“I can see, I can see. I am not sure I shall let you kiss me any more. You didn’t offer to when you came this morning—and that shows you men perceive things more quickly than we can. But don’t go yet. You can lead your horse. His legs will come to no harm, eased of your weight. I should have been lonely to-day, and you have made it pass so quickly. You have talked so much that my peppers are not half spread.”
“We could finish them in five minutes together,” said the youth, taking a step.
“Two up here among all these peppers! Oh no, Luis. We should tread on them, and our ankles would burn all night. If you want to help me, go bring some fresh water. The barrel is almost empty.”
But Luis stood ardently gazing up at the roof.
“Very well, then,” said Lolita. “If you like this better, finish the peppers, and I’ll go for the water.”
“Why do you look down the trail so often?” said the baffled love-maker, petulantly.
“Because Uncle Ramon said the American would be coming to-day,” the girl replied, softly.
“Was it Uncle Ramon said that? He told you that?”
“Why not?” She shaded her eyes, and looked where the cañon’s widening slit gave view of a slant of sand merging fan-spread into a changeless waste of plain. Many watercourses, crooked and straight, came out of the gaps, creasing the sudden Sierra, descending to the flat through bushes and leaning margin trees; but in these empty shapes not a rill tinkled to refresh the silence, nor did a drop slide over the glaring rocks, or even dampen the heated, cheating sand. Lolita strained her gaze at the dry distance, and stooped again to her harvest.
“What does he come here for?” demanded Luis.