"That's just what I'm going to do."
"You mustn't. I won't have it. Don't you see what my people will think, that because Pablo and Sebastian were loyal to me----"
His acrid smile cut her sentence in two. "That's about the third time you've mentioned their loyalty. Me, I don't see it. Sebastian owns land under the Valdés grant. He didn't want me to take it from him. Mr. Pablo Menendez--well, he had private reasons of his own, too."
The resentment flamed in her heart. If he was shameless enough to refer to the affair with Juanita she would let him know that she knew.
"What were his reasons, Mr. Gordon--that is, if they are not a private affair between you and him?"
"Not at all." The steel-blue eyes met hers, steadily. Dick was yielding to a desire to hurt himself as well as her, to defy her judgment if she had no better sense than to condemn him. "The idiot is jealous."
"Jealous--why?" The angry color beat its way to the surface above her cheek bones. Her disdain was regal.
"About Juanita."
"What about Juanita?"
"The usual thing, Miss Valdés. He was afraid she had the bad taste to prefer another man to himself."
Davis broke in. "Now, don't you be a goat, Dick. Miss Valdés, he----"
"If you please, Mr. Davis. I'm quite sure Mr. Gordon is able to defend himself," she replied scornfully.
"Didn't know I was defending myself. What's the charge against me?" asked the young miner with a touch of quiet insolence.
"There isn't any--if you don't see what it is. And you're quite right, Mr. Gordon. Your difficulties with Pablo are none of my business. You'll have to settle them yourselves--with Juanita's help. May I ask whether you received the registered letter I sent you, Mr. Gordon?"
Dick was angry. Her cool contempt told him that he had been condemned. He knew that he was acting like an irresponsible schoolboy, but he would not justify himself. She might think what she liked.
"Found it waiting for me this morning, Miss Valdés."
"It was very fair and generous of you to send me the letter, I recognize that fully. But of course I can't accept such a sacrifice," she told him stiffly.
"Not necessary you should. Object if I smoke here?"
Valencia was a little surprised. He had never before offered to smoke in the house except at her suggestion. "As you please, Mr. Gordon. Why should I object?"
From his coat pocket Dick took the letter Don Bartolomé had written to his son, and from his vest pocket a match. He twisted the envelope into a spill, lit one end, and found a cigarette. Very deliberately he puffed the cigarette to a glow, holding the letter in his fingers until it had burned to a black flake. This he dropped in the fireplace, and along with it the unsmoked cigarette.