Adam’s burros had grown gray in their years of idle, contented life at the oasis. Like the road runners, they enjoyed the proximity of camp; and he found them shaggy and fat, half asleep while they grazed. He drove them back to the shade of the cottonwoods, where Genie, seeing this last and immutable proof of forthcoming departure, began to dance over the sand in wild glee. “Genie, you’ll do well to save some of your nimbleness,” admonished Adam. “We’ll have a load. You’ve got to climb the mountain and walk till I can buy another burro.” “Oh, Wanny, I’ll fly!” she cried. “Humph! I rather think you will fly the very first time a young fellow sees you--a big girl in those ragged boy’s clothes.” Then Adam thrilled anew with the sweetness, the wonder of her. His cold heart warmed to the core. How he would live in the hope and happiness and love that surely must be awaiting this girl! His mention of a young fellow suddenly rendered Genie amazed, shy, bewildered. “But--but--Wanny--you--you won’t let any yo-young fellow see me _this_ way!” she pleaded. “How can I help it? You just wouldn’t sew and make dresses. Now you’re in for it. We’ll meet a lot of lads.... And, Genie, just the other day you didn’t care how _I_ saw you.” “Oh, but you’re different! You’re my dad, my brother, old Taquitch, and everything.” “Thank you. That makes me feel a little better.” Suddenly she turned her dark eyes upon him, piercing now and dilating with thought. “Wanny! Are you _sorry_ to leave?” “Yes,” he replied, sadly. “Then I’ll stay, if you want me--ever--always,” she said, very low. The golden flush paled on her cheek. She was a child, yet on the verge of womanhood. “Genie, I’m sorry, but I’m glad, too. What I want most is to see you settled in a happy home, with a guardian, young friends about you--all you want.” She appeared sober now, and Adam gathered that she had thought more seriously than he had given her credit for. “Wanny, you’re good, and your goodness makes you see all that for me. But a guardian--a happy home--all I want!... I’ll be poor. I’ll have to work for a living. I won’t have _you_!” Then suddenly she seemed about to weep. Her beautiful eyes dimmed. But Adam startled her out of her weakness. “Poor! Well, Genie Linwood, you’ve got a surprise in store for you.” Wherewith he led her to the door of the hut and, tearing up the old wagon boards that had served as a floor, he dug in the sand underneath and dragged forth bag after bag, which he dropped at her feet with sodden, heavy thumps. “Gold, Genie! Gold! Yours!... You’ll be rich.... All this was dug by your father. I don’t know how much, but it’s a fortune.... Now what do you say?” The rapture Adam had anticipated did not manifest itself. Genie seemed glad, certainly, but the significance of the gold did not really strike her. “And you never told me!... Well, by the great horn spoon, I’m rich!... Wanny, will _you_ be my guardian?”