Young Jess and Old Jess exchanged sidelong glances. Young Jess turned his head away from the group and spat out a quid of tobacco on to the porch floor, whereat Nevada frowned her disgust.
“Yeah—we know all about him doin’ it fer you,” he leered. He eyed the two through half-closed lids. “You played it slick, but not slick enough. When yuh thought up a name fer him, Pete, you’d oughta stuck to it, ’stid of changin’ your mind first day he was here. Gladys knows. He told Nevada one name, an’ you come along and changed it on him.
“Look at ’im, Dad! D’ yuh ever see father an’ son look more alike in your life? By—, you can’t make a fool outa me, Pete, nor outa Gladys. Why don’t yuh own up? We know you’re his daddy. You can’t claim to me an’ Gladys you never throwed in with no woman! Not with that face, right there, callin’ you a liar!”
Nevada started, and Peter’s arm around her tightened restrainingly. She did not speak, although her lips parted in astonishment. She looked at Rawley and met his eyes fixed upon her questioningly. Nevada flushed and turned away her face, hiding it against Peter’s cheek.
“Why didn’t you tell me, Uncle Peter?” she whispered chidingly. “You could have trusted me—you know you could.”
Peter’s arm tightened again. His face was turned toward the Cramers. His lips were drawn up a bit at the corners in a smile, but his eyes were hard.
“Well, and what of it?” he asked calmly. “Suppose he is my son—what then?”
Young Jess was prying off a fresh chew of tobacco from a half-plug that filled his palm.
“Nothin’, I guess. Only I want yuh to know we’re wise to you. You mighta come out with it, ’stid of lyin’ and beatin’ about the bush, that’s all. Any fool can see you two’re close related. I seen it first thing, and so did Gladys.”
“Is it anybody’s business, besides his and mine?” Peter’s voice was still calm, though it boded ill for Young Jess if he did not watch his tongue.
“Can’t say as it is,” Young Jess admitted. “Mebby his mother might think it was her business—whoever she is.”
“Leave my mother out of this,” Rawley cried hotly. “She’s not—”
“Aw, what the hell do I care?” Young Jess rose and hitched up his sagging breeches. “Yuh can’t fool me—that’s all. And I will say I ain’t afraid to have yuh go ahead and look the works over. My own nephew wouldn’t double-cross his paw’s family, I guess.”
He left them, turning his head once to grin knowingly over his shoulder. Old Jess mumbled a general curse on all family ties, or anything that would interfere with his getting the gold out of the river, and followed. Ten steps away he saw what he believed to be a joke and went off cackling, “Pete’s own son! he-he!”
Nevada shivered and pulled herself free from her Uncle Peter’s arms. Her lips were pressed rather firmly together, and she avoided looking at either of the men.
“Well, you were the first to notice the likeness, Nevada,” Peter reminded her banteringly.
“And you were the first to—no, my cousin was the first to lie to me about it!” Her voice was coldly disapproving. “I’m very sorry—I did think that I was worthy your full confidence, Uncle Peter. It seems that I have been mistaken all along. You have only pretended to trust me, and all these years—though that in itself doesn’t so much matter, since there may have been good reason for keeping the secret, even from me. But when my—cousin came here, you must have known immediately who he was, Uncle Peter. It is that which hurts. You pretended to me that you never had seen him before, and that you were not quite willing that he should stay. And he—oh, I hate you both!”
Her voice broke quite unexpectedly. She gave an impatient, spurning gesture and fled.
Peter got out the solacing “makings” of a cigarette. He glanced at Rawley queerly and gave a cynical smile.
“Talk about the beautiful faith of your own people,” he remarked philosophically. “Here’s a sample for you. Even Nevada believes right away that I have lived a double life.”
“It makes it damned awkward—this resemblance,” Rawley muttered ruefully. “Young Jess ought to have his block knocked off.”
“Dynamite wouldn’t feaze Young Jess,” Peter declared. “He and Gladys have cooked this up between them. ’Twouldn’t have done any good to deny it, son. They wouldn’t believe it unless it suited them. And if I convinced them, they’d want to know more than ever why we look so much alike. Poor old mother—I was thinking of her. I hope you don’t mind?”
“Not in the way you mean,” Rawley assured him discontentedly. “I only wish you were my father. That is, I would if— I hate to have Nevada feel that we both lied to her,” he blurted helplessly.
For once, Uncle Peter was dense. He laughed quietly to himself.
“Oh, she’ll get over that,” he declared easily. “That’s the drop of Spanish blood. Don’t you worry about that, boy. On the whole, I’m rather relieved. I’ve caught Young Jess eyeing you; Old Jess, too, and even Gladys noticed, I think. I was waiting for one of them to mention the resemblance between us. I was braced for it. I meant to laugh it off, as just their imagination. This way, they think they have it all accounted for. It does save a good deal of dangerous speculation. I’m not guessing. I know that Old Jess used to take spells of jealousy. Anita—mother—has always been afraid of him. When I was just a kid, I threw up his gun when it was pointed at her heart, and the quarrel was over your—over my father. Something had brought up the subject, some chance remark. The Spanish in her flamed up, and she told him that she loved King. Then he pulled the gun. He may have been drunk—I don’t remember that part.
“So you see, son, I know why she’s in deadly fear of having him find it out. And there are other reasons why none of them must know. While he and Young Jess think I’m a Cramer, they will listen to me. I can keep things straight here. If they knew the truth, I’d probably have to leave.” He lighted the cigarette, and Rawley watched his face revealed for a moment by the flare of the match.
“Boy,” he went on, turning toward Rawley, “I’ve got to stay. I’ve grown up, I’ve spent my whole life dreaming of the dam. It isn’t what we’ll get out of it, altogether, though it’s human and natural to want the gold, too. It’s the dam. I’ve planned and worked for it so long. I’ve got to see it go through.”
He smoked and meditated for awhile, staring down at the river, always slipping past him, always in a hurry to meet the tides; to mingle its mountain water with the salt of the ocean.
“I saw two men drown out there, once.” He waved a hand toward the river. “I’d like to stop it running, just to show it who’s master here.” Another silence, and then he looked at Rawley. “You don’t mind being thought my son?” There was a wistfulness in his tone. “If I thought you minded—”
Rawley shook himself out of his mood. He leaned forward and forced himself to smile at Peter.
“I don’t mind, at all,” he lied. “I hate to have Nevada think that I deliberately lied to her because I was ashamed of any such relationship. I—want to keep her confidence and respect—”
Strange words for the leaden depression that had come over him at her anger, but he was fairly sincere in their employment. He believed—because he was forcing himself to believe—that he merely liked Nevada very much, and admired her, and was anxious to preserve the friendly relations into which they had drifted. It amused him to be called “Fifth Cousin” in that whimsical tone she used for the term. He thrilled a little whenever she reminded him thus of the make-believe relationship. To be called her cousin was somehow quite different. There was a chill in the word,—and any young man would rather be thrilled than chilled by a girl as beautiful, mentally and physically, as was Nevada.
“I’ll tell her you didn’t know you were my son,” Peter was calmly planning aloud. “She’ll believe it, if I tell her so. I have never lied to Nevada in my life. She’ll believe whatever I tell her about this affair. She’s bound to.” He chuckled under his breath, still blinded by his relief at the attitude his family had taken. “A reputation for honesty comes in handy, sometimes!”
“You don’t think, then, that it would be wise to tell Nevada the straight of it?” In spite of himself, Rawley spoke constrainedly. He wanted to appear nonchalant, even amused, but he knew that he was betraying himself to any man who chanced to observe him.
“I don’t. The truth is not our secret, boy. It belongs to a silent, sad old woman who never speaks what’s in her heart and so is not considered as having any feelings. Do you think the taint of Indian relations will do you the slightest harm? Tell me honestly.”
“No. I’m young, but I have made a certain name for myself for all that. I have the name of never having been bought and never leaving a job until I have the correct data. My clients have never yet inquired into my personal affairs. They never will. They know I’m an American; that’s about all that counts, these days, so far as your blood ties go.”
“There isn’t one chance in fifty that this will ever be known, even in this district. We keep to ourselves. The old man has made it plain, ever since I can remember, that he doesn’t want his neighbors to come around the place. If you inquire amongst the miners and prospectors, you will hear that we are a tough outfit and best let alone. It is believed, as I told you, that we’re just a bunch of breeds digging out a little gold—enough to support us. Dad’s a half-crazy squaw-man, and Young Jess is mighty unpopular. Whatever business must be taken care of outside, I attend to myself. Or Nevada sometimes does it for me. She never talks with people except when it’s necessary. Whenever she goes to Nelson, or to Las Vegas, my mother goes with her.
“Nevada would not mention the matter, in any case, but I must ask you not to tell her. Mother is almost uncanny at reading faces. She’d see at once that we had told the girl. She worships Nevada. It would break her heart if she saw that Nevada knew her secret. She’s afraid of Old Jess, but that’s partly because of what it would mean to the girl. She thinks Nevada would despise her for the sin of her youth. That’s the way she put it, and there’s this about an Indian: You can’t pry an idea out of their minds, once it’s firmly planted. Poor old mother broods over these things. She feels as if Nevada is her one hope of heaven, almost. To keep that girl pure and sweet is her religion. I promised her, by everything that she called sacred, that Nevada should never know; at least, not so long as her grandmother lives. So that’s why,” he finished gently, “I’m pleased at the turn it’s taken. I don’t mind anything they may hatch up about me, if it will protect poor old mother.”
Rawley felt humbled. He remembered how old Anita had spat her contempt of the gold that could not buy her the things she had loved,—and lost. In that gross, shapeless body, who could say how fine a soul might be hidden?
“It’s all right,” he said, after a minute. “I’ll have to warn Johnny Buffalo, and then I’ll adopt you for my dad, if you like. I can see how it simplifies matters here. But I’m afraid Nevada never will forgive—”
“Oh, she’ll be proud of her new cousin, once she recovers from the shock of not being told first thing,” Peter assured him gratefully. “I’m afraid I’ve spoiled that girl.”