The Winning of Barbara Worth

by Harold Bell Wright

  CHAPTER XXII.

  GATHERING OF OMINOUS FORCES.

  Kingston was a boiling, seething, steaming volcano of hot wrath,burning indignation and fiery protest. Kingston cursed, raved, stormedand resoluted, then stormed, raved and resoluted some more. Kingstonwas tricked, betrayed, cheated, defrauded, insulted and mocked. And theunspeakable villain, the sordid wretch, the miserable gamester who hadruined Kingston was Jefferson Worth.

  It is unknown to this day who first brought the news that all work onthe railroad for a distance of seven miles out from Kingston wasstopped and that the camps with their entire outfits had disappeared,leaving the scenes of their stirring activity as still and lifeless asif they had never existed. Next it was known that from Deep Wellsouthward the construction train was still pushing its way into theBasin and that the work ahead of the train went on.

  Then, while Kingston was wondering, questioning, discussing, the wordwent quickly around that the grading crews were setting up their campstwelve miles east of the Company town and that a line of stakes led oneway to the town of Barba and the other way in the direction to meet theconstruction train working out from the junction with the S. & C. atDeep Well.

  Then the startled people grasped the truth of the appalling situationand awoke from their dream. In the line of the railroad survey that hadled to Kingston as straight as you could draw a string, there was now acurve seven miles away, the tangent of which would carry it twelvemiles east of the Company town and straight into Barba.

  Practically all business ceased, while the citizens in knots and groupsdiscussed the situation. Jefferson Worth was in the Coast city andtelegrams to him, all save one, received no answer. To a message fromMr. Burk he replied that the line had been changed by his orders. Asfor Abe Lee, they might as well have questioned one of the surveyor'sgrade stakes. Even Barbara, besought by the distracted citizens, couldtell them nothing except that her father would return Saturday. Therewas nothing to do save to wait for Mr. Worth and to prepare for hiscoming.

  When the president of The King's Basin Land and Irrigation Companyarrived on the scene in answer to an urgent wire from his Manager, hewas at once the center of public interest. But Mr. Greenfield escapedquickly from the crowd at the hotel and was very soon closeted withBurk in the office.

  Then a boy found Horace P. Blanton. Horace P. was not hard to find.With the word that Mr. Greenfield desired to see him immediately,Horace P. Blanton increased visibly--so visibly that the spectatorswatched the white vest with no little anxiety.

  "Tell Mr. Greenfield that I will see him immediately," he said in avoice that was easily heard across the street. Then Horace P. arrivedat the door of the Company office a full length ahead of the messenger.

  An hour later, when Blanton reappeared to the public eye, the whitevest could no longer be buttoned over his expanding importance andbeads of portentous dignity stood on his massive brow.

  What did Greenfield want? What was the Company going to do? the crowddemanded eagerly.

  From his lofty height the great one answered: "Our Company presidentsimply desired my opinion and advice in this little difficulty. As towhat we will do, I am not at liberty to make a public statement, but--"That "but" was filled with tremendous potential power.

  "Did Mr. Greenfield know that the change in the railroad line wascontemplated?"

  "Certainly not. He learned of it first from the telegram that calledhim to Kingston."

  "Why was the change in the road made?"

  Horace P. Blanton smiled. It was very easy to understand if they wouldlook over this man Worth's operations since he had been in the Basin.What had he done? First he had quietly invested heavily in Kingstonreal estate. Next he had as quietly, through his various companies andagents, gained control of all the public utilities in the new country.Then he had so manipulated things that he gained absolute control ofthe whole South Central District, one of the richest sections of theBasin, and had started the town of Barba on land owned by himself. Hisnext move was to gain control of the railroad, which, as every oneknew, was started as an S. & C. line. "Remember," said the perspiringmaster of affairs, "that when this man Worth began work on the railroadinto Kingston, he still owned a large amount of Kingston real estatewith buildings and business establishments. To-day you will findthat--save for the newspaper, the telephone line, the power plant, theice plant, the bank and his home--he does not own a foot of land, abuilding, or a business establishment in Kingston. What has he done? Heused the railroad to start a boom in our beautiful little city, thensold out at an immense profit and now, having no further interest inKingston, changes the line of his road to Barba--the town that he owns,leaving us to make the most of the situation."

  The orator's impressive climax called forth from every hearer furiousinvectives against the absent financier. Following the announcement ofthe coming of the road to Kingston, the name of Jefferson Worth hadbeen on every tongue. The same name was on every tongue now, but theman that had been hailed as the good genius of the reclamation was nowcursed for a selfish fiend, who would lay waste the whole country forhis own greedy ends.

  Horace P. Blanton exhausted both himself and the English language in alurid, picturesque and vigorous delineation of the character of thismonstrous enemy of the race. It was such gold-thirsty pirates asJefferson Worth who, by preying upon legitimate business interests andcoining for themselves the heart-blood of the people, made it so hardfor such public benefactors as James Greenfield to promote theinterests of the country.

  It was beautiful to see how the speaker appreciated the splendidcharacter, matchless genius and noble life of his friend Greenfield,the distinguished president of The King's Basin Company and the fatherof Reclamation. Some day, he declared, the citizens of the reclaimeddesert, looking over their magnificent farms and beautiful homes, wouldappreciate the work of this man and understand then, as they could notnow, how he had toiled in their interests. As for this fellow JeffersonWorth, dark and dreadful were the hints that Horace P. dropped as tohis future.

  It was Horace P. Blanton who arranged for a public indignation meetingin the Worth opera house the afternoon of Jefferson Worth's expectedreturn. When the day arrived Kingston entertained the largest crowdthat had ever gathered within the boundaries of the town. For word ofthe situation had traveled throughout the Basin, and from every cornerof the new country men came to the scene of the excitement to attendthe mass-meeting and to be present when the man that threatenedKingston with ruin should appear. Teamsters left their teams andFresnos on the Company works, ranchers left their crops and cattle,newly located settlers forsook their ditching and leveling, zanjerosdeserted their water gates and levees. Bold, hardy, venturesome spiritsthese were, with bodies toughened by hard toil in the open air andfaces blackened and bronzed by constant exposure to the semi-tropicalsun, for the desert did not yield to weaklings who would submit tamelyto being skillfully juggled out of their own by a slim-fingeredmanipulator of business. Under the natural curiosity and love ofentertainment that drew these strong, roughly dressed, roughly speakingpioneers to the point of interest, there was an under-current of grimdetermination to protect their new country from the schemes ofunprincipled corporations. It was an old, old story.

  At the mass-meeting there were many vigorous speeches by hot-headedones, a masterly address by Horace P. Blanton, and--because he couldnot escape this--a few words by James Greenfield, who was introduced byBlanton as "the father of The King's Basin Reclamation work" andreceived by the citizens with generous applause. Acting uponGreenfield's suggestion, a committee was appointed to wait upon Mr.Worth immediately upon his arrival and the meeting adjourned until nineo'clock that evening, when the committee would report.

  As the eventful day drew near its close, horsemen from the SouthCentral District began to arrive. These were the men who had worked forJefferson Worth on the canals and who, through him, were now developingranches of their own. These South Central men scattered quietly throughthe crowd and soon in every group the
re was one or more of thenew-comers, listening attentively. And it was a significant, though inthat country an unnoticed fact, that every man from Jefferson Worth'sdistrict wore the familiar side-arms of the West. But these attentiveones took no part in the discussions, speaking neither in defense norin condemnation of the man who had so stirred the public indignation.

  As the hour for the arrival of the stage approached, the crowd massedin front of the hotel, filling the lobby, the arcade and the street,and still scattered through the throng were the men from the SouthCentral District.

  When the stage was seen in the distance a low murmur, like thethreatening rumble of a coming storm, arose from the mass of men and,following this, a hush like the hush of Nature before the storm breaks.Into and through the strangely silent crowd the driver of the sixbroncos forced his frightened team. As the stage stopped and thepassengers, looking curiously down into the excited faces of thethrong, prepared to alight, a murmur arose. The murmur swelled into aroar. Jefferson Worth was not there!

  When the main line train discharged its Basin passengers at theJunction that afternoon, the engine of the construction train on thenew road brought Mr. Worth as far as the rails were laid. Here TexasJoe, with a fast team and light buckboard, was waiting. So it happenedthat while the crowd was massing in front of the hotel awaiting thearrival of the stage, Jefferson Worth was at his home quietly eatinghis supper and reassuring his frightened daughter.

  When the assembled pioneers learned from the stage driver that the manthey waited for had left the Junction on the engine, they were not longin arriving at the truth. The excitement, inflamed by what seemed thefear of Jefferson Worth and increased by the judicious efforts ofHorace P. Blanton, was intense. From an orderly company of indignantcitizens waiting to interview a public man, the crowd became a mobpursuing an escaping victim. With shouts and yells they started for theWorth home. And with them went the quiet men from the South CentralDistrict.

  As the sound of the approaching crowd reached the two at the table,Barbara sprang to her feet, her face white with fear. "Daddy, they'recoming. They're coming!" she whispered, trembling with anxiety for herfather's safety. "Quick! El Capitan is ready. I told Pablo to have himsaddled."

  But Jefferson Worth, quietly sipping the cup of black coffee with whichhe always finished his meal, returned calmly: "Sit down, Barbara. Iwon't need El Capitan to-night."

  As he spoke the crowd arrived at the front of the house and, as if toconfirm his words, a sudden peaceful silence followed the uproar oftheir coming.

  On the front porch, in the red level light of the sun that across thedesert was just touching the topmost ridge of No Man's Mountains, stoodthe tall, grizzly-haired, dark-faced old-timer, Texas Joe; theheavy-shouldered, bull-necked Irish gladiator, Pat; and the lean,sinewy, iron-nerved man of the desert, Abe Lee; while quietly pushingand elbowing their way to the front were the men from the South CentralDistrict.

  The quiet was broken by the slow, drawling voice of Texas Joe. "Evenin'boys. What for is the stampede? We-all trusts you ain't aimin' to trompout the grass none on Mr. Worth's premises."

  Within the house Barbara and her father heard the drawling challengeand the color returned to the young woman's cheeks as she smiled andwhispered: "Good old Uncle Tex."

  There was in that soft, southern voice an undercurrent of such coolreadiness, such confident mastery of the situation, that her fearsvanished. Nor was the crowd in front slow to recognize that whichreassured Barbara.

  For a moment following Texas Joe's greeting there was a restlessshifting to and fro in the crowd, then the impressive bulk of Horace P.Blanton detached itself from the "common herd." With hands uplifted anda gesture of mingled command and appeal, he called: "No violence, men!No violence! For God's sake don't shoot! Let me talk a minute."

  Whether he appealed to the three men on the porch or to the companybehind him was not clear, but Texas answered: "You-all has the floor asusual, Senator. I don't reckon anybody here will be so impolite as tointerrupt your remarks."

  "Is Mr. Worth at home?"

  "He sure is; altogether and very much to home."

  "Could we--ah--see him to ask about a matter that concerns vitallyevery gentleman in this company?" Horace P. was regaining his breathand his poise at the same time.

  "Mr. Worth, just at this minute, is engaged with his daughter at thesupper table. His superintendent, Mr. Lee, is present and will be gladto hear what you have to say." The exact, formal politeness of the oldplainsman was delightful. In spite of the gravity of the situationseveral in the crowd chuckled audibly.

  "Mr. Worth will see your committee," said Abe crisply.

  The citizens had forgotten their committee. Horace P. Blanton had madeit difficult to remember. Three men now came out of the crowd atdifferent points and went forward, James Greenfield's orator followingthem to the porch. But as the men came up the steps Abe spoke in a lowtone to his companions, and Blanton found his way barred by the solidbulk of Pat.

  "Were you also appointed to interview Mr. Worth?" asked Abe, dryly. "Iunderstood it was a committee of three."

  "I'm not exactly a member of our committee, but I'm always glad tooffer my services in the best interests of the people."

  "Mr. Worth will see the committee," said Abe.

  "But you have no right, sir--This is an outrage, a disgrace! I--"

  A growl from the Irishman interrupted him. "That's just fwhat I'mthinkin'. The presence av sich a domned hot air merchant as yersilf isa disgrace to any Gawd-fearin' company av honest workin' men. Av Abehere will only give me lave-"

  Horace P. backed away, and from beyond reach of those huge fists saidloftily: "My friend Mr. Worth shall hear of this."

  "'Tis likely that he will av ye stand widin rache of me two hands,"agreed Pat.

  Horace P. backed farther away. "I shall let him know that I offered myservices," he declared with all the dignity he could command.

  "Do," called the Irishman. "I think that av ye offered yersilf chapeenough he might give ye a job wid a shovel on the grade. 'Tis mesilfwud be proud to have ye in me gang av rough-necks. Dom' me but I thinkI cud rejuce yer waist line to more reshpectable an' presintabledeminsions."

  At this the crowd laughed outright, for not one of those hardy pioneersbut knew the real value of Horace P. Blanton to the reclamation workand therefore the force of the Irish boss's remarks.

  While Pat and--against his will--the Company's representative wereamusing the crowd, Abe led the committee to Jefferson Worth. One ofthese men was a prominent merchant who, for the first eight months ofhis business in Kingston, had occupied a store-room in one of Worth'sbuildings rent free. Another was a real estate man, whom the banker hadsupplied with funds that enabled him to make several profitable dealsthat would otherwise have been lost. The other man was a successfulrancher, who owned a half-section of improved land joining thetownsite. Deck Jordan had carried him at the store for implements, seedand provisions the first two years.

  Jefferson Worth greeted them in his habitually colorless voice, andthey--striving to see behind that gray mask--felt that there might besomething in the situation that had not appeared on the surface inspite of the fact that the situation had been made so clear by HoraceP. Blanton after his interview with the president of the Company. Thisquiet voiced, calm-faced man, who had been so ready to help everyworthy settler in the new country, did not appear at all the monster indisguise that the chief speaker at the mass-meeting had pictured. Thecommittee, free from the heat of the crowd and the eloquence of HoraceP., felt just a little ashamed.

  "Mr. Worth," said the spokesman with a smile, "we were appointed tointerview you about this railroad business."

  "What do you wish to know, Gordon?"

  "Well, first, is it true that you have sold out practically all of yourproperty in Kingston?"

  "Yes. It was my property." Jefferson Worth did not explain that he hadsold because he was forced to turn everything he could into cash inorder to build the railroad so badly nee
ded by the new country.

  The committee looked serious. "Is it true," continued the spokesman,"that you are changing the line of the railroad so as to take it toBarba and leave Kingston out entirely?"

  "The line of the road is changed," came the exact, colorless answer.

  "Will it be possible to make some arrangement by which you would carryout your former plan and build the road into Kingston?"

  "You mean a bonus?"

  "Yes."

  "I'm not in the market."

  "Is there nothing that we can do to change the situation?"

  The answer startled the committee. "Tell Greenfield that he had bettersee me himself."

  Jefferson Worth's relation to The King's Basin Land and IrrigationCompany was always a much discussed question among the pioneers. Thenew country was settled by working people of limited means, and ifthere is one belief common to this class it is that all capitalists aremembers of one great robber band, perfectly organized, firmly unitedand operating in perfect harmony against their helpless victim--thepublic. However much they might fight among themselves over thedivision of the spoils, they were a unit in their common operationsagainst the masses.

  From the first Jefferson Worth was held by many to be the secret agent,the silent co-partner, of Greenfield, and the South Central Districtseemed to justify this opinion, for of course the public knew nothingof the inside of that deal. The people accepted Mr. Worth's personalassistance cheerfully, thankfully, and had come to look upon him as afriend. But this did not in the least alter their belief that hebelonged to the band. He was simply a generous, gentlemanly sort ofrobber, kin to the hold-up man who returns the railroad tickets of thepassengers and refuses to rob the ladies. This railroad situation hadseemed to deny the relationship between the banker and the Company, andnow came Worth's advice: "Tell Greenfield that he had better see mehimself." It was no wonder that the members of the committee looked ateach other startled and bewildered. Was it, after all, a fight betweenthe members of the band over the division of the spoils? It was toodeep for the committee. They could feel dimly that mighty forces werestirring beneath the surface, but they could not fathom what it was allabout. One thing was clear: the one thing that is always clear whencapital speaks to business men of their class--they must obey.

  "What shall we report to the crowd?" they asked as they arose to go.

  "I figured that you would tell them what I have told you," came theanswer.

  The crowd, when the committee briefly reported their interview, were aspuzzled as the members of the committee, and questioned and discussed,affirmed and denied until Pat said to his companions on the porch thatit sounded like "a flock av domned bumble bees."

  When the president of The King's Basin Land and Irrigation Company, whodared not refuse the request of the committee, stood before JeffersonWorth, the man behind the gray mask forced him to speak first.

  "I understand you wished to see me about this railroad matter, Mr.Worth."

  "I told the committee that you had better see me," came the answerwithout a trace of emotion in the colorless voice.

  "Well, I am here; what do you want?"

  "I want a new contract from your Company binding you to build yourCentral Main Canal on the line of the original survey, bringing it to apoint within four hundred yards of the west line of the South CentralDistrict where the San Felipe trail crosses Dry River, and agreeing todeliver into my power canal without charge a flow of three hundredsecond feet of water, as in the old contract; and in addition theexclusive power rights in all of the Company's canals in the Basin."

  "If I give you this contract you will build the railroad into Kingston?"

  "When you change the line of your canal back to the original route Iwill change the line of my road."

  "Suppose I refuse?"

  "My railroad will not come into Kingston and I will explain to thecrowd out there the reason. You have worked up a pretty strong publicfeeling against me, Mr. Greenfield. Now make good or stand in my placeand take the consequences."

  James Greenfield was not slow to grasp the point. A simple explanationof the situation from Jefferson Worth with the old contract to back itup would turn the wrath of the people against the Company president.Rising, he said with an oath: "You win, Mr. Worth. I'll have thecontract ready for your signature in the morning. Now what will we dowith that mob out there?"

  "It is your mob, Mr. Greenfield," answered Jefferson Worth.

  A few minutes later from the front porch of the Worth cottage, withTexas Joe on his right hand and Pat on his left, Horace P. Blantonannounced: "Our committee will report at the opera house in half anhour."

  The committee reported that Kingston was saved and the orator of theday made another speech so far eclipsing all his former efforts thatthe cheering citizens were evenly divided as to whether it was JamesGreenfield, Jefferson Worth or Horace P. Blanton who saved it.

  "Well, boys," remarked one of the men from the South Central Districtas the little party of horsemen set out for the long ride home, "onething is sure. Those Kingston fellows have got the railroad, but westill have Jefferson Worth, an' I reckon that Jeff can build us arailroad any old time he gets ready."

  "That's right," returned another, "but what in hell do you suppose itwas all about? What's Jeff's game anyhow?"