“Nevada,” she cried imperiously and spoke rapidly in Indian. “It is not true that you are his cousin. He is the grandson of a man I loved in my youth. He is the grandson of Sergeant George King, who was the father of Peter. I have been ashamed that you should know the truth. Now I am not ashamed, for I know that stolen love is more noble than a lie. The father of Peter, him I loved. He was a soldier and he went away. He promised to return in one month. In three months he had not come, nor sent me word. I was angry and I let the man he hated think that I loved him and not my soldier man. Then I went away, for my heart was sad. I would not follow my soldier man. I was proud. After a long time--after more than a year had passed I returned to El Dorado and I brought my child, who was Peter. I sought for news of my soldier, but there was none. He had not come, he had not sent me word. So I went to the man I hated. I told him that Peter was his son, which was a lie. I was very proud. I thought that some day my soldier would return and would see how I laughed at him and loved another. But I did not love. And Peter was not the son of the man my soldier hated. Now the young man comes and loves, and I am old. Soon I go to my soldier man. It is not right that others should have sorrow because of my lie. “So now I speak what is true. I say that this young man is not of your blood. He is the grandson of the father of Peter, and Peter is his uncle. You are not his cousin. Now you will be his wife, and you will hate Anita for the sin of her youth.” Nevada lay listening, gazing fixedly at her grandmother. She caught the gnarled old hand of Anita in both her own. She fondled it, kissed it, laughed softly with tears in her laughter. “You will not hate Anita?” Tears spilled over the fat lids and trickled down the cheeks of the old squaw. Whatever Nevada said, she spoke in Indian, stealing a shy glance now and then at Rawley. But her voice crooned caresses. Now and then she kissed the old hand she held in both her own. Anita tucked in her bangs, drew two fingers across her cheeks to dry her tears and smiled. She turned heavily toward Rawley. “My girl say, loves you more--I love your grandfadder. My girl make you good wife.” “Hush, Grandmother! He doesn’t want a fighting squaw--” “Don’t, eh?” Rawley got up and made for her. At that moment Peter walked in upon them, unconscious of the fact that he was interrupting a very interesting conversation. Peter’s face was grave. “Nevada, do you and mother know anything about Young Jess? Gladys is all upset over him. She thought he was down in the river with his father. She heard them talking about getting gold, and then the dam went, and she hasn’t seen him since. If he’s hiding,” he added sternly, “he may as well come out and show himself. I think it can be fixed up. The Governor wants to ask him some questions.”