She packed her sketches and her paraphernalia with businesslike directness, careless of whether he did or did not see her water-colors. A movement of his hand stayed her as she took from, the easel the one upon which she had been engaged.
It represented the sun-drenched slope below them, with the little gulch dressed riotously in its gala best of yellows.
"You've got that fine," he told her enthusiastically.
She shook her head, unmoved by praise which did not approve itself to her judgment as merited.
"No, I didn't get it at all. A great artist might get the wonder of it; but I can't."
"It looks good to me," he said.
"Then I'm afraid you're not a judge," she smiled.
From where they stood a trail wound along the ridge and down into a valley beyond. At the farther edge of this, nestling close to the hills that took root there, lay the houses of a ranch.
"That is where I live," she told him.
He thought it a lovely spot, almost worthy of her, but obviously he could not tell her so. Instead, he voiced an alien thought that happened to intrude: "Do you know Señorita Valdés? But of course you must."
She flung a quick glance at him, questioning.
"Yes, I know her."
"She lives somewhere round here, too, does she not?"
Her arm swept round in a comprehensive gesture. "Over that way, too."
"Do you know her well?"
An odd smile dimpled her face.
"Sometimes I think I do, and then again I wonder."
"I have been told she is beautiful."
"Beauty is in the beholder's eyes, señor. Valencia Valdés is as Heaven made her."
"I have no doubt; but Heaven took more pains with some of us than others--it appears."
Again the dark eyes under the long lashes swept him from the curly head to the lean, muscular hands, and approved silently the truth of his observation. The clean lithe build of the man, muscles packed so that they rippled smoothly like those of a panther, appealed to her trained eyes. So, too, did the quiet, steady eyes in the bronzed face, holding as they did the look of competent alertness that had come from years of frontier life.
"You are interested in Miss Valdés?" she asked politely.
"In a way of speaking, I am. She is one of the reasons why I came here."
"Indeed! She would no doubt be charmed to know of your interest," still with polite detachment.
"My interest ain't exactly personal; then again it is," he contributed.
"A sort of an impersonal personal interest?"