Justin Wingate, Ranchman

by John Harvey Whitson

  CHAPTER XII

  WITH SIBYL AND MARY

  On her way home for a brief visit at the close of the summer, whichshe had spent in the East, Lucy Davison stopped in Denver, to visitMary Jasper, from whom she had received glowing letters. Mary had notwritten for several weeks, and Lucy was surprised to find her ill; anillness resulting from the unaccustomed excitement of the Denver lifeshe led under the guidance of Sibyl Dudley and the too suddentransition from the quiet of Paradise Valley. She was not seriouslyill, however, and looked very attractive, as she lay propped aboutwith cushions and pillows, her dark hair framing her face and her darkeyes alight with eagerness when Lucy appeared. Lucy was almostenvious, as she contemplated Mary's undeniable beauty.

  Sibyl lavished attention and care on her charge, and she greeted Lucywith every evidence of delight and affection.

  "My dear, you are tired!" she said. "Let me have some cakes and teabrought up for you at once. A little wine, or some champagne, would begood for you. You wouldn't care for it? Then we'll have the tea andcakes. And Mary may sit up in bed a few minutes, just in honor of thisvisit. It was so good of you to stop off in Denver to see her."

  Sibyl was very beautiful herself, quite as beautiful as Mary, thoughvery much older. Lucy thought she had not aged a day in appearancesince she had first met her, in the home of that acquaintance in thelittle town at the entrance to Paradise Valley. Sibyl was past-masterof that wonderful preservative art which defies wrinkles and grayhairs and the noiseless flight of that foe of all beautiful women,Time. She defied Time, as she defied everything, except the smallconventionalities of life, and the changing fashions. She made friendswith these, and they served her well.

  While talking with Lucy, and nibbling at the cake or sipping the tea,she stopped now and then to caress with coaxing tones her canary,which she had brought into the room and hung in its gilded cage at thewindow to brighten the place for Mary. She possessed naturally, or hadcultivated, that soft, low voice which a Great Poet has declared to bean excellent thing in a woman, and she had assiduously cultivated anoutward appearance of much kindness; so that altogether she was verycharming, even in the eyes of Lucy Davison, and a most agreeablehostess. Mary was delighted with her.

  "Do you know," said Mary, in a burst of confidence, which a favorableopportunity brought, "she is so good! And she is as kind to the pooras she can be. I know of two old women, and one old man, whom shenearly supports. Of course it isn't really any sacrifice for her to doit, for she is wealthy. It's the funniest thing, the way she speaksabout it. She says she gives things to poor people just because thegiving makes her feel good. 'Give a quarter to a beggar,' she says,'and you will feel warm inside all day. It is a cheap way to purchasecomfort.'"

  In that same conversation Mary chanced to mention Curtis Clayton.

  "I spoke of him to Mrs. Dudley one day, and I asked her if she knewhim."

  "'Oh, yes, I know him,' she said; 'he is a fool, a poor fool!'

  "'He looks so comical,' I said to her, 'swinging that stiff arm!'

  "Then she looked at me--oh, I can't tell you how funny her eyes werethen, just as if coals were shining behind them, and she said, awfullyquiet:

  "'I happen to know how he got that--it was by doing a brave andunselfish deed! He was in love with a beautiful but silly girl, whom Iknew.'

  "Then she told me the story. He was with this girl on his vacation. Hewas in Yale then, and she was the daughter of a worthlesshotel-keeper. He first met her at the hotel while he was spending asummer in the mountains. She knew that he loved her, and she was vainof it, and she wanted to make him show it. There was a flower growingin a cleft of a canon, and she asked him to get it for her. Hedescended. It was dangerous; and she, looking over and pointing outthe flower, lost her footing and fell. She was caught by some bushes,but she had a good fall, and landed at a point where she could not getup. The fright that he got by seeing her fall caused him to lose hisfooting, and he slipped and broke his left arm. To get her up he hadto reach down with one hand and hold to an aspen with the other. Hecould only hold with his right hand, for his left arm was broken; sohe dangled his broken left arm over for her to clutch; and she,frightened and selfish, gripped the hand, and after a great effortscrambled up. He held on until she was safe, and then (he had alreadyturned white as death) he fainted. He revived after a time, and theygot out of there, forgetting the flower; and though the doctors didwhat they could, he has had a stiff arm ever since."

  Mary shivered a little, sympathetically.

  "I can't ever think of Doctor Clayton now without seeing him with thatgirl, dragging her out of that place with his broken arm. I asked Mrs.Dudley if the girl married him after all that; and she said yes, butit would have been better for him if she hadn't, if she had gone toher death in the canon that day, for she wasn't a girl who could evermake any man happy. And do you know, I think it must have been thatgirl who caused him to live the life he is living!"

  A sudden confusion had attacked Lucy Davison, who recalled certainconversations with Justin. They were in the nature of sacredconfidences, so could not be mentioned even to Mary Jasper; but she,at least, knew that Sibyl was herself the girl whom Clayton had drawnfrom the canon with that dangling broken arm, and whom he hadafterward married. Why had he deserted her, or she him? And why werethey now living apart? Believing that the name of Sibyl's husband hadbeen Dudley, Mary had failed to guess the truth.

  Mary told Lucy that it would not be surprising if Mrs. Dudley marriedagain, as there was "just the dearest man" who called on her with muchfrequency and seemed to be greatly enamored of her.

  "He has a funny little bald head," said Mary, "and he wears glasses,the kind you pinch on your nose; he keeps them dangling against hiscoat by a black cord. And he is as kind as kind can be, and a perfectgentleman. Mrs. Dudley says he is very rich, and I really believe shewill marry him some time, for she seems to like him."

  The name of this amiable gentleman, Lucy learned, was Mr. Plimpton,and he was a Denver stock broker. Neither Mary nor Lucy dreamed of thetruth of his relations with Sibyl Dudley.

  Having recurred to people and affairs in Paradise Valley, Marychattered on like a gay little blackbird, and knew she was verybewitching, bolstered among the pillows. Her illness had taken some ofthe color out of her cheeks, yet they still showed a rosy tint whencontrasted with the pillows, and the whiteness of the pillowsemphasized the color of her eyes and hair. She asked Lucy to move thelittle dresser farther along the wall, that she might see herself inthe mirror. She desired to get certain stubborn tangles out of herhair, she averred; but she really wanted to contemplate her ownloveliness.

  "Mrs. Dudley puts the dresser that way for me sometimes, even when Idon't ask her to; and often I lay for hours, looking into the mirror,when she has gone out of the room. It's like looking into the clouds,you know. You remember how we used to lie on the rocks there by theedge of the Black Canon and look up at the clouds? We could see allkinds of things in them--men and horses, and wild animals, and justeverything. When I let myself dream into the mirror that way I can seethe same things there. And sometimes I try to picture what my futurewill be. Once I thought I saw a man's face looking out at me, and itwasn't Ben's! Mrs. Dudley said I had been dreaming, and didn't seeanything, but it seemed real. I suppose I shall marry Ben, of course,just as you will marry Justin."

  Lucy's face flushed.

  "I don't see why that should be a matter of course!"

  "So you've seen some one in the East who is better looking? You can'tfool me! I know! What's his name?"

  "Truly I haven't seen any one in the East who is better looking. Iwasn't thinking of anything of the kind."

  "Then he is still the best looking, is he? If you still think so, it'sa sure sign that you'll marry him. That's why I think I shall marryBen. I haven't seen any one in Denver I like as well as Ben, or who isas good looking; and one has a chance to see a good many men in a citylike this."

  "Has Ben been to call on you?"

  "Oh,
yes; he was here only last week. When I first came up here Icouldn't get him to call, though I was told I might invite him. Butwhen he got started he kept coming and coming, and now he comes almosttoo often. Mrs. Dudley has been very kind and good to him, andsometimes I'm almost jealous, thinking he likes her almost as much ashe does me. I should be truly jealous, I think, if I didn't know aboutMr. Plimpton."

  She studied her mirrored reflection, wondering if it could be possiblefor Ben to find Mrs. Dudley, who was so much older and had alreadybeen married, more charming than herself. It was so unpleasant athought that she frowned; and then, remembering that frowns will spoileven the smoothest forehead, she drove the frown away, and began totalk again.

  Though Lucy Davison would not admit it, she was anxious to hasten onto Paradise Valley; so she remained but a day with Mary Jasper. Yet inthat time Sibyl contrived to exhibit to her the carriage, themagnificent horses and the liveried driver, taking her as she did soon a long drive through some of the fashionable streets and avenues.

  As the carriage swung them homeward Sibyl made a purchase of fruitsand flowers, with which she descended into a shabby dwelling. When shecame out she was followed to the door by a slatternly woman, whocurtsied and thanked her volubly with a foreign accent.

  "She's an Italian--just a dago, as some people say--but her husbandhas been sick for a month or more, and I try to brighten her home up abit. I don't know what he does when he's well; works for the railroad,I believe."

  Then the carriage moved on again, away from the cheap tenements, andinto the wealthier sections once more, where Sibyl lived.

  "You mustn't tell father that I'm sick," was Mary's parting injunctionto Lucy. "If he knew he might want me to come home. I will be entirelywell by another week. I write to him every Sunday, just as if I was inthe best of health; and so long as I don't tell him he thinks I'm aswell as ever. And truly I am as well as ever, or will be in a fewdays. If you tell him anything, tell him I'll be down to see him thisfall. I thought I should go last winter, but those awful storms cameon, and I was so busy besides, that I just didn't. But I do think ofhim often, and you may tell him that, too, if you tell him anything."