“I not say now. When I say I be sure I say truth.”
“All right, then I be sad till yoh lov' me. Yoh maybe be happy, yoh know Ramon's got heavy heart for yoh.”
“I plenty sorry, you be sad for me,” she confessed demurely. “I lov' yoh so moch! I think nothing but how beautiful my sweetheart is. I not tease yoh no more. Tell me, how long Luck says he stay out here? Maybe yoh hear sometimes he's going for taking pictures in town?”
“I not hear.”
“Going home, maybe? You mus' hear little bit. Yoh tell me, sweetheart; what's he gone do when roundup's all finish? Me, I know she's finish las' week. Looks like he's taking pictures out here all summer! You hear him say something, maybe?”
“I not hear.”
“Them vaqueros—bah! They don't bear nothings either. What's matter over there, nobody hear nothing? Luck, he got no tongue when camera's shut up, perhaps?”
“Nah—I dunno.”
Ramon looked at her for a minute in mute rage. It was not the first time he had found himself hard against the immutable reticence of the Indian in her nature.
“Why you snapping teeth like a wolf?” she asked him slyly.