“And you think the farmers are the only people! You think the cattlemen are—”
“I sympathize with the farmers. Perhaps that is because they are poor men and need sympathy.”
“You will vote with them!” Davison lifted his voice and shook his finger in Justin’s face, leaning forward in the saddle. “After all I’ve done for you, Justin! There is a contemptible conspiracy on foot in this state to ruin the cattle business, and it has your sympathy. I have always been your friend, and Fogg is your friend; yet you’d vote us into poverty to-morrow, just on account of Clayton’s idiotic notions. I’m done with you. You needn’t ride on over to the house, for I don’t want you there. There is no one there who does want you. I hope you understand that. A man who is a man doesn’t go where he isn’t wanted. I wash my hands of you!”
Having lost his temper, Philip Davison began to rave.
“Yet you owe your election to ranch influences,” he shouted. “You gained your place through the defection of the cowboys from Ben. They persisted in misunderstanding what he did at the time of the fire, and they played the sneak, riding over the country by night and banding themselves together to put him down. If you lent yourself to that, it—”
“I did not lend myself to it, Mr. Davison,” Justin protested, earnestly. “I did not know anything about it.”
“Yet you profit by it, you profit by it; and the receiver of stolen goods is as bad as the thief.”
Fogg had beheld this collocution from the ranch house, and now he galloped up, his fat body swaying heavily in his creaking saddle. Though perturbed, his round fat face beamed like a kindly sunset.
“How are you, Justin; how are you?” he cried. “Hope that racket at Clayton’s didn’t rob you of your sleep last night. It was a successful meeting, and I’m glad that it was, having had something to do with getting it up.” He mopped his hot forehead with his handkerchief. “Davison, a word with you! The Deep River Company write that they want to buy some of our cattle.”
Fogg’s hand was again on the wheel. Justin was glad to ride on, for Davison’s savage assault had left him breathless. He was hurt, but tried hard not to be angry. He was still determined to see Lucy, even though Davison’s words practically forbade him the house. Ben was absent so much from the ranch now that Justin hardly expected to meet him; yet he did meet him, in front of the ranch house door. Ben had long since discarded cowboy clothing, and he had lost much of the cowboy tan, his face being now white and unhealthy-looking, as if bleached by late hours and artificial lights. It took on a surly look, when he saw Justin.