The Winning of Barbara Worth Read online

  CHAPTER I.

  INTO THE INFINITE LONG AGO.

  Jefferson Worth's outfit of four mules and a big wagon pulled out ofSan Felipe at daybreak, headed for Rubio City. From the swinging redtassels on the bridles of the leaders to the galvanized iron waterbucket dangling from the tail of the reach back of the rear axle theoutfit wore an unmistakable air of prosperity. The wagon was loadedonly with a well-stocked "grub-box," the few necessary camp cookingutensils, blankets and canvas tarpaulin, with rolled barley and balesof hay for the team, and two water barrels--empty. Hanging by itscanvas strap from the spring of the driver's seat was a large,cloth-covered canteen. Behind the driver there was another seat of thesame wide, comfortable type, but the man who held the reins wasapparently alone. Jefferson Worth was not with his outfit.

  By sending the heavy wagon on ahead and following later with a fasterteam and a light buckboard, Mr. Worth could join his outfit in campthat night, saving thus at least another half day for business in SanFelipe. Jefferson Worth, as he himself would have put it, "figured onthe value of time." Indeed Jefferson Worth figured on the value ofnearly everything.

  Now San Felipe, you must know, is where the big ships come in and theair tingles with the electricity of commerce as men from all lands,driven by the master passion of human kind--Good Business--seek eachhis own.

  But Rubio City, though born of that same master passion of the race, iswhere the thin edge of civilization is thinnest, on the Colorado River,miles beyond the Coast Range Mountains, on the farther side of thatdreadful land where the thirsty atmosphere is charged with the awfulsilence of uncounted ages.

  Between these two scenes of man's activity, so different and yet solike, and crossing thus the land of my story, there was only a rudetrail--two hundred and more hard and lonely miles of it--the only markof man in all that desolate waste and itself marked every mile by thegraves of men and by the bleached bones of their cattle.

  All that forenoon, on every side of the outfit, the beautiful life ofthe coast country throbbed and exulted. It called from the heavingocean with its many gleaming sails and dark drifting steamer smokeunder the wide sky; it sang from the harbor where the laden ships meetthe long trains that come and go on their continental errands; it criedloudly from the busy streets of village and town and laughed out fromfield and orchard. But always the road led toward those mountains thatlifted their oak-clad shoulders and pine-fringed ridges across the wayas though in dark and solemn warning to any who should dare set theirfaces toward the dreadful land of want and death that lay on theirother side.

  In the afternoon every mile brought scenes more lonely until, in thefoothills, that creeping bit of life on the hard old trail wasforgotten by the busy world behind, even as it seemed to forget thatthere was anywhere any life other than its creeping self.

  As the sweating mules pulled strongly up the heavy grades the man onthe high seat of the wagon repaid the indifference of his surroundingswith a like indifference. Unmoved by the forbidding grimness of themountains, unthoughtful of their solemn warning, he took his place asmuch a part of the lonely scene as the hills themselves. Slouchingeasily in his seat he gave heed only to his team and to the road ahead.When he spoke to the mules his voice was a soft, good-natured drawl, asthough he spoke from out a pleasing reverie, and though his words wereoften hard words they were carried to the animals on an under-currentof fellowship and understanding. The long whip, with coiled lash, wasin its socket at the end of the seat. The stops were frequent. Wise inthe wisdom of the unfenced country and knowing the land ahead, thisdriver would conserve every ounce of his team's strength against apossible time of great need.

  They were creeping across a flank of the hill when the off-leadersprang to the left so violently that nothing but the instinctivebracing of his trace-mate held them from going over the grade. The sameinstant the wheel team repeated the maneuver, but not so quickly, asthe slouching figure on the seat sprang into action. A quick strongpull on the reins, a sharp yell: "You, Buck! Molly!" and a rattlingvolley of strong talk swung the four back into the narrow road beforethe front wheels were out of the track.

  With a crash the heavy brake was set. The team stopped. As the driverhalf rose and turned to look back he slipped the reins to his left handand his right dropped to his hip. With a motion too quick for the eyeto follow the free arm straightened and the mountain echoed wildly tothe loud report of a forty-five. By the side of the road in the rear ofthe wagon a rattlesnake uncoiled its length and writhed slowly in thedust.

  Before the echoes of the shot had died away a mad, inarticulate roarcame from the depths of the wagon box. The roar was followed by a thickstream of oaths in an unmistakably Irish voice. The driver, who wasslipping a fresh cartridge into the cylinder, looked up to see a mangrasping the back of the rear seat for support while rising unsteadilyto his feet.

  The Irishman, as he stood glaring fiercely at the man who had so rudelyawakened him, was without hat or coat, and with bits of hay clinging toa soiled shirt that was unbuttoned at the hairy throat, presented aremarkable figure. His heavy body was fitted with legs like posts; hiswide shoulders and deep chest, with arms to match his legs, were sohuge as to appear almost grotesque; his round head, with its tumbledthatch of sandy hair, was set on a thick bull-neck; while all over thebig bones of him the hard muscles lay in visible knots and bunches. Theunsteady poise, the red, unshaven, sweating face, and the angry,blood-shot eyes, revealed the reason for his sleep under suchuncomfortable circumstances. The silent driver gazed at his fearsomepassenger with calm eyes that seemed to hold in their dark depths themystery of many a still night under the still stars.

  In a voice that rumbled up from his hairy chest--a husky, menacinggrowl--the Irishman demanded: "Fwhat the hell do ye mane, dishturbin'the peace wid yer clamor? For less than a sup av wather I'd go over toye wid me two hands."

  Calmly the other dropped his gun into its holster. Pointing to thecanteen that hung over the side of the wagon fastened by its canvasstrap to the seat spring, he drawled softly: "There's the water. Helpyourself, stranger."

  The gladiator, without a word, reached for the canteen and with huge,hairy paws lifted it to his lips. After a draught of prodigious lengthhe heaved a long sigh and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.Then he turned his fierce eyes again on the driver as if to inquirewhat manner of person he might be who had so unceremoniously challengedhis threat.

  The Irishman saw a man, tall and spare, but of a stringy, tough andsupple leanness that gave him the look of being fashioned by theout-of-doors. He, too, was coatless but wore a vest unbuttoned over aloose, coarse shirt. A red bandana was knotted easily about his throat.With his wide, high-crowned hat, rough trousers tucked in long boots,laced-leather wrist guards and the loosely buckled cartridge belt withits long forty-five, his very dress expressed the easy freedom of thewild lands, while the dark, thin face, accented by jet black hair and along, straight mustache, had the look of the wide, sun-burned plains.

  With a grunt that might have expressed either approval or contempt, theIrishman turned and groping about in the wagon found a sorry wreck of ahat. Again he stooped and this time, from between the bales of hay,lifted a coat, fit companion to the hat. Carefully he felt throughpocket after pocket. His search was rewarded by a short-stemmed claypipe and the half of a match--nothing more. With an effort he exploredthe pockets of his trousers. Then again he searched the coat; mutteringto himself broken sentences, not the less expressive becauseincomplete: "Where the divil--Now don't that bate--Well, I'll be--"With a temper not improved by his loss he threw down the garment indisgust and looked up angrily. The silent driver was holding toward hima sack of tobacco.

  The Irishman, with another grunt, crawled under the empty seat andclimbing heavily over the back of the seat in front, planted himselfstolidly by the driver's side. Filling his pipe with care anddeliberation he returned the sack to its owner and struck thehalf-match along one post-like leg. Shielding the tiny flame with hishands before applying th
e light he remarked thoughtfully: "Ye are adanged reckless fool to be so dishturbin' me honest slape by explodin'that cannon ye carry. 'Tis on me mind to discipline ye for sichoutrageous conduct." The last word was followed by loud, smackingpuffs, as he started the fire in the pipe-bowl under his nose.

  While the Irishman was again uttering his threat, the driver, with askillful twist, rolled a cigarette and, leaning forward just in thenick of time, he deliberately shared the half-match with his blusteringcompanion. In that instant the blue eyes above the pipe looked straightinto the black eyes above the cigarette, and a faint twinkle ofapproval met a serious glance of understanding.

  Gathering up his reins and sorting them carefully, the driver spoke tohis team: "You, Buck! Molly! Jack! Pete!" The mules heaved ahead. Againthe silence of the world-old hills was shattered by the rattling rumbleof the heavy-tired wagon and the ring and clatter of iron-shod hoofs.

  Stolidly the Irishman pulled at the short-stemmed pipe, the wagon seatsagging heavily with his weight at every jolt of the wheels, while fromunder his tattered hat rim his fierce eyes looked out upon the wildlandscape with occasional side glances at his silent, indifferentcompanion.

  Again the team was halted for a rest on the heavy grade. Long andcarefully the Irishman looked about him and then, turning suddenly uponthe still silent driver, he gazed at him for a full minute beforesaying, with elaborate mock formality: "It may be, Sorr, that bein' yeare sich a hell av a conversationalist, ut wouldn't tax yer vocalpowers beyand their shtrength av I should be so baould as to ax yefwhat the divil place is this?"

  The soft, slow drawl of the other answered: "Sure. That there is NoMan's Mountains ahead."

  "No Man's, is ut; an' ut looks that same. Where did ye say ye wasthryin' to go?"

  "We're headed for Rubio City. This here is the old San Felipe trail."

  "Uh-huh! So _we're_ goin' to Rubio City, are we? For all I know thatmay as well be nowhere at all. Well, well, ut's news av intherest tome. _We_ are goin' to Rubio City. Ut may be that ye would exshplain,Sorr, how I come to be here at all."

  "Sure Mike! You come in this here wagon from San Felipe."

  At the drawling answer the hot blood flamed in the face of theshort-tempered Irishman and the veins in his thick neck stood out as ifthey would burst. "Me name's not Mike at all, but Patrick Mooney!" heroared. "I've two good eyes in me head that can see yer danged oldwagon for meself, an' fwhat's more I've two good hands that can breakye in bits for the impedent dried herrin' that ye are, a-thinkin' yecan take me anywhere at all be abductin' me widout me consent. For asup o' wather I'd go to ye--" He turned quickly to look behind him forthe driver was calmly pointing toward the end of the seat. "Fwhat isut? Fwhat's there?" he demanded.

  "The water," drawled the dark-faced man. "I don't reckon you drunk itall the other time."

  Again the big man lifted the canteen and drank long and deep. When hehad wiped his mouth with the back of his hairy hand and had returnedthe canteen to its place, he faced his companion--his blue eyestwinkling with positive approval. Scratching his head meditatively, hesaid: "An' all because av me wantin' to enjoy the blessin's an'advantages av civilization agin afther three long months in that dangedgradin' camp, as is the right av ivery healthy man wid his pay in hispocket."

  The teamster laughed softly. "You was sure enjoyin' of it a-plenty."

  The other looked at him with quickened interest. "Ye was there?" heasked.

  "Some," was the laconic reply.

  The Irishman scratched his head again with a puzzled air. "Idisremimber entire. Was there some throuble maybe?"

  The other grinned. "Things was movin' a few."

  Patrick Mooney nodded his head. "Uh-huh: mostly they do under thimcircumstances. Av course there'd be a policeman, or maybe two?"

  "Five," said the man with the lines, gently.

  "Five! Howly Mither! I did mesilf proud. An' did they have the wagon?Sure they wud--five policemen niver walked. Wan av thim might, av utwas handy-like, but five--niver! Tell me, man, who else was at theparty? No--howld on a minut!" He interrupted himself, "Thim copsstimulate me mimory a bit. Was there not a bunch av sailor-men from wanav thim big ships?"

  The driver nodded.

  The other, pleased with the success of his mental effort, continued:"Uh-huh--an' I was havin' a peaceful dhrink wid thim all whin somewanmade impedent remarks touchin' me appearance, or ancestors, Idisremimber which. But where was you?"

  "Well, you see," explained the driver in his slow way, "hit was likethis. That there saloon were plumb full of sailor-men all exceptin' youan' me. I was a heap admirin' of the way you handled that big hombrewhat opened the meetin' and also his two pardners, who aimed to backhis play. Hit was sure pretty work. The rest of the crowd sort o'bunched in one end of the room an' when you began addressin' thecongregation, so to speak, on the habits, character, customs andbreedin' of sailor-men in general an' the present company inparticular, I see right there that you was a-bitin' off more 'n youcould chaw. It wasn't no way reasonable that any human could handlethat whole outfit with only just his bare hands, so I edged over yourway, plumb edified by your remarks, and when the rush for the mourners'bench come I unlimbered an' headed the stampede pronto. Then I made mylittle proposition. I told 'em that, bein' the only individual on thepremises not a sailor-man nor an Irishman, I felt it my duty to refereethe obsequies, so to speak, and that odds of twenty to one, not tomention knives, was strictly agin my convictions. Moreover, bein' thesole an' only uninterested audience, I had rights. Then I offers to betmy pile, even money, that you could handle the whole bunch, takin' 'emtwo at a throw. I knowed it were some odds, but I noticed that themthree what opened the meetin' was still under the influence. Also Iundertook to see that specifications was faithfully fulfilled."

  "Mither av Gawd, fwhat a sociable!" broke in the Irishman. "An' me toodhrunk to remimber rightly! Did they take yer bet? Ye sun-burned limbav the divil--did they take ut?"

  "They sure did," drawled the driver. "I had my gun on them all thetime."

  "Hurroo! An' did I do ut? Tell me quick--did I do ut? Sure I could aisyav nothin' happened."

  "You laid your first pair on top of the three, then the police calledthe game and the bets were off."

  "They pinched the house?"

  "They took you an' me."

  "Sure! av course they would take us two. 'Tis thim San Felipe policeknows their duty. But how could they do ut?"

  "I forget details right here, bein' temporarily incapacitated by one o'them hittin' me with a club from behind. I woke up in a cell with you."

  The Irishman rubbed the back of his head. "Come to think av ut, I havea bit av a bump on me own noodle that 'tis like helps to exshplain thecell. But fwhat in the divil's name brung us here in this Gawd-forsakenNobody's Place? Pass me another pipeful an' tell me that av ye can."

  The driver passed over the tobacco sack and, stopping his team foranother rest, rolled a cigarette for himself. "That's easy," he said."This here is Jefferson Worth's outfit. He wanted me to start home thismorning, so he got me off. I don't know how he done it; mostly nobodyknows how Jefferson Worth does things. There was a man with him whoknowed you and, as I was some disinclined to leave you under thecircumstances, Mr. Worth fixed it up for you, too, then we all jestthrowed you in and fetched you along. Mr. Worth with the other man andhis kid are comin' on in a buckboard. They'll catch up with us where wecamp to-night. I don't mind sayin' that I plumb admired your spirit andaction and--sizin' up that police bunch--I could see your talents wouldsure be wasted in that San Felipe country for some time to come.There'll be plenty of room in Rubio City for you, leastwise 'till youdraw your pay again. If you don't like the accommodations you'regettin' I reckon you'd better make good your talk back there and we'llsee whether you takes this outfit back to San Felipe or I takes her onto Rubio City."

  The Irishman spat emphatically over the wheel. "An' 'tis a gintlemanwid proper instincts ye are, though, as a rule, I howld ut impolite tocarry a gun. But afther a
ll, 'tis a matter av opinion an' I'm free toadmit that there are occasions. Anyhow ye handle ut wid grace an'intilligence. An', fists er shticks, er knives, er guns, that's thething that marks the man. 'Tis not Patrick Mooney that'll fault agintleman for ways that he can't help owin' to his improper bringin'up. Av ye don't mind, will ye tell me fwhat they call ye? I'll not beso indelicate as to ax yer name. Fwhat they call ye will be enough."

  The other laughed. "My name is Joe Brannin. They call me TexasJoe--Tex, for short."

  "Good bhoy, Tex! Ye look the divil av a lot like a red herrin', butthat's not sich a bad fish, an' ye have the right flavor. How could yehelp ut? Brannin an' Texas is handles to pull a man through hell wid.But tell me this--who is this man that says he knows me?"

  Texas Joe shook his head and, picking out his lines, called to histeam. When they were under way again he said: "I didn't hear his namebut I judge from the talk that he is one o' them there civil engineers,an' that he's headin' for Rubio City to build the railroad that's goin'through to the coast. Mr. Worth told me that there would be another manand a kid to go back with us, but I know that Mr. Worth hadn't neverseen them before himself."

  Pat shifted his heavy bulk to face the driver and, removing his pipefrom his mouth, asked with deliberation: "An' do ye mane to tell methat this place we're goin' to is on the new line av the Southwesternan' Continental?"

  "Sure. They're buildin' into Rubio City from the East now."

  The Irishman became excited. "An' this man that knows me--thisengineer--is he a fine, big, up-standin' man wid brown eyes an' thelook av a king?"

  "I ain't never seen no kings," drawled Tex, "but the rest of it surefits him."

  "Well, fwhat do ye think av that? 'Tis the Seer himsilf, or I'm not theson av me own mither. I was hearin' in Frisco, where I went the lasttime I drawed me pay, that he was like to be on the S. an' C.extension. 'Twas that that took me to San Felipe, bein' wishful to geta job wid him again. Well, well, an' to think ut's the Seer himsilf!"

  "What's that you call him?"

  "The Seer. I disremimber his other name but he's got wan all shtraightan' proper. He's that kind. They call him the Seer because av his talkav the great things that will be doin' in this country av no rain atall whin ignorant savages like yersilf learn how to use the watherthat's in the rivers for irrigation. I've heard him say mesilf thathundreds av thousands av acres av these big deserts will be turned intofarms, an' all that be what he calls 'Reclamation.' 'Twas for that somedanged yellow-legged surveyor give him the name, an' ut shtuck. Butmost av the engineers--the rale engineers do ye mind--is wid him,though they do be jokin' him the divil av a lot about what they callshis visions."

  "He didn't _look_ like he was locoed," said Texas Joe thoughtfully,"but he's sure some off on that there desert proposition as you'll seebefore we lands in Rubio."

  "I dunno--I've seen some quare things in me time in the way av big jobsthat nobody thought could be done at all. But lave ut go. 'Tis not thelikes av me an' you that's qualified to give judgment on sich janiusesas the Seer, who, I heard tell, has the right to put more big-manin'letters afther his name than ye have teeth in yer head."

  "All the same it ain't the brand on a horse that makes him travel. Aman'll sure need somethin' more hefty than letters after his name whenhe goes up against the desert."

  "Well, lave ut go at that. Wait 'til ye know him. But fwhat's this yertellin' me about a kid? The Seer has no family at all but himsilf an'his job."

  Texas grinned. "Maybe not, pard; but he's sure got together part of afamily this trip."

  "Is ut a gurl, or a bhoy?"

  "Boy--'bout a ten-year-old, I'd say."

  The Irishman shook his head doubtfully. "I dunno. 'Tis a quare thingfor the Seer. Av it was me, or you, now--but the Seer! It's dangedquare! But tell me, fwhat's this man, yer boss? 'Tis a good healthypull he must have to be separatin' us from thim San Felipe police."

  Texas Joe deliberated so long before answering this that Pat glanced athim uneasily several times. At last the driver drawled: "You're rightthere; Jefferson Worth sure has some pull."

  Pat grunted. "But fwhat does he do?"

  "Do?" Tex swung his team around a spur of the mountain where the trailleads along the side of a canyon to its head. Far below they heard thetumbling roar of a stream in its rocky course.

  "Sure the man must do something?"

  "As near as I can make out Jefferson Worth does everybody."

  "Oh ho! So that's ut? I've no care for the cards mesilf, but av a man'sa professional an'--"

  "You're off there, pardner. Jefferson Worth ain't that kind. He's oneo' these here financierin' sports, an' so far as anybody that I everseen goes, he's got a dead cinch."

  "Ye mane he's a banker?"

  "Sure. The Pioneer in Rubio City. He started the game in the early daysan' he's been a-rollin' it up ever since. Hit's plumb curious aboutthis here financierin' business," continued Tex, in his slow,meditative way. "Looks to me mostly jest plain, common hold-up, onlythey do it with money 'stead of a gun. In the old days you used to getthe drop on your man with your six, all regular, an' take what hehappened to have in his clothes. Then the posse'd get after you an'mebbe string you up, which was all right, bein' part of the game. Nowthese fellows like Jefferson Worth, they get's your name on somewritin's an' when you ain't lookin' they slips up an' gets away withall your worldly possessions, an' the sheriff he jest laughs an' sayshits good business. This here Worth man is jest about the coolest,smoothest, hardest proposition in the game. He fair makes my back hairraise. The common run o' people ain't got no more show stackin' up aginJefferson Worth than two-bits worth o' ice has in hell. Accordin' to mynotion hit's this here same financierin' game that's a-ruinin' theWest. The cattle range is about all gone now. If they keeps it up wewon't be no better out here than some o' them places I've heard aboutback East."

  "'Tis a danged ignorant savage ye are, like the rest av yer thribe, widyer talk av ruinin' the West. Fwhat wud this counthry be without money?'Tis thim same financiers that have brung ye the railroads, an' thecities, an' the schools, an' the churches, an' all the other blessin'san' joys of civilization that ye've got to take whither ye likes ut ornot. Look at the Seer, now. Fwhat could a man like him--an engineer,mind ye--fwhat could the Seer do widout the men wid money to back him?"

  The Irishman's words were answered by a cheerful "Whoa!" and a crash ofthe brakes as Texas Joe brought his team to a stand near the spring atthe head of the canyon. "We camp here," he announced. "This is the lastwater we strike until we make it over the Pass to Mountain Springs onthe desert side. Jefferson Worth will be along with the Seer and hiskid most any time now."

  A little before dusk the banker, with his two companions, arrived.

  "Hello, Pat!" The man who leaped from the buckboard and strode towardthe waiting Irishman was tall and broad, with the head and chin of asoldier, and the brown eyes of a dreamer. He was dressed in roughcorduroys, blue flannel shirt, laced boots, and Stetson, and he greetedthe burly Irishman as a fellow-laborer.

  A joyful grin spread over the battered features of the gladiator as hegrasped the Seer's outstretched hand. "Well, dang me but ut's glad I amto see ye, Sorr, in this divil's own land. I had me natural doubts, avcourse, whin I woke up in the wagon, but ut's all right. 'Tis proud Iam to be abducted by ye, Sorr."

  "Abducted!" The engineer's laugh awoke the echoes in the canyon. "Itwas a rescue, man!"

  "Well, well, let ut go at that! But tell me, Sorr"--he lowered hisvoice to a confidential rumble--"fwhat's this I hear that ye have yerbhoy wid ye? Sure I niver knew that ye was a man av family." He lookedtoward the slender lad who, with the readiness of a grown man, washelping the driver of the buckboard to unhitch his team of fourbroncos. "'Tis a good lad he is, or I'm a Dutchman."

  "You're right, Pat, Abe is a good boy," the Seer answered gravely. "Ipicked him up in a mining camp on the edge of the Mojave Desert when Iwas running a line of preliminary surveys through that country for theS. and C. last year.
He was born in the camp and his mother died whenhe was a baby. God knows how he pulled through! You know what thosemining places are. His father, Frank Lee, was killed in a drunken rowwhile I was there, and Abe showed so much cool nerve and downrightmanliness that I offered him a place with my party. He has been with meever since."

  Pat's voice was husky as he said: "I ax yer pardon, Sorr, for meblunderin' impedence about yer bein' a man av family. I'm a danged oldrough-neck, wid no education but me two fists, an' no manners at all."

  The engineer's reply was prevented by the approach of Jefferson Worthwho had been talking with Texas Joe. The banker's head came but littleabove the Seer's shoulders and in comparison with the Irishman's heavybulk he appeared almost insignificant, while his plain business suit ofgray seemed altogether out of place in the wild surroundings. Hissmooth-shaven face was an expressionless gray mask and his deep-setgray eyes turned from the Irishman to the engineer without a hint ofemotion. The two men felt that somewhere behind that gray mask theywere being carefully estimated--measured--valued--as possible factorsin some far-reaching plan. He spoke to the Seer, and his voice waswithout a suggestion of color: "I see that your friend has recovered."It was as though he stated a fact that he had just verified.

  Laughing at the memory of the Irishman's San Felipe experience, theengineer said: "Mr. Worth, permit me to introduce Mr. Patrick Mooneywhom I have known for years as the best boss of a grading gang in theWest. Pat, this is Mr. Jefferson Worth, president of the Pioneer Bankin Rubio City."

  The Irishman clutched at his tattered hat-brim in embarrassedacknowledgment of the Seer's formality. Jefferson Worth, from behindhis gray mask, said in his exact, colorless voice: "He looks as thoughhe ought to handle men."

  As the banker passed on toward the big wagon the Irishman drew close tothe Seer and whispered hoarsely: "Now fwhat the hell kind av a man isthat? 'Tis the truth, Sorr, that whin he looked at me out av thatgrave-yard face I could bare kape from crossin' mesilf!"