Heart of the Sunset

by Rex Beach

  XXII

  WHAT ELLSWORTH HAD TO SAY

  On his way to Brownsville the next morning Dave found himself stillsomewhat dazed by his sudden happiness; the more he thought of it themore wonderful it seemed. During the day he went through his courtduties like a man in a trance. Such joy as this was unbelievable; hefelt as if he must tell the world about it. He well understood Alaire'srepugnance to divorce, but he was sure that he could overcome it, ifindeed her own truer understanding of herself did not relieve him ofthat necessity; for at this moment his desires were of a heatsufficient to burn away all obstacles, no matter how solid. It seemed,therefore, that the future was all sunshine.

  He had no opportunity of speaking with Judge Ellsworth until courtadjourned. Then the judge took him by the arm, with that peculiarlyflattering assumption of intimacy of which he was master, and led theway toward his office, inquiring meanwhile for news of Jonesville.Dave's high spirits surprised him and finally impelled him to ask thecause. When Dave hinted unmistakably at the truth, Ellsworth exclaimed,with a sharp stare of curiosity:

  "See here! You haven't forgotten what I told you that night on thetrain?"

  "What? Yes, I had forgotten."

  "You promised to tell me if you thought seriously about marriage."

  "Very well, then; I'm telling you now."

  "Do you mean that, Dave?"

  "Of course I do. But don't look at me as if I'd confessed to arson orburglary. Listen, Judge! If you have good taste in jewelry, I'll letyou help me select the ring."

  But Judge Ellsworth continued to stare, and then muttered uncertainly:"You're such a joker--"

  Dave assumed a show of irony. "Your congratulations overwhelm me. Youlook as if you were about to begin the reading of the will."

  "I want to hear about this right away." Ellsworth smiled faintly. "Canyou come to my office tonight, where we can be alone?"

  Dave agreed to the appointment and went his way with a feeling ofamusement. Old folks are usually curious, he reflected; and they areprone to presume upon the privileges that go with age. In thisinstance, however, it might be well to make a clean breast of theaffair, since Ellsworth was Alaire's attorney, and would doubtless beselected to secure her divorce.

  The judge was waiting when Dave called after supper, but for some timehe maintained a flow of conversation relating to other things than theone they had met to discuss. At last, however, he appeared to summonhis determination; he cleared his throat and settled himself in hischair--premonitory signs unusual in a man of Ellsworth's poise andself-assurance.

  "I reckon you think I'm trying to mix up in something that doesn'tconcern me," he began; "and perhaps I am. Maybe you'll make me wish I'dminded my own business--that's what usually happens. I remember once,out of pure chivalry, trying to stop a fellow from beating his wife. Ofcourse they both turned on me--as they always do. I went to thehospital for a week, and lost a profitable divorce case. However, wetry to do our duty as we see it."

  This was anything but a promising preamble; Dave wondered, too, at hisfriend's obvious nervousness.

  "So you've found the girl, eh?" the judge went on.

  "Yes."

  "Are you accepted? I mean, have you asked her to marry you?"

  "Of course I have. That's about the first thing a fellow does."

  Ellsworth shuffled the papers on his desk with an abstracted gaze, thensaid, slowly, "Dave--I don't think you ought to marry."

  "So you told me once before. I suppose you mean I'm poor and a failure."

  "Oh no! All men are failures until they marry. I'm thinking of whatmarriage means; of the new duties it brings, of the man's duty tohimself, to the woman, and to society; I'm thinking of what lies insideof the man himself."

  "Um-m! That's pretty vague."

  "I've studied you a long time, Dave, and with a reason. I've studiedheredity, too, and--you mustn't marry."

  Law stirred in his chair and smiled whimsically. "I've done somestudying along those lines, too, and I reckon I know myself prettywell. I've the usual faults, but--"

  Ellsworth interrupted. "You don't know yourself at all, my boy. There'sjust the trouble. I'm the only man--living man, that is--who knowsyou." For the first time he looked directly at his caller, and now hislids were lifted until the eyes peered out bright, hard, and piercing;something in his face startled Dave. "I was your father's attorney andhis friend. I know how he lived and how he died. I know--what killedhim?"

  "You mean, don't you, that you know who killed him?"

  "I mean just what I say."

  Dave leaned forward, studying the speaker curiously. "Well, comethrough. What's on your mind?" he demanded, finally.

  "The Guadalupes had to kill him, Dave."

  "Had to? HAD to? Why?"

  "Don't you know? Don't you know anything about your family history?"Dave shook his head. "Well, then--he was insane."

  "Insane?"

  "Yes; violently."

  "Really, I--Why--I suppose you know what you're talking about, but itsounds incredible."

  "Yes, it must to you--especially since you never knew the facts. Veryfew people did know then, even at the time, for there were nonewspapers in that part of Mexico; you, of course, were a boy at schoolin the United States. Nevertheless, it's true. That part of the storywhich I didn't know at the time I learned by talking with GeneralGuadalupe and others. It was very shocking."

  Dave's face was a study; his color had lessened slightly; he wet hislips. "This is news, of course," said he, "but it doesn't explain mymother's death. Who killed her, if not the Guadalupes?"

  "Can't you guess? That's what I meant when I said they had to killFrank Law." Ellsworth maintained his fixity of gaze, and when Davestarted he nodded his head. "It's God's truth. The details weretoo--dreadful. Your father turned his hand against the woman he lovedand--died a wife-killer. The Guadalupes had to destroy him like a maddog. I'm sorry you had to learn the truth from me, my boy, but it seemsnecessary that I tell you. When I knew Frank Law he was like any otherman, quick-tempered, a little too violent, perhaps, but apparently assane as you or I, and yet the thing was there."

  Dave rose from his chair and bent over the desk. "So THAT'S what you'vebeen driving at," he gasped. "That's what you meant when you said Ishouldn't marry." He began to tremble now; his voice became hoarse withfury. "Now I understand. You're trying to tell me that--maybe I've gotit in me, eh? Hell! YOU'RE crazy, not I. I'm all right. I reckon Iknow."

  "HE didn't know," Ellsworth said, quietly. "I doubt if he evensuspected."

  Dave struck the desk violently with his clenched fist. "Bosh! You'rehipped on this heredity subject. Crazy! Why, you doddering old fool--"With an effort he calmed himself, realizing that he had shouted hislast words. He turned away and made a circuit of the room beforereturning to face his friend. "I didn't mean to speak to you like that,Judge. You pulled this on me too suddenly, and I'm--upset. But itmerely proves my own contention that I'm not Frank Law's son at all.I've always known it."

  "How do you know it?"

  "Don't you suppose I can tell?" In spite of himself Dave's voice roseagain, but it was plain from the lawyer's expression that to a man ofhis training no mere conviction unsupported by proof had weight. Thisskepticism merely kept Dave's impatience at a white heat. "Very well,then," he argued, angrily, "let's say that I'm wrong and you're right.Let's agree that I am his son. What of it? What makes you think I'veinherited--the damned thing? It isn't a disease. Me, insane? Rot!" Helaughed harshly, took another uncertain turn around the room, then sankinto his chair and buried his face in his hands.

  Ellsworth was more keenly distressed than his hearer imagined; whennext he spoke his voice was unusually gentle. "It IS a disease, Dave,or worse, and there's no way of proving that you haven't inherited it.If there is the remotest possibility that you have--if you have theleast cause to suspect--why, you couldn't marry and--bring childreninto the world, now could you? Ask yourself if you've shown anysigns--?"

  "Oh, I know what you
mean. You've always said I go crazy whenI'm--angry. Well, that's true. But it's nothing more than a villainoustemper. I'm all right again afterward."

  "I wasn't thinking so much of that. But are you sure it's altogethertemper?" the judge insisted. "You don't merely lose control ofyourself; you've told me more than once that you go completely out ofyour mind; that you see red and want to kill and--"

  "Don't you?"

  "I never felt the slightest desire to destroy, no matter how angry Ichanced to be. I've always asserted that murderers, homicides,suicides, were irresponsible; that they were sick here." Ellsworthtouched his forehead. "I can't see how any sane man can take his own oranother's life, no matter what the provocation. But I'm not a doctor,and that's an extreme view, I know. Anyhow, you'll agree that if youhave Frank Law's blood in your veins it won't do to marry."

  "I haven't got it," the younger man groaned, his gaze turned sullenlydownward. "Even granting that I have, that's no sign I'd ever--runamuck the way he did."

  "You told me just now that you don't know your family history?"

  "Yes. What little I've heard isn't very pretty nor very much to thefamily's credit. They were a bad lot, I believe."

  "Frank Law had two brothers and a sister, had he not?"

  "Yes. One of my uncles was a tough hombre. I'm told he notched his gunpretty well."

  "He was about the worst man of his day. He was shot in Dodge City onone of his rampages."

  Dave raised shocked and curious eyes. "You think he was crazy?"

  "Most of those old-time gunmen would be so considered nowadays. Someunbelievable stories are told about that uncle of yours. The other onedisappeared mysteriously."

  "I believe so. He just walked away from his wife and family andbusiness one day and was never heard of again."

  Ellsworth seemed to consider this admission significant. "Now thesister, your aunt?"

  "I think she's somewhere in the East; I never saw her."

  "She is; she's an inmate of an institution the name and address ofwhich I have here." Ellsworth thrust his finger into the loose pile ofdocuments before him. Avoiding his caller's eyes he continued: "Youcan't very well ignore such a family history, Dave. I've never tracedit back beyond the last generation, but you probably could if youtried."

  In a voice hardly his own, Dave articulated: "God! This is--hideous."

  "It is. I'd like to believe that you don't belong to the Laws, but Ican't put much faith in that childhood fancy of yours. Run it down;convince yourself. But first go to the girl, whoever she is, and tellher the facts. If she's the right sort--"

  "No, no!" The words were wrung from Dave's lips. "She knows too wellhow heredity acts; she's had one experience."

  "Eh? You say she knows--Who is she, Dave? Don't tell me youmean--Alaire?"

  Dave nodded.

  "Damnation!" Ellsworth leaped to his feet and, striding around thedesk, seized his caller roughly by the shoulder. "What are you tellingme? Good God, Alaire! A married woman! So you--cut under Ed Austin,eh?" Momentarily Ellsworth lost control of himself; his eyes blazed andhis fingers tightened painfully. "What damnable trick have you playedon that girl? Tell me before I choke you."

  For once Dave Law's passion failed to ignite at the heat of another'sanger; he only sat limp and helpless in the judge's grasp. Finally hemuttered: "I played square enough. It's one of those things that justhappen. We couldn't help ourselves. She'll come to you for her divorce."

  The lawyer uttered a shocking oath. "Then it's no mere romanticinfatuation on her part?"

  "Oh no!"

  Ellsworth loosed his grip. He turned away and began to pace the officefloor, shaking his head. "This is--unfortunate. Alaire, of allpeople--as if she didn't have enough to bear." He turned fiercely uponthe cowering figure in the chair, saying: "I'll tell her the wholetruth myself, before she goes any further."

  "No! Oh, please! Let me, in my own way." Dave writhed and sank his facein his hands once more. After a while he said, "I'm waiting for you totell me it's all a nightmare."

  "Humph!" The judge continued his restless pacing. "I was sorry for youwhen you came in here, and it took all my strength to tell you; but nowyou don't matter at all. I was prepared to have you go ahead against myadvice, but--I'll see you damned first."

  "You have damned me."

  When Ellsworth saw the haggard face turned to his he ceased his walkabruptly. "I'm all broken up, Dave," he confessed in a gentler tonethan he had used heretofore. "But you'll thank me some day."

  Law was no longer the big, strong, confident fellow who had entered theoffice such a short time before. He had collapsed; he seemed to haveshrunk; he was pitifully appealing. Although there were many things hewould have said, many questions upon his tongue, he could not voicethem now, and it was with extreme difficulty that he managed to followthe judge's words at all.

  After a time he rose and shook Ellsworth's hand limply, mechanically;then he shambled out of the office. Like a sick man, he stumbled downthe stairs and into the street. When he entered his hotel the clerk andsome of the idlers in the lobby looked at him queerly, but he did notsee them.

  All that night Dave walked the floor of his room or sat hunched up onthe edge of his bed, staring at the wall and fighting the fears thatpreyed upon him.

  He had faith enough in Alaire to believe that she would marry himregardless of the facts; her kiss, that one delirious moment when hehad held her to his breast, had taught him much, and it was, in fact,this very certainty which made his struggle so hard. After all, whynot? he asked himself a thousand times. Ellsworth's fears were surelyexaggerated. Who could say that Frank Law had passed on his heritage?There was at least a chance that he had not, and it would require morethan a remote possibility, more evidence than Ellsworth could summon,to dismay Alaire. Suppose it should transpire that he was somehowdefective? What then? The signs of his mental failing would give amplewarning. He could watch himself carefully and study his symptoms. Hecould lead the life of a sentinel perpetually on guard. The thing mightnever come--or at the worst it probably would not manifest itself untilhe was further along in years. That, it seemed, was the family history,and in such a case Dave was assured of half a life at least. Ellsworthwas altogether too fearful. Yes, and he was too officious by far. Thiswas something that did not concern him.

  But such reasoning naturally brought little comfort. Dave's fears wouldnot be put down. In common with most men of splendid physique, he had avague contempt for those less perfect; disease or deformity had neverfailed to awaken his pity, and he had often argued that defective humanbeings, like unhealthy stock, should not be allowed to mate and toperpetuate their weaknesses. This eugenic conviction had helped to easehis conscience somewhat during his acquaintance with Alaire, for he hadtold himself that Ed Austin, by reason of his inherited vices, hadsacrificed all right to love and marriage. These thoughts came home nowto roost. What was Ed's evil heritage compared to his own? It was asvinegar to vitriol.

  And yet shining through all Dave's distress, like a faint, flickeringbeacon in a storm, was that old doubt of his parentage; and to this hefinally began to pin his hopes. In the day or two that followed hisinterview with Ellsworth, it afforded him almost the only comfort heknew; for in the end he had to face the truth; he could not marry if hewere really Frank Law's son.

  Those were dark hours for Dave. He discharged his duties automatically,taking no interest whatever in his work; his nights he spent in morosemeditation. Unable to sleep, he tramped the hot streets in an effort tofight off his growing nervousness. He became irritable, despondent; hiseyes took on the look of an invalid's; his face aged and grayed.Physically, too, he grew very tired, for no burden is heavier to bearthan that of doubt and indecision.

  One afternoon Ellsworth entered his office to find Dave waiting forhim. The young man began in a shaky, husky voice:

  "I can't stand it, Judge. I'm going to pieces, fast."

  "You do look bad."

  "Yes. I don't sleep. I'm so irritable I can't
get along up at thecourthouse. I'm licked. The worst of it is, I don't know whether it'sall imagination, or whether you really stirred up that devilishsleeping thing in me. Anyhow, something has got me. All I can do isstudy and analyze and watch and imagine--I sit all nightthinking--thinking, until everything gets queer and distorted. If Iwere sane before, you've about unbalanced me with your damnablesuggestions."

  "A few nights of sleep will make you feel better," Ellsworth said,gravely.

  "I tried drugs, but they made me worse. God! Then my fancies WERE sick.No, I'm going to get out."

  "Where? How?"

  "I'm going north to look up the members of my family and learn who Ireally am. I resigned from the Ranger force to-day. That's no place fora fellow with a--homicidal mania."

  "Dave! You're taking this thing too absolutely and too hard," Ellsworthdeclared.

  But Dave went on, unheeding. "Another reason why I want to get away nowis that Alaire will expect me to come to her when she sends for meand--I wouldn't dare trust myself."

  "Have you told her--written her?"

  "Not yet, and I sha'n't until I trace out the last doubt in my ownmind."

  In an effort to cheer, Ellsworth put his arm about the sufferer'sshoulders. "I'm sure you'll do the right thing, Dave," he said. "Maybe,after all, your instinct is true and you're not Frank Law's boy. I hopeso, for this thing weighs me down as it weighs you; but you mustn't letit whip you. Don't give in, and meanwhile, above all things, try to getsome sleep."

  Dave nodded and mumbled something; then he slouched out, leaving thelawyer overcome by a great pity. Ellsworth had seen men, stunned by acourt sentence, turn away from the bar with that same dumb, fixed lookof hopelessness in their eyes. Impulsively he cursed the sense of dutythat had prompted him to interfere.