“He doesn’t have to please them,” murmured the girl.
“Not directly. But the O. P. didn’t go into this forever! The road was the most deeply interested corporation with power. Marshall got Faraday to promise to put up the money. He promised to make it good with his own money if he couldn’t stop the river. I heard this on the inside! But he wanted it stopped his way. He wanted his own men in, men who would take his orders—” he pulled himself away from thin ice. “The O. P. did not expect to get in as they have. Now, they can’t get out! The work’s got to please the Service men, or it won’t be recommended to the government. That’s what’s tying Rickard up—that, and other things.”
It sounded new to her.
“And some of these fellows are yelling so, you can hear them in Washington.” She stole an amused look at him. How American he was!
They were back at the encampment. Slowly, they walked across the open space, which was glittering in the sun. Innes was acknowledging, silently, a headache. The trip, she said to herself, had depressed her.
When they reached the Hardin tents, she felt obliged to offer hospitality. “Won’t you come in, Mr. Estrada? My sister would love to make a cup of tea for you.” She knew her invitation lacked cordiality. Her temples were bursting. “It’s an eye headache,” she told herself. “I should have had my glasses.”
She tried to forget it as she thanked him for “her trip into Mexico,” and renewed her invitation to tea.
He said he had to go, but he lingered. He said good-by, and stayed. His look held hers for that instant, the look she could never fathom. Then he turned away. She watched him out of sight.
At table, that evening, her family heard with surprise Gerty’s announcement that they were to eat in the mess-tent with the men. It was too hot to cook any longer; this had been one of the hottest days in the year.
“Let me cook!” urged Innes. “It’s only fair. And I want to do something to justify my being here.” Her words recurred to Gerty later.