The Winning of Barbara Worth

by Harold Bell Wright

  CHAPTER II.

  JEFFERSON WORTH'S OFFERING.

  When day broke over the topmost ridges of No Man's Mountains, JeffersonWorth's outfit was ready to move. The driver of the lighter rig withits four broncos set out for San Felipe. On the front seat of the bigwagon Texas Joe picked up his reins, sorted them carefully, and glancedover his shoulder at his employer. "All set?"

  "Go ahead."

  "You, Buck! Molly!" The lead mules straightened their traces. "Jack!Pete!" As the brake was released with a clash and rattle of iron rods,the wheelers threw their weight into their collars and the wagon movedahead.

  Grim, tireless, world-old sentinels, No Man's Mountains stood guardbetween the fertile land on their seaward side and the desolateforgotten wastes of the East. They said to the country of green life,of progress and growth and civilization, that marched to their line onthe West, "Halt!" and it stopped. To the land of lean want, of graydeath, of gaunt hunger, and torturing thirst, that crept to their feeton the other side, "Stop!" and it came no farther. With no land totill, no mineral to dig, their very poverty was their protection. Withan air of grim finality, they declared strongly that as they had alwaysbeen they would always remain; and, at the beginning of my story, savefor that one, slender, man-made trail, their hoary boast had remainedunchallenged.

  Steadily, but with frequent rests on the grades, Jefferson Worth'soutfit climbed toward the summit and a little before noon gained thePass. The loud, rattling rumble of the wagon as the tires bumped andground over the stony, rock-floored way, with the sharp ring andclatter of the iron-shod hoofs of the team, echoed, echoed, and echoedagain. Loudly, wildly, the rude sounds assaulted the stillness untilthe quiet seemed hopelessly shattered by the din. Softly, tamely, thesounds drifted away in the clear distance; through groves of live oak,thickets of greasewood, juniper, manzanita and sage; into canyon andwash; from bluff and ledge; along slope and spur and shoulder; overridge and saddle and peak; fainting, dying--the impotent sounds ofman's passing sank into the stillness and were lost. When the teamhalted for a brief rest it was in a moment as if the silence had neverbeen broken. Grim, awful, the hills gave no signs of man's presence,gave that creeping bit of life no heed.

  At Mountain Spring--a lonely little pool on the desert side of the hugewall--they stopped for dinner. When the meal was over, Texas Joe, withthe assistance of Pat, filled the water barrels, while the boy busiedhimself with the canteen and the Seer and Jefferson Worth looked on.

  "'Tis a dhry counthry ahead, I'm thinking'," remarked the Irishmaninquiringly as he lifted another dripping bucket.

  "Some," returned Tex. "There are three water holes between here and theriver where there's water sometimes. Mostly, though, when you need itworst, there ain't none there, an' I reckon a dry water hole is aboutthe most discouragin' proposition there is. They'll all be dry thistrip. There wasn't nothin' but mud at Wolf Wells when we come throughlast week."

  Again the barren rocks and the grim, forbidding hills echoed the loudsound of wheel and hoof. Down the steep flank of the mountain, withscreaming, grinding brakes, they thundered and clattered into thenarrow hall-way of Devil's Canyon with its sheer walls and shadowygloom. The little stream that trickled down from the tiny spot of greenat the spring tried bravely to follow but soon sank exhausted into thedry waste. A cool wind, like a draft through a tunnel, was in theirfaces. After perhaps two hours of this the way widened out, the sidesof the canyon grew lower with now and then gaps and breaks. Then thewalls gave way to low, rounded hills, through which the winding traillay--a bed of sand and gravel--and here and there appeared clumps ofgreasewood and cacti of several varieties.

  At length they passed out from between the last of the foot-hills andsuddenly--as though a mighty curtain were lifted--they faced thedesert. At their feet the Mesa lay in a blaze of white sunlight, andbeyond and below the edge of the bench the vast King's Basin country.

  At the edge of the Mesa Texas halted his team and the little partylooked out and away over those awful reaches of desolate solitude. TheSeer and Pat uttered involuntary exclamations. Jefferson Worth, Texas,and Abe were silent, but the boy's thin features were aglow with eagerenthusiasm, and the face of the driver revealed an interest in thescene that years of familiarity could not entirely deaden, but the graymask of the banker betrayed no emotion.

  In that view, of such magnitude that miles meant nothing, there was nota sign of man save the one slender thread of road that was so soon lostin the distance. From horizon to horizon, so far that the eye ached inthe effort to comprehend it, there was no cloud to cast a shadow, andthe deep sky poured its resistless flood of light upon the vast dunplain with savage fury, as if to beat into helplessness any livingcreature that might chance to be caught thereon. And the desert,receiving that flood from the wide, hot sky, mysteriously wove with itsoft scarfs of lilac, misty veils of purple and filmy curtains of roseand pearl and gold; strangely formed with it wide lakes of blue rimmedwith phantom hills of red and violet--constantly changing, shifting,scene on scene, as dream pictures shift and change.

  Only the strange, silent life that, through long years, the desert hadtaught to endure its hardships was there--the lizard, horned-toad, leanjack-rabbit, gaunt coyote, and their kind. Only the hard growth thatthe ages had evolved dotted the floor of the Basin in the neardistance--the salt-bush and greasewood, with here and there clumps ofmesquite.

  And over it all--over the strange hard life, the weird, constantlyshifting scenes, the wondrous, ever-changing colors--was the dominant,insistent, compelling spirit of the land; a brooding, dreadful silence;a waiting--waiting--waiting; a mystic call that was at once a threatand a promise; a still drawing of the line across which no man might goand live, save those master men who should win the right.

  After a while the engineer, pointing, said: "The line of theSouthwestern and Continental must follow the base of those hills awayover there--is that right, Texas?"

  "That'll be about it," the driver answered. "I hear you're goin'through San Antonio Pass, an' that's to the north. Rubio City liesabout here--" he pointed a little south of east. "Our road runs throughthem sand hills that you can see shinin' like gold a-way over there.Dry River Crossin' is jest beyond. You can see Lone Mountain off hereto the south. Hit'll sure be some warm down there. Look at themdust-devil's dancin'. An' over there, where you see that yellow mistlike, is a big sand storm. We ain't likely to get a long one this timeo' the year. But you can't tell what this old desert 'll do; she's suresome uncertain. La Palma de la Mano de Dios, the Injuns call it, and Ialways thought that--all things considerin'--the name fits mightyclose. You can see hit's jest a great big basin."

  "The Hollow of God's Hand." repeated the Seer in a low tone. He liftedhis hat with an unconscious gesture of reverence.

  The Irishman, as the engineer translated, crossed himself. "HowlyMither, fwhat a name!"

  Jefferson Worth spoke. "Drive on, Texas."

  And so, with the yellow dust-devils dancing along their road and thatyellow cloud in the distance, they moved down the slope--down into TheKing's Basin--into La Palma de la Mano de Dios, The Hollow of God'sHand.

  "Is that true, sir?" asked Abe of the Seer.

  "Is what true, son?"

  "What Texas said about the ocean."

  "Yes it's true. The lowest point of this Basin is nearly three hundredfeet below sea level. The railroad we are going to build follows rightaround the rim on the other side over there. This slope that we aregoing down now is the ancient beach." Then, while they pushed on intothe silence and the heat of that dreadful land, the engineer told theboy and his companions how the ages had wrought with river and wave andsun and wind to make The King's Basin Desert.

  Wolf Wells they found dry as Texas had anticipated. Phantom Lake alsowas dry. Occasionally they crossed dry, ancient water courses made bythe river when the land was being formed; sometimes there were glassy,hard, bare alkali flats; again the trail led through jungle-likepatches of desert growth or twisted and wound between h
igh hummocks.Always there was the wide, hot sky, the glaring flood of light unbrokenby shadow masses to relieve the eye and reflected hotly from the sandyfloor of the old sea-bed.

  That evening, when they made camp, a heavy mass of clouds hung over thetop of No Man's Mountains and the long Coast Range that walled in theBasin. Texas Joe, watching these clouds, said nothing; but when Patthrew on the ground the water left in his cup after drinking, theplainsman opened upon him with language that startled them all.

  The next day, noon found them in the first of the sand hills. There wasno sign of vegetation here, for the huge mounds and ridges of whitesand, piled like drifts of snow, were never quite still. Always theymove eastward before the prevailing winds from the west. Through thegreater part of the year they advance very slowly, but when the fiercegales sweep down from the mountains they roll forward so swiftly thatany object in their path is quickly buried in their smothering depths.

  In the middle of the afternoon Texas climbed to the top of a huge driftto look over the land. The others saw him stand a moment against thesky, gazing to the northwest, then he turned and slid down the steepside of the mound to the waiting wagon.

  "She's comin'!" he remarked, laconically, "an' she's a big one. Ireckon we may as well get as far as we can."

  A few minutes later they saw the sky behind them filling as with agolden mist. The atmosphere, dry and hot, seemed charged withmysterious, terrible power. The very mules tossed their heads uneasilyand tugged at the reins as if they felt themselves pursued by somefearful thing. Straight and hard, with terrific velocity, the wind wascoming down through the mountain passes and sweeping across the widemiles of desert, gathering the sand as it came. Swiftly the golden mistextended over their heads, a thick, yellow fog, through which the sunshone dully with a weird, unnatural light. Then the stinging, blinding,choking blast was upon them with pitiless, savage fury. In a moment allsigns of the trail were obliterated. Over the high edges of the driftthe sand curled and streamed like blizzard snow. About the outfit itwhirled and eddied, cutting the faces of the men and forcing them, withclosed eyes, to gasp for breath.

  Of their own accord the mules stopped and Texas shouted to Mr. Worth:"It ain't no use for us to try to go on, sir. There ain't no trail now,and we'd jest drift around."

  As far from the lee of a drift as possible, all hands--under the desertman's direction--worked to rig a tarpaulin on the windward side of thewagon. Then, with the mules unhitched and securely tied to the vehicle,the men crouched under their rude shelter. The Irishman was choking,coughing, sputtering and cursing, the engineer laughed good-naturedlyat their predicament, and Abe Lee grinned in sympathy, while Texas Joeaccepted the situation grimly with the forbearance of long experience.But Jefferson Worth's face was the same expressionless gray mask. Hegave no hint of impatience at the delay; no uneasiness at thesituation; no annoyance at the discomfort. It was as though he hadforeseen the situation and had prepared himself to meet it. "How longdo you figure this will last, Tex?" he asked in his colorless voice.

  "Not more than three days," returned the driver. "It may be over inthree hours."

  The morning of the second day they crawled from their blankets beneaththe wagon to find the sky clear and the air free from dust. Eagerlythey prepared to move. Against their shelter the sand had driftednearly to the top of the wheels, and the wagon-box itself was more thanhalf filled. The hair, eye-brows, beard and clothing of the men werethickly coated with powdery dust, while every sign of the trail wasgone and the wheels sank heavily into the soft sand.

  Three times Texas halted the laboring team and, climbing to the summitof a drift, determined his course by marks unknown to those who waitedbelow. Again they stopped for the plainsman to take an observation, andthis time the four in the wagon, watching the figure of the driveragainst the sky, saw him turn abruptly and come down to them with longplunging strides. Instinctively they knew that something unusual hadcome under his eye.

  The Seer and Jefferson Worth spoke together. "What is it, Tex?"

  "A stray horse about a mile ahead."

  For the first time Texas Joe uncoiled the long lash of his whip and hiscall "You, Buck! Molly!" was punctuated by pistol-like cracks thatsounded strangely in the death-like silence of the sandy waste.

  As they came within sight of the strange horse the poor beast staggeredwearily to meet the wagon--the broken strap of his halter swingingloosely from his low-hanging head.

  "Look at the poor baste," said Pat. "'Tis near dead he is wid thirst."He leaped to the ground and started toward the water barrel in the rearof the wagon.

  "Hold on, Pat," said the colorless voice of Jefferson Worth. And hiswords were followed by the report of Texas Joe's forty-five.

  The Irishman turned to see the strange horse lying dead on the sand."Fwhat the hell--" he demanded hotly, but Texas was eyeing him coolly,and something checked the anger of the Irishman.

  "You don't seem to sabe," drawled the man of the desert, replacing theempty shell in his gun. "There ain't hardly enough water to carry usthrough now, an' we may have to pick up this other outfit."

  No one spoke as Pat climbed heavily back to his seat.

  For two miles the tracks of the strange horse were visible, then theywere blotted out by the sand that had filled them. "He made that muchsince the blow," was Texas' slow comment. "How far we are from where hestarted is all guess."

  As they pushed on, all eyes searched the country eagerly and beforelong they found the spot for which they looked. A light spring wagonwith a piece of a halter strap tied to one of the wheels was more thanhalf-buried by the sand in the lee of a high drift. There was a smallwater keg, empty, with its seams already beginning to open in thefierce heat of the sun, a "grub-box," some bedding and part of a baleof hay-nothing more.

  Jefferson Worth, Pat and the boy attempted to dig in the steep side ofthe drift that rose above the half-buried outfit, but at their everymovement tons of the dry sand came sliding down upon them. "It ain't nouse, Mr. Worth," said Texas, as the banker straightened up, baffled inhis effort. "You will never know what's buried in there until GodAlmighty uncovers it."

  Then the man of the desert and plains read the story of the tragedy asthough he had been an eye witness. "They was travelin' light an'counted on makin' good time. They must have counted, too, on, findin'water in the hole." He kicked the empty keg. "Their supply give out an'then that sand-storm caught 'em and the horses broke loose. Of coursethey would go to hunt their stock, not darin' to be left afoot andwithout water, an' hits a thousand to one they never got back to theoutfit. We're takin' too many chances ourselves to lose much time and Idon't reckon there's any use, but we'd better look around maybe."

  He directed the little party to scatter and to keep on the high groundso that they would not lose sight of each other. Until well on in theafternoon they searched the vicinity, but with no reward, while the hotsun, the dry burning waste and the glaring sands of the desert warnedthem that every hour's delay might mean their own death. When theyreturned at last to the wagon, called in by Texas, no one spoke. Asthey went on their way each was busy with his own thoughts of the grimevidence of the desert's power.

  Another hour passed. Suddenly Texas halted the mules and, with anexclamation, leaped to the ground. The others saw that he was bendingover a dim track in the sand.

  "My God! men," he shouted, "hit's a woman."

  For a short way he followed the foot-prints, then, running back to thewagon and springing to his seat, swung his long whip and urged the teamahead.

  "Hit's a woman," he repeated. "When the others went away and didn'tcome back she started ahead in the storm alone. She had got this farwhen the blow quit, leavin' her tracks to show. We may--" He urged hismules to greater effort.

  The prints of the woman's shoe could be plainly seen now. "Look!" saidTex, pointing, "she's staggerin'--Now she's stopped! Whoa!" Throwinghis weight on the lines he leaned over from his seat. "Look, men! Lookthere!" he cried, as he pointed. "She's carryin' a kid
. See, there'swhere she set it down for a rest." It was all too clear. Beside thewoman's track were the prints of two baby shoes.

  The Seer, with a long breath, drew his hand across his sand-begrimedface. "Hurry, Tex. For God's sake, hurry!"

  The Irishman was cursing fiercely in impotent rage, clenching andunclenching his huge, hairy fists. The boy cowered in his seat. But nota change came over the mask-like features of Jefferson Worth. Only thedelicate, pointed fingers of his nervous hands caressed constantly hisunshaven chin, fingered his clothing, or--gripped the edge of the wagonseat as he leaned forward in his place. Texas--grim, cool, alert, hislean figure instinct now with action and his dark eyes alight--swunghis long whip and handled his reins with a master's skill, calling uponevery atom of his team's strength, while reading those tracks in thesand as one would scan a printed page.

  It was all written there--that story of mother love; where shestaggered with fatigue; where she was forced to rest; where the babywalked a little way; and once or twice where the little one stumbledand fell as the sand proved too heavy for the little feet. And all thewhile the desert, dragging with dead weight at the wheels, seemed tofight against them. It was as though the dreadful land knew that onlytime was needed to complete its work. Then the hot sun dropped beyondthe purple wall of mountain and the mystery of the long twilight began.

  "Dry River Crossing is just ahead," said Tex, and soon the outfitpitched down the steep bank of a deep wash that had been made in someforgotten age by an overflow of the great river. Occasionally, afterthe infrequent rains of winter, some water was to be found here in ahole under the high bank a short way from the trail.

  With a crash of brakes the team stopped at the bottom. The men,springing from the wagon and leaving the panting mules to stand withdrooping heads, started to search the wash. But in a moment Texasshouted and the others quickly joined him. Near the dry water hole laythe body of a woman. By her side was a small canteen.

  He had lifted the canteen and was holding it upsidedown.]

  The engineer bent to examine the still form for some sign of life.

  "It ain't no use, sir," said Texas. "She's gone." He had lifted thecanteen and was holding it upside down. With his finger he touched themouth of the vessel and held out his hand. The finger was wet. "Yousee," he said, "when her men-folks didn't come back she started withthe kid an' what water she had. But she wouldn't drink none herself,an' the hard trip in the heat and sand carryin' the baby, an' findin'the water hole dry was too much for her. If only we had known an' comeon, instead of huntin' back there where it wasn't no use, we'd a-beenin time."

  As the little party--speechless at the words of Texas--stood in thetwilight, looking down upon the lifeless form, a chorus of wild,snarling, barking yowls, with long-drawn, shrill howls, broke on thestill air. It was the coyotes' evening call. To the silent men theweird sound seemed the triumphant cry of the Desert itself and theystarted in horror.

  Then from the dusky shadow of the high bank farther up the wash cameanother cry that broke the spell that was upon them and drew ananswering shout from their lips as they ran forward.

  "Mamma! Mamma! Barba wants drink. Please bring drink, mamma. Barba's'fraid!"

  Jefferson Worth reached her first. Close under the bank, where she hadwandered after "mamma" lay down to sleep, and evidently just awakenedfrom a tired nap by the coyotes' cry, sat a little girl of not morethan four years. Her brown hair was all tumbled and tossed, and her bigbrown eyes were wide with wondering fear at the four strange men andthe boy who stood over her.

  "Mamma! Mamma!" she whimpered, "Barba wants mamma."

  Jefferson Worth knelt before her, holding out his hands, and his voice,as he spoke to the baby, made his companions look at him in wonder, itwas so full of tenderness.

  The little girl fixed her big eyes questioningly upon the kneeling man.The others waited, breathless. Then suddenly, as if at something shesaw in the gray face of the financier, the little one drew back withfear upon her baby features and in her baby voice. "Go 'way! Go 'way!"she cried. Then again, "Mamma! Barba wants mamma." Jefferson Worthturned sadly away, his head bowed as though with disappointment orshame.

  The others, now, in turn tried to win her confidence. The plainsman andthe Irishman she regarded gravely, as she had looked at the banker, butwithout fear. The boy won a little smile, but she still heldback--hesitating--reluctant. Then with a pitiful little gesture ofconfidence and trust, she stretched forth her arms to the bigbrown-eyed engineer. "Barba wants drink," she said, and the Seer tookher in his arms.

  At the wagon it was Jefferson Worth who offered her a tin cup of water,but again she shrank from him, throwing her arms about the neck of theSeer. The engineer, taking the cup from the banker's hands, gave her adrink.

  While Mr. Worth and the boy prepared a hasty meal, Texas fed his teamand the Irishman, going back a short distance, made still another gravebeside the road already marked by so many. The child--still in theengineer's arms--ate hungrily, and when the meal was over he took herto the wagon, while the others, with a lantern, returned to the stillform by the dry water hole. At the banker's suggestion, a thoroughexamination of the woman's clothing was made for some clue to heridentity, but no mark was found. With careful hands they reverentlywrapped the body in a blanket and laid it away in its rude, sandy bed.

  When the grave was filled and protected as best it could be, a shortconsultation was held. Mr. Worth wished to return to the half buriedoutfit to make another effort to learn the identity of the Desert'svictim, but Texas refused. "'Tain't that I ain't willin' to do what'sright," he said, "but you see how that sand acted. Why, Mr. Worth, youcouldn't move that there drift in a year, an' you know it. I jest gavethe mules the last water they'll get an' we're goin' to have all we cando to make it through as it is. If we wait to go back there ain't onechance in a hundred that we-all 'll ever see Rubio City again. It ain'tsense to risk killin' the kid when we've got a chance to save her--jeston a slim chance o' findin' out who she is."

  Returning to the outfit they very quietly--so as not to awaken thesleeping child--hitched the team to the wagon and took their places. Asthe mules started the baby stirred uneasily in the Seer's arms andmurmured sleepily: "Mamma." But the low, soothing tones of the big mancalmed her and she slept.

  Hour after hour of the long night dragged by. They had left the sandhills behind three miles before they reached Dry River and now thewide, level reaches of the thinly covered plain, forbidding and ghostlyunder the stars, seemed to stretch away on every side into infinitespace. Involuntarily all the members of the little party, except TexasJoe, strained their eyes looking into the blank, silent distance forlights, and, as they looked, they turned their heads constantly tolisten for some sound of human life. But in all that vast expanse therewas no light save the light of the stars; in all that silent wastethere was no sound save the occasional call of the coyote, theplaintive, quivering note of the ground-owls, the muffled fall of themules' feet in the soft earth, and the dull chuck, creak, and rumble ofthe wagon with the clink of trace chains and the squeak of strainingharness leather. And always it was as though that dreadful land clungto them with heavy hands, matching its strength against the strength ofthese who braved its silent threat, seeking to hold them as it held somany others. The men spoke rarely and then in low tones. The baby inthe Seer's arms slept. Only Texas, and perhaps his team, knew how theykept the dimly marked trail that led to life. Perhaps Texas himself didnot know.

  At daybreak they halted for a brief rest and for breakfast. The childate with the others, but still clung to the engineer, and while askingoften for "mamma," seemed to trust her big protector fully. From theshelter of his arms she even smiled at the efforts of Texas, Pat andthe boy to amuse and keep her attention from her loss. From JeffersonWorth she still shrank in fear and the others wondered at the pain inthat gray face as all his efforts to win a smile or a kind look fromthe baby were steadily repulsed.

  It was Texas who, when they halted, poured the last of t
he water fromthe barrel into the canteen and carefully measured out to each a smallportion. It was Texas now who gave the word to start again on theirjourney. And when the desert man placed the canteen with their meagersupply of water in the corner of the wagon-box under his own feet theothers understood and made no comment.

  At noon, when each was given his carefully measured portion from thecanteen, Jefferson Worth, before they could check him, wet hishandkerchief with his share of the water and gave it to the Seer towipe the dust from the hot little face of the child. The eyes of thebig engineer filled and Texas, with an oath that was more reverent thanprofane, poured another measure and forced the banker to drink.

  As the long, hot, thirsty hours of that afternoon dragged slowly past,the faces of the men grew worn and haggard. The two days and nights inthe trying storm, the exertion of their search among the sand hills,the excitement of finding the woman's body and the discovery of thechild, followed by the long sleepless night, and now the hard, hot,dreary hours of the struggle with the Desert that seemed to gather allits dreadful strength against them, were beginning to tell. Texas Joe,forced to give constant attention to his team and hardened by years ofexperience, showed the strain least, while Pat, unfitted for such atrial by his protracted spree in San Felipe, undoubtedly suffered most.

  After dinner the Irishman sat motionless in his place with downcastface, lifting his head only at long intervals to gaze with fierce hoteyes upon the barren landscape, while muttering to himself in agrowling undertone. Later he seemed to sink into a stupor and appearedto be scarcely conscious of his companions. Suddenly he roused himselfand, bending forward with a quick motion, reached the canteen fromunder the driver's seat. In the act of unscrewing the cap he was haltedby the calm-voice of Texas: "Put that back."

  "Go to hell wid ye! I'm no sun-dried herrin'."

  The cap came loose, but as he raised the canteen and lifted his facewith open parched lips he looked straight into the muzzle of the bigforty-five and back of the gun into the steady eyes of the plainsman."I'm sorry, pard, but you can't do it."

  For an instant the Irishman sat as if suddenly turned to stone. Thewater was within reach of his lips, but over the canteen certain deathlooked at him, for there was no mistaking the expression on the face ofthat man with the gun. Beside himself with thirst, forgettingeverything but the water, and utterly reckless he growled: "Shoot an'be domned, ye murderin' savage!" and again started to lift thecloth-covered vessel.

  At that instant the baby, catching sight of the canteen, called fromthe rear seat: "Barba wants drink. Barba thirsty, too."

  As though Texas had pulled the trigger the Irishman dropped his hand.Slowly he looked from face to face of his companions--a dazedexpression on his own countenance, as though he were awakening from adream. The child, clinging to the Seer with one hand and pointing withthe other, said again: "Barba thirsty; please give Barba drink."

  A look of horror and shame went over the face of the Irishman, his formshook like a leaf and his trembling hands could scarcely hold thecanteen. "My Gawd! bhoys," he cried, "fwhat's this I was doin'?" Thenhe burst suddenly upon Tex with: "Why the hell don't ye shoot, domn ye?A baste like me is fit for nothin' but to rot in this Gawd-forsakenland!"

  The fierce rage of the man at his own act was pitiful. Texas droppedhis gun into the holster and turned his face away. Jefferson Worth heldout a cup. "Give the little one some water, Pat," he said, in his cold,exact way.

  With shaking hands the Irishman poured a little into the cup and,screwing the cap back on the canteen, he returned it to its place. Thenwith a groan he bowed his face in his great, hairy hands.

  Just before sun-down they climbed up the ancient beach line to the rimof the Basin and the Mesa on the east. Halting here for a brief restand for supper, they looked back over the low, wide land through whichthey had come. All along the western sky and far to the southward, thewall-like mountains lifted their purple heights from the dun plain, aseemingly impassable barrier, shutting in the land of death; shuttingout the life that came to their feet on the other side. To the norththe hills that rim the Basin caught the slanting rays of the settingsun and glowed rose-color, and pink, and salmon, with deep purpleshadows where canyons opened, all rising out of drifts of silverylight. To the northwest two distant, gleaming, snow-capped peaks of theCoast Range marked San Antonio Pass. To the west Lone Mountain showeddark blue against the purple of the hills beyond. Down in the desertbasin, drifting above and woven through the ever-shifting masses ofcolor, shimmering phantom lakes, and dull, dusky patches of green andbrown, long streamers, bars and threads of dust shone like gleaminggold.

  Texas Joe, when he had poured for each his portion of water, shook thecanteen carefully, and a smile spread slowly over his sun-blackenedfeatures. "What's left belongs to the kid," he said. "But we'll makeit. We'll jest about make it."

  The Irishman lifted his cup toward the Desert, saying solemnly: "Here'sto ye, domn ye! Ye ain't got us yet. May ye burn an' blishther an'scorch an' bake 'til yer danged heart shrivels up an' blows away."

  Then he fell to amusing the child with loving fun-talk and queerantics, until she laughed aloud and permitted him to catch her up inhis big hairy hands and to toss her high in the air. Texas and Abe,joining in the frolic, shared with Pat the little lady's favor, whilethe Seer looked smilingly on. But when Jefferson Worth approached, withan offering of pretty stones and shells which he had gathered on theold beach, she ran up to the engineer's arms. Still coaxing, the bankerheld out his offering. The others were silent, watching. Timidly atlast, the child put forth her little hands and accepted the gift,shrinking back quickly with her treasures to the shelter of the bigman's arms.

  It was just after noon the next day when the men at the wagon yard onthe edge of Rubio City looked up to see Jefferson Worth's outfitapproaching. The dust-covered, nearly-exhausted team staggered weaklythrough the gate. On the driver's seat sat a haggard, begrimed figureholding the reins in his right hand; and in his lap, supported by hisfree arm, a little girl lay fast asleep. Then as one of the mules laydown, the men went forward on the run.

  Texas stared at them dully for a moment. Then, as he dropped the reins,his parched, cracked lips parted in what was meant for a smile and hesaid, in a thick, choking whisper: "We made it, boys: we jest made it.Somebody take the kid."

  Eager hands relieved him of his burden and he slid heavily to theground to stand dizzily holding on to a wheel for support.

  One of the men said sharply: "But where's Mr. Worth, Tex? What have youdone with Jefferson Worth an' what you doin' with a kid?"

  Texas Joe gazed at the questioner steadily as if summoning all hisstrength of will in an effort to think. "Hello, Jack! Why--damned if Iknow--he was with me a little while ago."

  The engineer, the banker, the Irishman and the boy were lyingunconscious on the bottom of the wagon.