Then, as suddenly as the fire itself, a surprising change came in the political situation. From the first, as now appeared, the campaign against Ben had been engineered craftily by crafty men. At the last moment, the name of the opposition candidate was taken down, and another name hoisted in its stead—the name of Justin Wingate, used without his knowledge. Cowboys made hurried night rides, moving with secrecy. Ben’s conduct at the time of the fire had laid up for him in their hearts a store of smothered rage and contempt, which now found expression. Everywhere the cowboys rallied to the support of Justin Wingate—and he was elected.
Because he was confined so closely to the house and its vicinity, but more because the sudden movement to elect him was sedulously concealed both from him and from Clayton, Justin’s election came to him as a stunning surprise. His astonishment was mingled with pain and anxiety. The hopes of the Davisons were in the dust. He knew that Ben must be humiliated beyond measure, and he feared that Davison would resent it as a personal insult to his son and an act of treachery. And what would Lucy think? That was, to Justin, the most important of all.
Clayton brought him the news early on the morning after the election. Justin, who had been walking about in the yard enjoying the bright autumn sunshine, dropped to a seat on the doorsteps, startled, weak and unnerved. Clayton began to make the thing clear to him.
“After that affair, the cowboys couldn’t stand Ben Davison, and the story that he cut the dam killed him with a good many of the town people, as well as the farmers. When your name was mentioned, the suggestion caught as quickly as that fire Ben started. At Borden’s ranch, at Wilson’s, at Lindborg’s, and all over the county, where the story of the fire had gone, the thing was taken up by the cowboys; and it was all done so quickly and quietly that neither Davison nor Ben, nor even Fogg, knew a thing of it, until it was too late. I’m as surprised as you are; I knew of the talk against Ben, but I didn’t dream of this.”
Lemuel Fogg, shrewd and astute, hurried to Davison’s, as soon as he heard the astounding news. Davison was in a white rage. But for Fogg’s timely intervention he would have discharged all of his cowboys at once, together with Steve Harkness. They were angry, and they stood ready to go.
“Don’t do it!” Fogg begged. “We can’t fight all of the cowboys of the county, and they all went against Ben. The thing to do is to make Justin see that the cowboys—and in that sense the ranch interests—elected him. Though the cowboys united with the farmers this time, they are not naturally with them; Justin knows that. We mustn’t let him go to Denver feeling that he owes his election to the farmers. He is a cowboy, and if we work him right we can hold him to our side.”
“I can’t believe yet but that Justin knew all about it,” said Davison, angrily.
“I don’t think he did; but whether he did or didn’t, he’s elected.”
“He may not accept the place; he might give way, if pressure is brought to bear on him?”
“Don’t you believe that for even a minute,” said Fogg. “I know Justin. He’s not a fool, and he’d be a fool if he did that. He will go to Denver and sit in that legislature, and we want him to go as our friend, not our enemy. Don’t stir up the cowboys, don’t make trouble with them; just give me a free hand—I think I can work this thing.”