“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.”