Justin Wingate, Ranchman

by John Harvey Whitson

  CHAPTER IV

  IN THE WHIRLPOOL

  The conflicting interests had so shaped themselves before Justin wentto Denver that he knew it would be impossible for him to vote oncertain questions with the representatives of the ranchmen. He reachedthis decision, after many long talks with Doctor Clayton, in the quietof the doctor's study. Yet he maintained a silence, trying to himself,which Clayton deemed discreet; and he went to Denver with manymisgivings.

  He had no sooner set foot in the hotel when Fogg's smiling face madeits appearance.

  "Good; you're here!" Fogg cried. "Now I'll see that you have afirst-class room. These hotel people will poke you off into any oldcorner, if you don't watch them."

  He seized Justin's valise, but relinquished it to the colored boy whocame forward to take it, and walked with Justin to the clerk's desk,where he made known with confidential words and gestures that hisfriend, Justin Wingate, the representative from Flatrock, was to havea good room, in a good location. And he went up with Justin to theroom, to make sure that he had not been swindled by the wicked hotelmen.

  "This will be all right," he declared, joyously. "My room is on thesame floor. You must come in and look at it."

  Justin went in, and they talked awhile. Fogg did not ask him anyquestions, but seemed to assume that there could be no divergence ofopinion between them on any vital point; they were old friends, andthey understood each other!

  On the mantel was a copy of that photograph of Justin and Mary Jasper,taken on the occasion of Fogg's first visit to Paradise Valley. Fogghad put it there, to be seen, that it might further cement the tiesthat he hoped would bind Justin to him. It would bring back memoriesof pleasant days, he believed. It brought back, instead, memories ofPeter Wingate and Curtis Clayton. When that picture was taken, theranchmen had not invaded Paradise Valley. Sloan Jasper was tilling hislittle fields by the river undisturbed by the Davison cattle. AndJasper had been one of Wingate's staunchest friends and admirers!

  "You'll find things a bit new here, of course," said Fogg, as hereturned with Justin to the latter's room; "but I know Denver like abook, and I'll be glad to help you in any way I can."

  Yet even Lemuel Fogg, observing that Justin did not say much, had anuneasy sense of insecurity.

  "These quiet men do a lot of thinking," was his troubled conclusion,"and they're likely to be hard to manage, when they get crookednotions in their heads. I'll have to keep my eyes on him, and I'll getsome other fellows to help me. We've got to swing his vote; we'vesimply got to do it!"

  To Justin's inexperienced eyes Denver was in a condition of politicalchaos. He was not accustomed to crowds, and at first they annoyed andbewildered him. Caucuses were apparently being held in every corner.Ranching interests, mining interests, agricultural interests, eachseemed to have a host of champions. But the thing that excited everyone, whether cattlemen, farmer, or miner, was the coming election of aUnited States senator.

  Early on the day after his arrival, he found himself drawn into acaucus held in the interests of the cattlemen. Fogg piloted him intoit adroitly, wishing to commit him irrevocably to that side. Justinsat down and looked about, not knowing what was to be done. Men cameto him with friendly words, and were introduced by Fogg. A chairmanwas appointed, and the meeting began, with speeches. Their drift soonfilled Justin with uneasiness. Having listened awhile, he arosenervously in his place. He did not wish to be misunderstood, or put ina doubtful position.

  As he stood up, thoughts of Lucy Davison came to trouble him; and,knowing that every eye was trained on him, he became somewhatdisconcerted. Fogg, watching him closely, saw his face flush to a deepred. Yet even Fogg, consumed by anxious expectancy, did not fail tonote the commanding flash of the blue eyes and the stiffening of thelithe, erect form of this young man from the remote ranges ofParadise, as he began to speak. There was nothing rural or awkward inhis manner. His bare shapely head with its masses of dark hair, hisclear-cut profile, and his straight supple form clad in a neatbusiness suit of dark gray, spoke of anything but verdantinexperience.

  Though he began in hesitation, having begun he did not falter, and hedid not palter; but expressed himself simply, as an honest manexpressing honest opinions without thought of subterfuge. He did notgo into details, and he did not explain, further than to declare thathe had not sought an election; but, having been elected unpledged, bythe combined votes of farmers, cowboys, and citizens of the town, in arevolt against a candidate they did not like, he still stoodunpledged, and would vote as his conscience dictated in all things. Hewas not to be considered, he said, as belonging to the party orinterests represented by this caucus, and if he had known that thoseattending it were supposed to be pledged to do the will of themajority he would not have been there. They must understand hisposition. He would not deceive them.

  Justin did not expect to create a sensation when he delivered thatbrief speech, but it was like hurling a bomb. Of all the men thereFogg was apparently the most surprised and hurt. He came to Justinimmediately, as the caucus began to break into groups, and whileJustin was trying to get out of the room. Angry men were shoutingquestions at Justin. Fogg resolved to maintain his conciliatoryattitude.

  "You're making a mistake," he said, in a low tone, hooking a finger inJustin's buttonhole in a friendly manner. "You'll live to regret it.You're a young man just entering political life. You're educated andyou've got ability; and a young man of education and ability can makealmost anything of himself, in a country like this. But not if hestarts out in this way. You've got to stand with somebody. Don't loseyour head now. We're the strongest party. Stand with us. We're goingto win this fight, and you can't afford to be on the losing side."

  "Fogg," said Justin, looking almost angrily at him, "I won't bepulled and hauled about by you nor any other man. I'm not trying tocontrol you, and you can't control me. I came up here untrammeled.When it comes to voting in the house of representatives I intend tolisten to the arguments for and against every measure, and then Ishall make up my mind and vote for whatever seems to me to be right."

  "You can't do that, Justin," Fogg urged. He was nervously solicitous."Legislatures are run by majorities, by parties. If every man stoodby himself nothing could be accomplished. Sometimes we must vote formeasures we don't like in order to help along measures we do like. Ina place like this men have to stand together. You can't afford to herdby yourself, like an outcast buffalo. You'll want to come up hereagain, or you will want an office of some kind. Now don't be quick,don't be nervous and gunpowdery; think it over, think it over."

  He patted Justin on the shoulder. He was much shorter than Justin andhad to reach up, and it was a comical motion.

  Justin released himself from Fogg's grasp, and though men were stillshouting at him and trying to reach him, he moved on out of the roomwithout speaking to any one.

  To his surprise, the tenor of his speech in the caucus seemed to beknown everywhere almost immediately. Men came to him; some arguingwith him, others praising him. He went out into the street to escapethem. Returning, he was thinking of retreating to the privacy of hisroom, when a newsboy rushed through the corridor yelling, "Extra! Allabout the defection of the representative from Flatrock County!"

  Justin Wingate's "defection" was not an hour old, yet here it wasblazoned in print. He snatched one of the papers and made for hisroom, where he read it in a state of exasperated bewilderment, for hefound himself denounced in unmeasured terms. This paper was the organof the cattlemen. "Scare heads" above the news columns of the firstpage informed an astonished world of cattlemen that a Judas Iscariothad arisen suddenly in their midst to betray them with an unholy kiss.In a brief paragraph on the editorial page Justin was spoken of as"The Cattlemen's Benedict Arnold." Elected chiefly by cowboy votes, hewas, the paper said, preparing to "sell them out."

  Justin threw down the paper. Newsboys were yelling in the street. Heleft the room, thinking to get another paper. As he made his waytoward the hotel office a smiling little man tapped him on thesho
ulder. He saw Fogg advancing with one of the offensive newspapersin his hands, and scarcely noticing the little man he turned about,seeking a way of escape, and found himself in another room. The littleman closed the door behind Justin; and the men before him, rising fromtheir chairs, began to cheer.

  This was a caucus of the opposition, and Justin discovered that he wasbeing hailed as an ally, and was expected to say something. He woulddeclare himself to them, he resolved suddenly, even though these menmight not like what he said, or the manner of its saying, any betterthan those others. He would tell them that he did not belong to anyfaction, and should vote only as his conscience led him. Then, if hemust stand alone, he would do so.

  He hardly knew what he said, yet it was well said. Clayton's traininghad given him command of language, and his honest indignant feelingsand ingenuous nature gave him force and candor. As he spoke the caucusbroke into frantic cheering. Men stood in their chairs and yelled likewild Indians, or maniacs. Here Justin was not an Iscariot or anArnold, but a "patriot" and a "savior." This caucus represented theirrigationists, and Justin's declaration that he would vote only ashis conscience dictated assured them that he was not to be controlledby the ranchmen, and that the reports they had received from ParadiseValley concerning him were true.

  Escaping from these men Justin returned to his room, to which Foggcame soon, though Justin was in no mood to receive him. Fogg closedthe door softly and dropped somewhat heavily into a chair. His fatface looked worried.

  "You don't doubt that I'm your friend, Justin?" he said, cautiously.

  "I don't know that I've any right to doubt it; you've always been myfriend, heretofore."

  "And I'm your friend now--the best friend you've got in this city."

  "The only one, I suppose," said Justin, tipping his chair against thewall and looking at Fogg keenly. "I'm a stranger here."

  "So I've come to talk this matter over with you. I don't need to gointo details--you know how you were elected, by a queer combination ofopposing interests. The cowboys who voted for you did it because theylike you and dislike Ben Davison, and not because they want you tooppose the ranch interests in the legislature. If they considered thematter at all, which is doubtful, they thought they could trust younot to do anything here that would be to their injury. Likely youthink you owe your election to the farmers, but you don't; theysupported you, but it was the cowboy vote which elected you."

  "I have never questioned that fact," said Justin.

  "Perhaps not, but you seem to forget it. Now, there's another thing,of even greater importance, it appears to me, which you ought to takeinto consideration. The cattlemen are a power in this state. Atpresent they are allied with the party in control here, and the sameparty is in control at Washington. You know what that means."

  "I should be a fool if I didn't."

  "Just so; and understanding the situation, is it the part ofwisdom--under all the circumstances now, Justin--is it the part ofwisdom for you to oppose that party? The opposition, which is just nowmaking such a noise, is a composite thing bound together with a ropeof sand. A half-dozen factions have thrown their influence to theminority party and are making a desperate effort to get control of thelegislature. Suppose they succeed this time, where will they be nextyear, or two or four years from now? They are antagonistic on everyquestion but this, and they will fall apart; nothing else can happen,as you must see yourself. Don't you see that?"

  "Yes, I can see that all right."

  "Well, then, what is to be gained, in a personal way, by going over tothem? I'm not going to argue the thing with you, but just make thesestatements to set you to thinking."

  Fogg knew when he had said enough, and he arose to go.

  "What did that paper mean, by attacking me in that way?" Justin asked.

  Fogg sat down again.

  "Newspaper men are as likely to make fools of themselves as other men.They rushed that edition onto the street as a 'beat,' or 'scoop.'They're sorry they did it already, if they've got as much brains as Ithink they have."

  "Why should it be assumed in the first place that I intended to allymyself with the cattlemen, and why should the simple statement which Imade in that caucus cause me to be branded as a Judas and BenedictArnold?"

  "It was simply an exhibition of what those fellows would calljournalistic enterprise, I suppose. They wanted to make a sensation,and sell papers. They even sold a copy to you." Fogg laughed. "Youwouldn't have bought that copy, otherwise."

  "Well, I wasn't pleased by it. If anything would make me vote againstthe cattlemen when I thought I ought to vote with them, such attacksas that would."

  Fogg laughed again, and ran his fingers over the shining gold chainthat lay across his rotund stomach.

  "The fellow that stands in the limelight has got to take his medicine,and it's no use kicking. The only way to do is to go straight aheadand take no notice of what the papers say. That's what I try to do,though I admit I get my mad up sometimes over some of the things theyprint about me. That paper, which poured vitriol on you to-day, willshower you with rosewater and honey to-morrow, if what you do pleasesit."

  "I shan't try to please it!" Justin declared, angrily.

  "No, I wouldn't; I'd try to please myself, and I'd try to look out forNumber One. Well, I must be going!" He rose again. "And just thinkover what I've said to you in friendship. The range will be here, andthe cattlemen, when all these other little barking dogs are dead andforgotten. My word for it, a desire for loot and plunder is really allthat holds them together now, though they're making such a howl aboutpublic virtue and honesty. I've been in the political whirl before,and I know those men right down to the ground."

  He extended his hand as he reached the door, and Justin, having risenalso, took it.

  "I'm your friend," said Fogg, as a final word, "and what I've said isfor your own good."

  When he was gone Justin sat down to think it over. He knew there wasmuch truth in Fogg's statements. The conglomerate oppositionstruggling now to gain control of the legislature would fall to piecesinevitably by and by. If he voted with the ranch interests he wouldplease the cowboys who had worked for his election, he would pleaseFogg and Davison, and he would not displease Lucy Davison. But wouldhe please himself? Would he please Curtis Clayton? He could not hopeby so doing to please the farmers.

  Justin had ambition, though he was not consumed by it. He did not wishto wreck his future. Philip Davison, in that memorable interview, hadtold him to do something, be something, accomplish something. In theinterval between that time and now no opportunity had come to him. Hehad left the ranch, where he could earn only cowboy's wages, thoughnot wholly because of the low wages. He had for a time securedemployment in the town, but the position had been neither promisingnor permanent. He had been thinking seriously of going to Denver, totry his fortunes in its larger field, when the fire came whichincapacitated him, and after the fire this unexpected election.

  He was in Denver now, and he was a member of the legislature. Ambitionand a desire to show to Philip Davison that he was not unworthy of hisregard and friendship, not unworthy even to become the husband of LucyDavison, urged him to one course; Clayton's teachings and influence,and his own inner feeling as to what was right and what was not right,was urging him to the opposite course. Should he continue to offendPhilip Davison and at the same time wreck his political prospects?

  "But what can I do?" was his mental cry, as he struggled with thisproblem. "I can't vote for things which I know are not right, nor formen I know I can't trust."

  Early in the morning he encountered Fogg. The encounter was not bychance, though Fogg pretended that it was.

  "I hope you thought over those things carefully?" he inquired, unableto conceal his anxiety.

  "I have thought to this point," said Justin; "I will vote with thecattlemen wherever my conscience will let me, but I can't vote foryour candidate for United States senator."

  Fogg stood aghast.

  "That puts you in the camp of
the irrigationists, with all thatmongrel crew!"

  "I can't help it."

  Justin's tone was decided. His face was feverish. He had passed a badnight.

  "I can't help it, if it does, Fogg. The things that man stands for arenot right, and I can't support him."

  Fogg detained him, and threshed the old arguments over; he even usedthe potent argument that Justin ought not to follow deliberately acourse that must inevitably injure Philip Davison very much in afinancial sense; but, having with deep travail of soul reached thatone conclusion, Justin Wingate was now as immovable as a rock.