CHAPTER XXIV.
JEFFERSON WORTH GOES FOR HELP.
The winter following the birth of Republic witnessed the greatestactivities that had been seen in the new country. The freighters'wagons that had once seemed so pitifully inadequate, as they creptfeebly away into the mysterious silences, were replaced now by longtrains, heavily loaded with building material and goods of every kindand drawn by laboring engines that puffed and roared and clanged andscreamed their stirring answer to the challenge of the silent, age-old,desolate land. And still the work that had been done was small incomparison with that which was yet to do before the reclamation ofBarbara's Desert would be complete. The acres of land untouched bygrader's Fresno or rancher's plow were many more than the acres thatwere producing crops. The miles of canals and ditches that were to bebuilt were many more than the miles already carrying water. The tenthouses and shacks of the pioneers were yet to be replaced by morecomfortable homes. The frontier towns--big in that new country--wereyet to grow into cities. From the top of any building in any one of thefour towns one could look into the barren desert.
Tourists on the main line that skirted the rim of the Basin, from thecar windows saw only the mighty reaches of the dun plain, with itsthirsty vegetation, stretching away to the distant purple mountainwall. Curiously the overland passengers looked at the crowds ofsettlers waiting for the Basin train at the Junction, wondering attheir hardihood. Curiously they followed with their eyes the thin lineof rails and telegraph poles leading southward until it was lost in themystic depths of color. To the tourists it was a fantastic dream thatout there, somewhere in the barren waste, people were building towns,cultivating fields, transacting business and engaging in all the GoodBusiness activities of the race. It was as impossible to them as it hadbeen to Willard Holmes when Barbara first introduced him to her Desertand tried to make him see, as she saw, the greatness of the work ofwhich he was to become a part.
The latter part of that winter found Jefferson Worth again with hisback to the wall. James Greenfield, in his attempt to hold up his rivalin the matter of the King's Basin Central junction, had wrought betterthan he knew. While Worth's enterprises were barely as yet paying theirway, the railroad, which he was forced to build in order to protect hisown interests in the town of Barba and in the South Central District,would require practically all he had realized on the sale of the otherline that had so nearly exhausted his resources. The Company president,in forcing him to build the town of Republic in addition to his heavyoutlay on his new railroad, forced him to take another desperatechance. For the first time he was unable to pay the men, and in thirtydays large obligations for material would be due; while certain rumors,carefully started by Greenfield, made it almost impossible for him toraise the funds he must have.
"I'm sorry, Jeff," said his friend the railroad man. "But with presentunsafe conditions we can't load up with any more property in The King'sBasin. You know as well as I that if the river comes in we will have toget in there to protect our interests, for if those ranchers were wipedout our road wouldn't sell for scrap iron. You couldn't do it and theGreenfield crowd wouldn't. Why, that New York bunch, outside ofGreenfield, don't know whether the Colorado is a trout stream or a millpond. Their actual investment doesn't amount to half what you have putinto your work, for the sale of water rights to the settlers is payingall the expense of their extensions and they won't put up a cent torebuild their shaky old structures. And look where we stand! We haveput more money into that country now than the Company and you together,and we won't pay operating expenses until the land is developed. Andstill the public is roaring about our rates. We don't want anotherdesert line on our hands."
Quietly Jefferson Worth sold his interest in the banks in Frontera,Barba and Republic; and as quietly Greenfield, who was watching, setabout gaining control of these institutions. His South Central Districtwater stock was already sold and most of his property in Barba. Evenhis little home in Republic was mortgaged.
Thus Worth held on for a while longer. He dared not stop his work, forsuch a move would not only ruin his chances of negotiating the loans heneeded, but by bringing upon him a swarm of creditors, would make itimpossible for him ever to recover his standing in the financial world.
Another pay day passed without the men receiving their pay and thethird was drawing near. Already there was grumbling and complainingamong the men over the delayed pay checks. It would take but littlemore to start serious trouble.
There were many in the crowd at the depot that day when Jefferson Worthwaited for the train to the city, who looked with envy upon the builderof towns and railroads. Horace P. Blanton proudly pointed out to astranger "his friend, the Wizard of the Desert," with the informationthat Mr. Worth had cleaned up a cool million in the new country.Several went out of their way for a closer look at him or for apossible greeting. Others cursed him roundly under their breath for ahated member of the class of parasites that live on the industry of thelaborer, a financier who robbed the people, a capitalist who producednothing.
The train pulled in, and Mr. Worth, with a good-by to Barbara and Abe,who had come to see him off, stepped aboard. No one save Abe Lee, noteven Barbara, knew that her father must raise fifty thousand dollarsbefore the first of the month or suffer financial ruin. And no one--noteven Jefferson Worth himself--knew where he could find the money.
Barbara, when her father was gone, though she knew nothing of thedanger that threatened him, was restless and ill at ease, beset byvague and nameless doubts and fears. The little desert town with itsbustling activity, its clamorous, rushing disorder, its naked newnessand glaring bareness, offended her. Nothing was completed. The streets,the buildings, the very people, seemed so unsettled, so temporary. Shecould not shake off the feeling that it would all vanish soon, as shehad often seen the phantom cities of the desert plain melt anddisappear.
The morning after her father left, as she rode El Capitan slowly alongthe little village streets that lay so dusty and flat and that ended soquickly in the open country, she caught herself wondering how long thedream would endure. The farms, too, with their new green fields andtheir primitive, pioneer shacks, tent houses and shelters and theiracres of still unimproved land, all lying under the white blaze of thesemi-tropical sun, were they more than a mirage weirdly painted in theair by the spirit of the dreadful land to lure foolish men to theirruin?
Near the crossing of a canal she saw a zanjero turning the waterthrough a new delivery gate into a new ditch, and checking El Capitan,she watched the brown flood rolling down the channel prepared for itand heard the dry earth hiss and purr as it sucked up the moisture withthe thirst of a thousand years. She wanted to cry out a protest. Theeffort was so pitifully foolish. This awful, awful land would neveryield to the men who sought to subdue it with such feeble means. Fromthe little stream of water, no deeper than would reach to El Capitan'sknees and no wider than his stride, she looked away and around over theseemingly endless miles of barren waste.
The man at the delivery gate recorded the number of inches in his bookand, with a greeting to the young woman, mounted his horse and rodeaway along the canal. Barbara, moving on, left the farms behind androde into the barren waste. This at least was real. This in its verydesolation, its dreadful silence, its still menace, was satisfying. Butas on that morning when she first rode El Capitan into the desert fromKingston, she grew afraid. The dreadful spirit of the land so pressedupon her that she turned her horse and fled as one might fly from anapproaching storm.
Another restless, unsatisfying day and a lonely evening dragged by.Texas and Pat she had not seen for a week. Even Abe had not been nearher since her father left. To-morrow, she told herself, she would findthem at their work and demand a reason for their neglect.
The next morning she set out on El Capitan to follow the line of herfather's railroad until she should find her neglectful men-folk. As sherode along the right-of-way she watched the hundreds of Mexican andIndian laborers at their work on the grade and thought of t
he men whohad built the South Central Canal. Those men too had labored for herfather, but they worked also for themselves. The canal they built wasto reclaim their own land and to make for them farms and homes. Thesepoor fellows on the railroad, she reflected, had no share in that whichthey were doing. There was in their toil nothing but the day's wage.She could not feel, as she had felt in the South Central District, thatshe had a part with them in their work. Here and there she recognized aMexican from Rubio City, and these returned her greeting pleasantly,for they remembered the young woman's kindness to the poor. But by farthe greater number gave her only sullen glances. She was to them onlythe daughter of the man for whom they toiled and who had not paid.
Passing from gang to gang and camp to camp, watching the dark faces ofthe laborers, listening to their sullen undertone, the young woman feltthe restless, threatening spirit of the little army as one may feelsometimes the heavily charged atmosphere before an electric storm. Butshe did not understand. She had never before ridden over the railroadwork alone as she had so often done in the South Central District.
She grew a little frightened at last at the scowling looks and mutteredremarks that followed her as she went, and she was wishing that she hadnot come when she saw just ahead Abe Lee and Pat. The surveyor wasgiving some instructions to the Irish boss and both were so intent thatthey did not see Barbara approaching. As the young woman drew quitenear, a low-browed Mexican who, in watching her approach, either forgotthe presence of his superiors or, in sheer ruffianly bravado, ignoredthem, uttered a coarse remark to his companions about his employer'sdaughter.
The young woman heard and turned pale as death. Pat heard and, turningquickly around, caught sight of Barbara and saw the ruffian who hadspoken looking at her. With a roar the Irishman leaped forward, andwith a blow of his huge, hairy fist dropped the Mexican a senselessheap in the dirt.
With cries of rage the fellow's countrymen ran toward the white man,drawing their knives as they came. Barbara sat leaning forward in hersaddle breathless. Abe Lee was quietly rolling a cigarette. Pat stoodmotionless, his battle-scarred features set and his eyes shining likepoints of light.
Within ten steps of their boss the little mob stopped. Then theIrishman spoke in a voice that rumbled and shook with menacing rage."Ye, Manuel an' Pedro--drag that carrion off the right-av-way, an' tellhim when he wakes up av he values his life to shtay out av rache av metwo hands. The rest av ye hombres git the hell out av here!"
The two whom he called by name did his bidding and the rest scatteredlike sheep. Pat turned to Barbara. "'Tis sorry I am that ye should seeut, me girl, but ut had to be done."
"Oh, Pat! Did you--Is he--" She could not speak the word, but followedwith frightened eyes the still form of the unconscious man as hiscompanions half-dragged, half-carried him to the shade of a mesquitetree.
"There, there, don't worry," said her big friend soothingly. "He's notas much hurted as he should be. He'll have a bit av a bump on hisnoodle that'll maybe make him a bit careful wid his foul tongue for awhile, that's all."
Barbara looked down into the face of the old gladiator whose eyes, asthey looked up at her, were soft as a childs. "Oh, Pat! Are you sure?He--he crumpled up so! It was awful!" She shuddered.
"There, there; av course I'm sure. Don't I know? Look at him; he'ssittin' up now. He'll be on his fate in a minute."
Sure enough, as Barbara looked again she saw the Mexican rising to asitting posture and with his hand to his head look around in a dazedmanner as though awakening out of a deep sleep. The young woman drew along breath of relief and, with a faint smile, said to the surveyor,who had drawn nearer: "I'm sorry I came, Abe. I'm afraid you'll thinkthat I'm only in the way to make trouble. But I was so lonesome allalone at home."
"Why, Barbara, you know how glad we always are to see you. You must notmind this little incident. It's all in the day's work with Pat, yousee. That fellow there has had this coming to him for some time."
The Irishman grinned and the young woman on the horse, with a littlelaugh, said: "All the same I don't think I would like you for a boss,Uncle Pat. You're too--too emphatic."
And the big Irishman with twinkling eyes retorted: "Sure av ye was bossav a gang ye wud break more hearts wid yer swate face than I couldheads wid me two hands." Which retort effectually closed the incident.
When the three had chatted a while and Barbara had scolded them for notcoming to see her, Abe said: "I think you had better go back now,Barbara. But don't follow the line. Strike west over the desert untilyou come to the road and go in that way. We can't leave now to go withyou, and some of these greasers might get gay again. I'll see you thisevening."
It was after nine o'clock that night when the surveyor finally reachedthe Worth cottage. Somewhat awkwardly he entered and seated himself inthe nearest chair, while Barbara, returning to her favorite rocker bythe table, said: "It's time you came. I was so lonely I don't believe Icould have stood it another hour. Really you and Pat and Tex haveneglected me shamefully. You haven't been near since the day fatherleft. Even Pablo has forgotten me."
"Pablo is at the power house at Dry River," Abe said slowly. "We've allhad our hands full for the last three days. I reckon you know we havenot stayed away because we wanted to."
Something in the man's tone and manner caused Barbara to look at himclosely. Was it a fancy in keeping with her gloomy spirit of the lastfew days, or did the surveyor's tall form droop as if withdiscouragement? He was not looking at her with his usualstraightforward manner. He seemed to be studying the pattern of theNavajo rug that lay between them, and certainly his lean, bronzed facewore a careworn look that was new. She noticed too that he wore beltand revolver, which was very unusual for Abe.
"Of course; I know!" she exclaimed. "It was childish of me to complain.Forgive me."
Abe, without answering, looked at her--a straight, questioning,challenging look that for some reason brought another flush to hercheek. Then the surveyor turned his gaze again upon the Navajo rug.
"I know you are tired," said the young woman again. "You have so muchto think about with all those men to look after and daddy away. Comenow; you sit right over here in this easy chair and shut your eyes andsmoke and forget all about the work and everything, while I make alittle music for you."
Barbara did not realize how she tried this man of the desert with aglimpse of a heaven that Abe knew could never be for him. For a momenthe sat motionless without answering, his eyes still fixed upon thefloor. Then with a quick, resolute movement he threw up his head andstraightened himself. "I'm sorry, Barbara, but I can't stay thisevening."
"Can't stay?" she cried. "Why, Abe, you just came!"
"Yes, I know. I--I just ran in to ask you--to see if you"--he hesitatedand stammered, then finished desperately--"to ask you to let me sendTexas to stay here to-night."
She looked at him in bewildered amazement. "Why, what in the world doyou mean? Why should Texas stay here to-night?"
Then as a sudden possible explanation came to her mind--"Abe, has UncleTex--Is he in trouble?"
The surveyor smiled at her words. "It's nothing like that, Barbara. Texis all right. But I don't think that you should be left alone here withonly Ynez just now. Pat is at the power house and I must be at the iceplant, and Tex--" He checked himself in alarm.
Barbara's face was white and her eyes, fixed upon his, were big withsudden fear as, rising slowly to her feet, she went towards him. Withan exclamation he sprang from his seat but she regained control ofherself and, quietly taking another chair nearer him, said: "I thinkyou had better tell me, Abe, just exactly what the trouble is. I knowsomething is wrong or you would not want to send Texas here to me. Youknow that I have always stayed with Ynez. Why are you afraid for me?Why is Pat at the power house, and why are you going to stay at the iceplant? And why do you wear that?" She pointed to the heavy Colt'srevolver.
Little by little she forced from the reluctant superintendent anexplanation of the whole situation: how her father had been driven byt
he Company to build the new town of Republic in addition to theconstruction of his railroad to Barba and how conditions in the Basinhad made it impossible to sell this line to the S. & C. as he had soldbefore. He told her as gently as he could that the men had not beenpaid for nearly two months, and that if her father did not succeed inraising the necessary funds quickly he would lose everything. The menhad been put off from day to day with explanations that their employerwas away and that they would receive their pay when he returned. Butugly rumors were afloat among them and their angry uneasiness anddiscontent were increasing. Threats against their employer and hisproperty were being made by the hot-headed leaders, who always appearunder such conditions, and the surveyor feared that serious troublemight start at any hour.
To Barbara the situation was almost incredible. Again and again sheexclaimed with pity for her father, and demanded to know why they hadall kept her in ignorance of the truth; and as she realized howlovingly she had been shielded from every worry that she might feelnothing of the burden that weighed so heavily upon them, her womanheart cried out that she had not been permitted to bear her share.
"But I know now," she said at last, brushing aside the tears that,against her will, filled the brown eyes. "I know now and you men shallsee that I can do something to help." She stood before him--her strongbeautiful figure bravely erect, her face glowing with the light of adetermined purpose.
The surveyor smiled his appreciation as he said: "It's almost as goodas money in the bank to hear you talk like that, Barbara. But you'lllet me send Tex over to-night, won't you?"
"You must do whatever you think best, Abe. But you must promise methis. From now on you will tell me everything, just as you have alwaystold me about the work."
Abe drew a long breath. "I don't know what your father will say butI'll do it. I've felt all along that it was hardly square to keep youin the dark."
"Of course it wasn't," she agreed. "And now listen! You and Pat comehere for breakfast with Texas Joe and me. Come as early as you like."
He began to protest, saying that they would need to eat at daybreak inorder to get back to the work by seven o'clock, but she silenced himwith--"And do you think that I cannot even get up at sun-rise? Youshall not lose a minute's time and it will do you good to start outwith one of Ynez's good breakfasts."
So the surveyor was forced to promise this also. Then with a soft"Buenos noches, Senorita," he left her.
Later Texas Joe came to sleep in Mr. Worth's room. The night passedwithout incident, and when the first trace of silver gray light shoneabove the eastern mesa beyond the rim of the Basin Abe Lee returnedwith Pat to find the meal ready and Barbara waiting to pour thefragrant coffee. While the sky was still aflame with the colors of themorning and the desert lay under a curtain of fantastic figures andgrotesque patterns woven by the light, the three men mounted theirhorses and set out for the field of the day's labors. And Barbara atthe gate watched them go until, in the distance, their forms too werecaught in the magic of the desert's loom and woven into the airy design.
Before noon Abe came back. The men had struck. The surveyor had alreadysent a telegram to Mr. Worth and in the afternoon they had his answerthat he was going to San Felipe. But there was no word of hope in themessage.
All that day the men from the railroad were gathering in the littletown, and in the early evening the laborers from the power canal atBarba joined the throng on the streets. This dark-faced, scowling crowdof Mexicans and Indians was very different from the company of pioneersthat met in Kingston to receive Jefferson Worth a few months before. Onevery hand they were heard cursing the man who owed them their wagesand threatening to take revenge if they were not soon paid.
That night Texas Joe again slept at the Worth cottage, for Barbarastoutly refused to leave her home, and Abe and Pat, with the littlehandful of white men from the office force, stood guard at the powerhouse, the ice plant and the other buildings that were grouped near therailroad on the edge of town.