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.”