The Winning of Barbara Worth

by Harold Bell Wright

  CHAPTER XXXII.

  BARBARA MINISTERS TO THE WOUNDED.

  Willard Holmes, after a few hours of refreshing sleep and a goodbreakfast prepared and served by his hostess with her own hands,announced himself as well as ever.

  "But you need some fixing just the same," declared Barbara as theIndian woman entered the room carrying warm water, towels and bandages.While the young woman bent over the engineer and with firm, deftfingers removed the wrappings from his shoulder, carefully cleansed thewound and applied fresh dressing and clean bandages, he watched herface, so near his own, and wondered that he had ever thought her plain.Her skin, warmly browned by desert sun and air, was fresh and glowingwith the abundance of the rich red life in her veins; her brown hair,soft and wavy, tempted him to reach up his free hand and put back arebellious lock. He moved slightly and the brown eyes, full of womanlypity, met his.

  "Does it hurt?"

  He smiled and shook his head. "Not at all. In fact I think I ratherenjoy it."

  Her cheeks turned a deeper red and he felt her fingers tremble as shewent on with her task.

  "If you laugh at me I shall turn you over to Ynez," she threatened, atwhich he promised so pitifully to be good that she smiled and hestirred again impatiently.

  "I _am_ hurting you!" she cried. "I'm so sorry, but I'm almostthrough--There now." She finished with a last touch and, straightening,put back herself that rebellious lock of hair.

  As she stood before him beautifully strong and pure and fresh and cleanin mind and heart and body, her sweet personality, the spirit of hercomplete womanhood swept to him--appealing, calling, exhilarating,invigorating, strengthening, as he had often felt the early air of thesun-filled morning sweeping over mountain and mesa and desert plain.

  The man drew a long deep breath.

  "Tired?" she asked softly, looking down upon him with almost a mother'slook in her eyes.

  "Heavens, no!" he exclaimed, his voice ringing out strongly. "I feel asthough I had been made over, re-created."

  She laughed gladly.

  "Do you know," he asked earnestly, "how wonderful you are?"

  "Nonsense!" she retorted. "You are growing delirious. You must bequiet. I'm going to leave you alone for a little while now and you mustsleep."

  She followed the Indian woman from the room and he heard her voicespeaking in soft musical Spanish as they went.

  An hour later Barbara, moving quietly toward his room to see if he wasasleep or wanted anything, found him fully dressed in a big easy chairin the living room.

  "Oh!" she exclaimed, in joyful surprise. "What are you doing out here?I thought I told you to sleep."

  "Your orders were inconsistent," he returned lazily. "You can't cure apatient and still continue treating him as if he were an invalid. Idon't need sleep. I need--Bring your chair and sit over here and let metell you what I need," he finished.

  She did not answer, but going to his room returned with a pillow, whichshe arranged deftly behind his head; then, kneeling, adjusted the footrest of the reclining chair. "There; isn't that better?"

  "Bring your chair," he insisted.

  Again she left the room, returning this time with a bit of old softmuslin. Drawing her easy chair to a position facing him she seatedherself and began converting the material in her hands into bandages."The men will be here with Abe any time now," she explained. "I haveeverything ready except these."

  For a little while he watched her in silence as she tore the whitecloth into long strips and rolled them neatly.

  "Don't you care to know what it is that I need?" he asked at last.

  She bent her head over her work and answered softly: "Whenever you areready to tell me."

  "Before I can tell you I must know something."

  Carefully she rolled another white strip, her eyes on her task. "Whatmust you know?"

  "That you have forgiven me."

  The color rushed into her cheeks as she answered: "Don't you know that?"

  "But I must hear you say it so that we can start square again; don'tyou see?"

  "I suppose that we will be always starting over again, won't we?" Thenas she saw his face she added quickly: "I mean--I--I was thinking ofthe Company--and--father's work."

  "But you forgive me this time?" he insisted.

  "Yes; I forgive you, and I am glad--so glad that I can."

  "And we are square again?"

  "Yes; we are square again--until next time." She added the words sadly.

  "But there will be no next time."

  She shook her head with a doubtful smile. "The Company will make a'next time.'"

  He laughed aloud with a sudden sense of freedom that was new to him."But you do not know," he said, "and I would not tell you until we weresquare again. I am not with the Company now."

  She dropped her roll of bandages and looked at him. "Not with theCompany? When did you resign?"

  "I didn't resign. They discharged me."

  "Discharged you?"

  "Yes; disgraceful, isn't it? I felt pretty bad at first; then I came totake it as a compliment; and now--now I am glad!"

  Then he told her why Greenfield had sent for him; how he had met theSeer; and how he had advised Cartwright to supply the money her fatherneeded.

  "And you--you did--that, knowing it would cost you your position?" sheexclaimed. "Oh, I _am_ glad! That was fine; that was big--worthy yourancestors!" In her interest she was leaning towards him with flushedcheeks and bright eyes, and her voice was triumphant as if in somesubtle way she was vindicated through his victory. The engineer felther attitude and knew that she was right. It _was_ her victory.

  "Barbara," he said, holding out his hand; "Barbara, may I tell you nowwhat it is that I need?"

  Before she could answer they heard a team and wagon coming into theyard beside the house. Barbara sprang to her feet. "It is the men withAbe!" she exclaimed, and ran out of the room on to the porch.

  From where he lay in his chair, the engineer saw through the open doorPablo and Pat coming up the steps of the porch carrying the surveyor onthe canvas cot, and Barbara with mute, frightened face watching. Thetwo men with their burden entered the room, followed by the youngwoman, and carefully lowered the cot to the floor. The long form of thesurveyor lay motionless, his eyes closed.

  With a low cry Barbara threw herself on her knees beside the cot. Withone arm across the still form of the only brother she knew, and theother pushing back the rough hair from his forehead, she bent over,looking appealingly into the thin rugged face--her own face alight withloving anxiety.

  "Abe! Abe! Abe!" she called softly; then again: "Abe! See dear; it'sBarbara."

  As if only that voice had power to call him back, the man's eyesopened, a slow smile spread over his unshaven, dust-stained features,and his voice expressed glad surprise. "Why, hello, Barbara!"

  Willard Holmes, who had half risen from his chair and was leaningforward watching them with burning interest, sank back with a groan andcovered his face with his hands. But they did not see.

  Still kneeling Barbara took a glass from Ynez and turned again to theinjured surveyor. "Here, Abe; drink this."

  The Irishman lifted him in his huge arms and he obeyed. Then as he laylooking up into Barbara's face, again that slow smile came and he said:"Well, little girl; Holmes made it, didn't he? That buckskin horse ofTex's is all right, and Holmes--Holmes is a man! He sure made good! Howis he?"

  Holmes rose dizzily and came forward. "I'm all right, old man, and sowill you be when Miss Worth has had a chance at you."

  Quickly the surveyor glanced from the engineer's face to that of theyoung woman, whose brown eyes still regarded him with lovingsolicitude. "I reckon you're right," he said slowly.

  Then Barbara directed them to carry him into the room she had prepared,while Willard Holmes returned to his chair to lie with closed eyes,suffering a deeper pain than the pain in his shoulder.

  When his wound had been dressed and he had eaten the tempting mealBarbara brought, Abe fell
asleep. But the young woman would not leavehim for long, so that Holmes saw very little of her all the rest of theday. Occasionally she would run into the room where the engineer lay toask if he needed anything, but only for a moment. Sometimes, seeing himso still, she thought that he was asleep and withdrew softly withoutspeaking; but he always knew.

  The next morning Holmes was just established in the big reclining chairin the living room when a peremptory knock called Barbara to the frontdoor. It was James Greenfield.

  The president of The King's Basin Land and Irrigation Company wasgreatly agitated and he scarcely noticed the young woman as he greetedthe engineer with affectionate regard that was genuine; explaining howhe had returned to Kingston the night before and, learning of Holmes'sinjury that morning, had hurried to him at once. "But I can'tunderstand," he exclaimed half angrily, "how _you_ ever came to bemixed up in this affair. When I missed you from the hotel I supposed ofcourse that you had taken the train back to Kingston and came onexpecting to find you there. What on earth possessed you to go off onthis wild ride over the mountains with that man Lee? You might havebeen killed, and I--I--" He could not put into words the horrid thoughtthat was in his mind--how, had the Mexican's bullet gone true, hehimself would have been responsible for the death of the man he lovedas his own son.

  Holmes--understanding the man's thought--was touched by thecapitalist's unusual agitation, and for the moment did not attempt toreply. Then with an attempt at lightness he said: "Oh, well; it's allcoming out right, Uncle Jim, Thanks to Miss Worth's care I am nearlywell now. The wound really didn't amount to much."

  As he spoke he looked at Barbara, and the older man also turned quicklytoward the young woman who, at the engineer's words, was blushing rosyred.

  "Father and I owe Mr. Holmes a debt we can never pay," she saidquietly. Then, excusing herself on the plea that her other patientneeded her, she left the room.

  When the two men had watched her go, Greenfield said gently: "This is abad business, Willard; a damned bad business; I'll admit that I wasangry when you turned against us in that Cartwright deal, but confoundit, boy! I admire you for it just the same. Your father would have donejust as you did. It was that finer kind of honesty that made him afailure in the business where the rest of us made fortunes, but we allloved him for it, and your mother--" he looked away through the windowtoward the distant mountains. "You understand, don't you Willard, thatI was forced to let you go when you turned the Company down? Mydirectors would never stand for anything else, you know. You don't feelhard toward me, lad, because I had to let you out?"

  "Certainly not, Uncle Jim. I was hurt just at first, but when I hadtaken time to think it over I did not blame you."

  "You are sure, Willard?"

  "Sure, Uncle Jim."

  The older man was studying the engineer's face intently. "I don't knowwhat it is, Willard, but something has changed you since you came intothis country. You know, my boy, that I have no one in the world butyou. All that I have will be yours. I have dreamed and planned for youas for my own flesh and blood. I am telling you this now because I havefelt that something was taking you away from me. Something that Icannot understand has come between us. I felt it the moment I met youin Kingston and it has been growing ever since. It was that that mademe so angry over the Cartwright business. You know how I hate the West;you know what it cost me years ago. I feel now that in some way I amlosing you too. What is it, Willard, that has come between us? Let'sclean it up and get back in our relations to where we were before weleft home."

  As James Greenfield made his appeal the engineer's eyes turnedinvoluntarily toward the door through which Barbara had left the room.And when he did not answer immediately the older man was sure that heunderstood what it was that had come between himself and the son of thewoman he loved, and why Holmes had used his influence in behalf ofJefferson Worth.

  "Is it that girl, Willard?"

  The younger man faced him squarely and his answer meant much more tothe engineer himself than he could have explained to Greenfield. "Yessir, it is this girl."

  "You love her?"

  "As my father must have loved my mother."

  At the simple words Greenfield controlled himself, but his hatred forJefferson Worth was very bitter. That he should fail to win in thebusiness warfare with the western man was nothing, but thatWorth--through his daughter--should rob him of the son that was morethan a son to him was more than he could bear.

  "But, my dear boy," he said; "think what this means! Think of yourfamily--of your father and mother--of your friends and your future backhome. Who are these people? They are nobodies. This man Worth is anignorant, illiterate, common boor with no breeding, noeducation--nothing but a certain native cunning that has enabled him tomake a little money. We have nothing in common with his class."

  "Mr. Worth is an honest, honorable man who is doing a great work,"answered Holmes stoutly; "and his daughter is--Uncle Jim, she is themost wonderful woman I ever knew!"

  As Willard Holmes spoke, Barbara, coming from the kitchen into thedining room, could not help hearing the words that came through thepartly opened door of the living room where the men were talking.Involuntarily at the sound of the engineer's voice the red blood creptinto the young woman's face and her eyes shone with pleasure. The nextmoment Greenfield's voice held her motionless.

  "But don't you know that she is not Worth's daughter?"

  "Not his daughter?" exclaimed Holmes.

  "No, not his daughter. She is a nameless waif whom he picked up andadopted. No one knows her parentage--not even her name. She may evenhave Mexican or Indian blood in her veins for all that anyone knows."

  It was not strange that Willard Holmes had never heard the story of howBarbara was found in the desert. In the new country, where most of theengineer's life in the West had been spent, comparatively few beyondWorth's most intimate associates knew that she was the banker'sdaughter only by adoption. Greenfield, who had learned the story whileinquiring for business reasons into the history of his competitor, toldthe young man briefly of the finding of the unknown child.

  "Don't you see, my boy," finished the financier, "how impossible it isthat you should give your name--one of the oldest and best in thehistory of the country--to a nameless woman of unknown breeding, whoseconnection with this man Worth even is merely accidental? It would ruinyou, Willard. Think of your friends back home! How would they receiveher? Think of me--of my plans for you! I--I should feel that I had beenfalse to your mother, Willard, who gave you to me on her death-bed, ifI permitted such a thing as this. It's--it's monstrous!"

  Slowly the engineer raised his head and with a smile on his white facethat hurt the older man, he said: "I can at least relieve your mind onthat score, Uncle Jim. You need not fear that I will marry Miss Worth."

  At his words from beyond that partly closed door, Barbara made her wayblindly to her own room and, throwing herself face downward on hercouch, strove with clenched hands and throbbing veins to keep her selfcontrol. She must not--she must not let them know, she whispered toherself--moaning in pain. She must go to them again in a moment--andthey must not know.

  While the woman whom Willard Holmes loved fought for strength to hideher pain, James Greenfield, in the other room, was leaning eagerlytoward the engineer. "She has refused you?"

  "I have not asked her. But don't misunderstand me. What you have toldme--what my friends at home might think or do--could make nodifference. Barbara Worth is worthy any man's love; and I love her andwould make her my wife. I would give up even you for her, Uncle Jim.It's not that. It's because I know that she loves someone else too wellto listen to me."