“I’ll go back some day!” whispered Adam, and the spoken words seemed the birth of a long-germinating idea. Picacho haunted him. It called him. It was the place that had given the gray color and life to his destiny. And suddenly into his memory flashed an image of Margarita. Poor, frail, dusky-eyed girl! She had been but the instrument of his doom. He held her guiltless--long ago he had forgiven her. But memory of her hurt. Had she not spoken so lightly of what he meant to hold sacred? “Ah, señor--so long ago and far away!” Faithless, mindless, soulless! Adam would never forget. Never a sight of a green _palo verde_ but a pang struck through his breast! At sunset the old chief came to Adam, somber and grave, but with dignity and kindness tempering the seriousness of his aspect. He spoke the language of his people. “White man, you are of the brood of the eagle. Your heart is the heart of an Indian. Take my daughter Oella as your wife.” Long had Adam feared this blow, and now it had fallen. He had tried to pay his debt, but it could not be paid. “No, chief, the white man cannot marry Oella. He has blood upon his hands--a price on his head. Some day--he might have to hang for his crime. He cannot be dishonest with the Indian girl who saved him.” Perhaps the chief had expected that reply, but his inscrutable face showed no feeling. He made one of his slow, impressive gestures--a wave of his hand, indicating great distance and time; and it meant that Adam was to go. Adam dropped his head. That decree was irrevocable and he knew it was just. While he packed for a long journey twilight stole down upon the Indian encampment. Adam knew, when he faced Oella in the shadow of the palms, that she had been told. Was this the Indian maiden who had been so shy, so strange? No, this seemed a woman of full, heaving breast, whose strong, dark face grew strained, whose magnificent eyes, level and piercing, searched his soul. How blind he had been! All about her seemed eloquent of woman’s love. His heart beat with quick, heavy throbs. “Oella, your father has ordered me away,” said Adam. “I am an outcast. I am hunted. If I made you my wife it might be to your shame and sorrow.” “Stay. Oella is not afraid. We will hide in the canyons,” she said. “No. I have sinned. I have blood on my hands. But, Oella, I am not dishonorable. I will not cheat you.” “Take me,” she cried, and the soft, deep-toned, passionate voice shook Adam’s heart. She would share his wanderings. “Good-by, Oella,” he said, huskily. And he strode forth to drive his burro out into the lonely, melancholy desert night. CHAPTER XII The second meeting between Adam and the prospector Dismukes occurred at Tecopah, a mining camp in the Mohave Desert. The mining camp lay in a picturesque valley where green and gray growths marked the course of the gravel-lined creek, and sandy benches spread out to dark, rocky slopes, like lava, that heaved away in the bleak ranges.