"I don't know whether I remember it or if it's just what folks told me.
She had dark blue eyes and dark auburn hair. Luigi said she was
Italian."
"If she was, she was North Italian," mused the guide. "Did any one ever give you any hints about your father?"
A slow, painful red crept over Nucky's pale face. "I never asked but once. Maybe you can guess what Luigi said."
"If Luigi were in this part of the country," growled Allen, "I'd lead a lynching party to call on him." He paused, eying Nucky's boyish face closely, then he asked, "Did you love your mother?"
"I suppose I did. But Luigi kept at me so that now I hate her and all other women. Mrs. Seaton seemed kind of nice, but I suppose she is like the rest of 'em."
"Don't you think it! And did you know that Seaton thinks you were kidnapped?"
Nucky drew a quick breath and the guide went on, "I think so too. You never belonged to an Italian. I can't tell you just why I feel so certain. But I'd take my oath you are of New England stock. John Seaton is a first-class lawyer. As I said to you last night, if you show some decent spirit, he'd try to clear the matter up for you."
Nucky's blue eyes were as eager and as wistful as a little child's.
His thin, mobile lips quivered. "I never thought of such a thing,
Frank!"
"Well, you'd better think of it! Now then, you clean up these dishes for me while I attend to the stock. I want to be off in a half hour."
During the remainder of that very strenuous day, Nucky did not refer again to the matter so near his heart. He was quiet, but no longer sullen, and he was boyishly interested in the wonders of the Canyon. The sun was setting when they at last reached the rim. For an hour Nucky had not spoken. When Allen had turned in the saddle to look at the boy, Nucky had nodded and smiled, then returned to his absorbed watching of the lights and shadows in the Canyon.