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 he said,
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 the ground to stand dizzily holding on
to a wheel for support.
One of the men said sharply: “But where’s
Mr. Worth, Tex? What have you done with Jefferson
Worth an’ what you doin’ with a kid?”
Texas Joe gazed at the questioner steadily as if summoning
all his strength of will in an effort to think.
“Hello, Jack! Why—damned if
I know—he was with me a little while ago.”
The engineer, the banker, the Irishman and the boy
were lying unconscious on the bottom of the wagon.
Miss Barbara worth.
Mrs. Worth, sitting on the wide veranda of her home
after a lonely supper, lifted her eyes frequently
from the work in her lap to look down the street.
Perhaps it was unusual for a banker’s wife to
be darning her husband’s socks; it may be, even,
that bankers do not usually wear socks that have been
darned. But Mrs. Worth was not sensible that
her task was at all strange.
A group of dust-covered cow-boys, coming into town
for an evening’s pleasure, jogged past with
loud laughter and soft-clinking spurs and bridle-chains.
“There’s Jefferson Worth’s place,”
said one. “D’ye reckon he’ll
make good corralin’ all the money there is in
the world?”
Now and then a carriage, filled with well-to-do citizens
out for an evening ride, drove slowly by. The
people in the carriages always saluted Mrs. Worth
and she returned their salutations with a prim little
bow. But no one stopped to chat or to offer her
a seat. In this, also, there was nothing strange
to the woman on the porch of the big, empty house.
Sometimes the people in the carriages, entertaining
visiting friends, pointed to Jefferson Worth’s
house, with proper explanations, as they also called
attention to the Pioneer Bank—Jefferson
Worth’s bank.
When dusk came and she could no longer see, Mrs. Worth
laid aside her work and sat with folded hands, her
face turned down the street. Inside the house
the lights were not yet on; there was no need for
them and she liked to sit in the dark.
The Indian servant woman came softly to the door.
“Does the Senora wish anything?”
“No, thank you, Ynez; come and sit down.”
Noiselessly the woman seated herself on the top step.
“It has been warm to-day, Ynez.”
“Si, Senora.”
“It is nearly three weeks since Mr. Worth left
with Texas Joe for
San Felipe, Ynez.”
“Si, Senora.”
“Do you know how far it is across the Desert
to San Felipe?”
“Si. I think three—four day,
maybe five, Senora.”
