SHADOWS BEFORE
Philip Davison, conveyed to his home in Paradise Valley, hovered
between life and death, attended by Doctor Clayton and waited upon by
Lucy and Justin. Fogg lent a hand with hearty will, and Pearl
Harkness, forgetting that there had ever been any disagreement between
Davison and her husband, established herself again for a time in the
Davison home, that she might assist Lucy. Steve Harkness, not to be
outdone by his wife, offered his services in any way they could be
utilized, and found that there was enough for him to do.
Davison improved somewhat, but could not leave his bed. From the
strong man he had been reduced until he was as helpless as a child;
and for a time his mental strength was but little better than his
physical.
Before going back to Denver Fogg took Justin aside.
“I don’t see but I shall have to ask you to look after things here,
Justin, while I am gone.”
“Command me in any way,” said Justin.
“It’s a lucky thing that you’re capable of taking hold now. Some one
ought to visit the Purgatoire and see how the cattle are doing there,
and some one must ride the ditch and look out for matters at this end
of the line. Harkness can go to the Purgatoire; he will go if you ask
him, though likely he wouldn’t for me; and you can have charge here.”
Fogg was mentally distressed. The shock had left its traces even on
his buoyant nature. Through worry he had lost girth; the ponderous
stomach on which the shining chain heaved up and down as he breathed
heavily and talked was not so assertively protuberant, and his fat
face had lost something of its unctuous shine. Somehow, though he
could hardly account for it, for nothing in the shape of material
wealth had so far been lost there by him, Paradise Valley oppressed
him like a bad dream, and he was anxious to get away from it for a
time.
“I shall be glad to do whatever I can,” Justin declared.
“It’s your own father who is lying in that room, which he’ll never get
out of I’m afraid, and I knew of course you’d be willing to help out
now all you can. Clayton doesn’t speak very favorably of the case.
There isn’t really anything the matter with Davison, so far as any one
can see. It’s his mind, I reckon; it must have been an awful shock to
him, perfectly terrible, and it has simply laid him out. He thought
everything of Ben. Well, I’m not a man to talk about the dead; but Ben
would have tried the soul of a saint, and if I must say it to you I
never saw anything very saintly in the character of your father.”
“It’s a good thing Harkness didn’t move out of the valley when he left
the ranch.”
“A great thing for us now. He’s dropped everything over on his farm
and stays here almost night and day. I’ll see that he doesn’t lose by
it.”
While they were talking, William Sanders came up, chewing like a
ruminant.
“When I had my fortune told that time in Denver the fortune teller
said there was goin’ to be a heap of trouble down here, and it’s come.
I don’t reckon that Paradise Valley is any too lucky a place to live
in, after all. But them that makes trouble must expect trouble.”
Fogg did not deign to notice this.
“How are your crops, Mr. Sanders?” he asked, with his habitual smile.
“They might be better, if the ditch company and the ditch rider done
their duty. I ain’t scarcely had any water fer a week, and that field
of millet in the northeast corner of my place is dry as a dust heap. I
been wonderin’ when I’ll git water to it. That’s why I come over.”
Justin promised to see to it.
“Davison ain’t doin’ as well as he might, I hear?”
He plucked a straw and set it between his teeth.
“Not doing well at all,” said Fogg.
“Well, it’s a pity; but them that makes trouble must expect trouble.”
When Lemuel Fogg returned to Paradise Valley a month later Philip
Davison was not changed greatly. His mind was clear, but his physical
condition was low. Clayton remained with him much of the time, when
not called away to visit other patients. But Davison never spoke to
him of Ben nor of Justin.
With Fogg at this time came a man who represented an Eastern
home-builders’ association, whose object was to establish homes for
worthy but comparatively poor men in favorable places on the cheap
lands of the West. The association was conducted by charitable men and
women who had collected funds for their enterprise. There were many
excellent families, this man said, in cities and elsewhere, who would
be glad to go upon farms, if only they could do so. It was the purpose
of this society to help such people. It would place them upon farms,
furnish comfortable houses, give them a start, and permit them to
repay the outlay in longtime installments. The self-respect of a
farming community thus established would be maintained, and that was a
factor making for moral health which could not be overlooked.
When Fogg had shown this man about the valley he introduced him to
Justin, and later talked with Justin about him.
“I’ve listened to him,” he said, “and his proposition strikes me
favorably. He wants to buy canal and dam, land and everything, and he
offers a good price. If we accept, he will cut the tunnel through the
ridge to the Warrior River and bring that water in here to irrigate
the valley, and he will bring on his colony from the East. As soon as
Davison is able to talk about it, I’ll put the matter before him. I
think it would mean big money to us, if we sell a part of the land,
enough for them to settle their colony on; and sell out to them, too,
our interests in the irrigation company. They’re in shape to cut that
tunnel to the Warrior and put in a good dam. When the thing has been
developed as they propose to develop it, every acre in this valley
will be worth ten times what it is now. So, you see my point. They’ll
cut the tunnel, develop and settle the country, and thus make the land
we shall still hold worth a good deal more than the whole of it is
worth today, counting cattle and everything else in. But to induce
them to take up this enterprise we’ve got to sell them our stock in
the canal company and enough land to make it worth their while. If we
don’t, there are other valleys in the state, and they’ll go elsewhere
and do what they think of doing here.”
Fogg was enthusiastic. This new plan offered greater profit than
anything that had yet been brought to his consideration. It built a
new dream-world in Justin’s mind. In this dream-world the vision of
Peter Wingate took actual form, and he saw the desert burst into bloom
and fruitage.
At another time when Fogg came down there came with him a cattleman
who desired to purchase the herd that grazed on the mesa above
Paradise Valley and watered where the fenced chute opened upon the
water-holes. It was still a considerable herd, and troublesome near
the irrigated farms. Its grazing range lay on the now contracted area
that stretched round to the southward of the valley and extended to
and beyond the Black Cañon. The fence by the Black Cañon had been
ordered down by the government agents, and the herd was for sale.
Davison’s condition was improved, and Fogg went in to discuss with him
the subject of the sale of this herd, or a large portion of it, and
also the proposition of the man from the East.
Coming out, he met Justin with a smile.
“You haven’t seen your father this morning?”
“Not this morning; but I was in his room awhile yesterday, and he
seemed much better.”
“Very much better; he’s going to get well, in my opinion. I’ve had a
long talk with him, and he agrees with me about those sales. The man
who came down with me is ready to buy. We’ll let him have what he
wants; the remainder of the herd we’ll throw over on the Purgatoire.
You may tell Harkness about it, and things can be made ready for the
transfer of the cattle. They’ll have to be driven to the station for
shipment.”