"ADIOS. TELL BARBARA I'M ALL RIGHT."

WITHOUT A WORD--FOR NO WORD WAS NEEDED--THEIR HANDS MET IN A FIRM
GRIP.




The Winning of Barbara Worth




CHAPTER I.

INTO THE INFINITE LONG AGO.


Jefferson Worth's outfit of four mules and a big wagon pulled out of
San Felipe at daybreak, headed for Rubio City. From the swinging red
tassels on the bridles of the leaders to the galvanized iron water
bucket dangling from the tail of the reach back of the rear axle the
outfit wore an unmistakable air of prosperity. The wagon was loaded
only with a well-stocked "grub-box," the few necessary camp cooking
utensils, blankets and canvas tarpaulin, with rolled barley and
bales of hay for the team, and two water barrels--empty. Hanging by
its canvas strap from the spring of the driver's seat was a large,
cloth-covered canteen. Behind the driver there was another seat of
the same wide, comfortable type, but the man who held the reins was