural situation. Yet in his heart was still that longing for afather's recognition and love. He had not put off the clothing he hadworn while in the city; he might not do so at all, as he did notintend to become again a cowboy or work on a ranch. That phase of hislife was past. Philip Davison never wore cowboy clothing, except whenengaged in actual work on the range or at the branding pens. Yet hewas not dressed at his best, as he now received his son; and havingcome in from a long ride, his black coat was still covered with dust.
The blue eyes of the father and of the son met. Justin was as tall,and his features much resembled those of his father. But while oneface was beardless, and young and strong, the other was bearded andprematurely aged. In Davison's reddish beard, which was worn full andlong, were many strands of white, and whitening locks showed in histhick dark hair. The blue eyes were heavy, and the fleshy pads beneaththem seemed to have increased in fullness and size. Justin evenfancied there were new lines in the seamed and florid face. Justin'sface was flushed and his swelling heart ached, as he stood before hisfather.
Davison waved him to a chair without extending his hand in greeting,and Justin sat down. Then Davison took a seat and looked at him acrossthe intervening distance as if he would read there the truth orfalsity of Sanders' story. Apparently he was satisfied.
"I have had a talk with Sanders," he began, speaking slowly and withan effort. "You have a memorandum book which I should like to see."
Justin produced it with fumbling fingers. Philip Davison took itwithout apparent emotion, and opening it looked it through. Havingdone so he closed it and passed it back. In the same way he examinedthe Bible which Justin gave him.
"You are my son; I haven't seen any of your mother's handwriting for along time, but I recognize it readily. The story told in that diaryhas been naturally colored by her feelings. I hope I am not quite asblack as she has painted me. But all that is past, and it is not myintention to talk about it now. The point is, that you are my son.Since hearing about this matter I have been thinking over ourrelationship and asking myself what I ought to do. As my son, when Idie I shall see that you are not unprovided for; but the bulk of myproperty will go to Ben, with something for Lucy. I wasn't always asprosperous as I am now; I've had to fight for what I've got, and Istill have to fight to keep it. I have done and am doing this for Ben.Your sympathies have been from the first with those who are myenemies, and in the legislature you voted with them from beginning toend. You were elected chiefly by ranch votes, and you betrayed all ofthe ranch interests. The thing is done now, and can't be undone; yet,after all my struggles, it is not pleasant to know that the hand of myown son did this thing."
He settled heavily back in his chair.
"So the most of what I have will go to Ben. He is wild, but he willsettle down; I was wild in my youth. You are like your mother. She wasan obstinate angel with an uncomfortable conscience, and for some mensuch a woman is an unpleasant thing to live with."
Justin felt a swelling of indignation at this mention of his mother.
"You have all of her obstinacy and ge
neral wrong-headedness on matterswhich don't concern you. I am willing to say to you frankly, thatafter a brief experience with her I ceased to desire to live with her;but even yet I do not think she had any good reason to leave me as shedid. It took her to her death, and in the long run has made you prettymuch what you are. So I do not see that I can blame you in all things,but I do blame you for the pig-headed obstinacy and foolishness youshowed in Denver. You had a great opportunity to befriend those whohad befriended you and would have helped you, and you wilfully, evenmaliciously, threw it away."
In spite of his feelings Justin maintained a discreet silence. Hislonging for something more than a bare recognition of his relationshiphe saw was not to be gratified. He had returned the diary and theBible to his pocket, where he felt them close against his heart. Theyseemed akin to an actual memory of his mother, and could not be takenfrom him, whatever happened. Their pressure was almost as the touch ofhis mother's warm hand on his bosom.
"If you like," Davison went on, "you may transfer yourself to thishouse and remain here, doing what work on the ranch you please. Someof the cowboys have been dismissed, and others will be soon. But forthis fact that you are my son I should forbid you to come upon theplace. There is going to be a change in the business, too; your votesat Denver helped to make that necessary, and perhaps in that changeyou may find work more congenial to you than ranch work. Think itover. I want to do what is right by you. I will see that you haveemployment if you want it, and in my will I shall see that you are notwholly unprovided for. That is all."
He arose, and Justin stood up in flushed confusion, having said not aword either in justification of himself or his mother. He had no wordsnow, as he passed from the room and from the house, though if he couldhave voiced anything it would have been the disappointment thatmurmured in his heart.
With the memory of that interview oppressing him, Justin questionedwhether he had not after all been stubborn, pig-headed, and cruel. Hereflected that perhaps he had been, even though he had sought to doonly that which was right. His mother, he had been told, possessed an"uncomfortable conscience," and he did not doubt he had one himself.It could not be wrong to do right, of course, but at times it seemedvery inexpedient. Should a man bend himself to expediency? If he haddone so, his father would have received him doubtless with warm words,instead of that biting chill which frosted the very glance of thesunshine.
Standing in the yard oppressed and tortured by doubt, Justin saw LucyDavison coming toward him from the direction of the little grove. Thecottonwoods were still bare, but that she had visited them seemed agood omen, and he moved toward her.
Her brown eyes smiled as they met his. She was temptingly beautiful; amature woman now, with the beauty of a fragrant flower. Her clearcomplexion had not changed since her girlhood, and the tint whichemotion gave to her cheeks was as the soft blush of the ripeningpeach. She was more beautiful than when a girl; all the angularitiesof girlhood were gone; and when from his greater height Justin lookeddown on her rounded throat and swelling bosom, and caught that kindlylight in her eyes, he forgot the chill of the room from which he hadcome and the cold calm of his father's speech.
"I am afraid you are a bad, bad boy," she said, with a touch ofsympathy, as she put her hand on his arm, "but I hope Uncle Philiphasn't been saying terrible things to you. You have been to see him, Iknow?"
"Yes, I have been to see him, and the interview wasn't whollypleasant. Perhaps I have been the bad boy you suggest, and he may bejustified; I'm sure I don't know. All I know is I tried to do what wasright, and appear to have made a mix of it."
"Come in and we will talk it over. Uncle Philip told me this morningthat you may come and go all you want to, or even make your home herenow. That is pleasant news, anyway, isn't it?"
Her pleasant manner softened the recollection of that painfulinterview with Philip Davison. So Justin passed from an unpleasantinterview to one so pleasant that it almost took the bitterness andthe sting out of the first.
Justin Wingate, Ranchman Page 27