“I was little,” she said complacently. “Ver’ beautiful. Every-body was--crazy--about--me.” She halted, choosing the best English words she knew. “I was--good girl. I love--nobody. I jus’ laugh all time--when them so’jers make the love. Then I see--Jawge--my Sah-geant King. He is king to me. Tall--big--strong--all time laughing--making love with blue eyes--like you--all time make love--with eyes--to Nevada. I know them eyes--I have lived--to look--in them eyes.” “I don’t do anything of the kind,” Rawley protested, confusion crimsoning his face. “I’ve always tried--” “Eyes like them eyes--no tell lies. Woman eyes see--things they tell. Jawge--he write more?” “Most of it was cut from the book. He called you ‘_el gusto de mi corazon_,’ and his ‘_dulce corazon_.’ Do you know--?” Beneath his palm Anita’s hand was trembling. She pulled it free and lifted it to her face, her withered fingers wiping the tears that were slipping down her wrinkled cheeks. Rawley could have bitten his tongue in two. Awkwardly he patted her on one huge, rounded shoulder. Like a lonesome dog, the old woman whimpered behind her brown palm, from beneath which a tear sometimes escaped and splashed upon her calico wrapper. Rawley sat silent, abashed before this forlorn grief over a romance fifty years dead. “Now I love Nevada, Peter.” She mastered her tears and became again impassive. “You leave me--Nevada? Lil time--I want Nevada. I die--then you can love--many years. You do that?” “Of course. I promised Peter, a long time ago. But it doesn’t matter, anyway. Nevada doesn’t care a rap about me.” The old woman looked at him stolidly. “You not tell Nevada--you not Peter’s boy,” she said. “Nevada think that. You not tell Nevada--that’s a lie. You tell Nevada, I kill myself.” “I’ve no intention of telling Nevada,” Rawley said, chilled by her manner. “It doesn’t matter, anyway.” “You not come--for Nevada? You not think, marry Nevada--take Nevada ’way off, I no see any more?” Anita peered into his face. “No. I came to see Peter. About the dam.” Anita took some time over this statement. Then she rose stiffly and hobbled away, leaving Rawley to stare morosely into the river. CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE THE EAGLE AND THE VULTURE “You may as well listen to me,” said Rawley in the incisive tone which big responsibilities had taught him. “I am your friend. My only object in coming here is to be of service to you. If you do not listen to what I have to say, you will have to listen to the Federal Reclamation Service, acting under the Secretary of the Interior. That may be more convincing to you--but believe me, it will be less pleasant!” “You were keen for the dam, last time you were here,” Peter reminded him drily. “You called it a big idea. You’ve had a change of heart, son.”