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.