“Come, Señorita Rojas,” exclaimed Watson suddenly, feeling the need perhaps of dispelling the seductive influence of the evening, “Come! It will soon be dark, and your ranch is a good distance from here.”
The girl laughed at the suggestion of there being any danger for her in that, but at last she bade her friend good-by and set her horse at a gallop.
Richard started back to the camp. He went down a rough road that passed for the main thoroughfare of the town, although there were many others of as great a width, the government at Buenos Aires having decreed that all the towns springing up in the desert should allow their streets a minimum width of twenty yards. No one could tell how soon they might become cities! Meanwhile, the low buildings of a single storey were separated from those opposite by a space swept by the icy winds that whirled great columns of dust through them. At times the sun baked the soil, and from its cracks, whenever a passer-by disturbed them, arose swarms of buzzing flies; and then again, the puddles formed in the clay by the infrequent but ferocious downpours made it necessary for the inhabitants to walk through water up to their knees if they wished to call on a neighbor living opposite.
As Watson went along between the two rows of buildings he met all the principal personages of the camp. First to cross his path was the señor de Canterac, formerly a captain in the French artillery, who, according to the statements of many who called themselves his friends, had, because of certain private enterprises, been forced to flee his country. At present he was employed as engineer by the Argentine government; and it always fell to his lot to work on the difficult jobs that the other engineers took good care to avoid. But de Canterac, being a foreigner, had to take what the native sons refused.
He was a man of forty odd, inclined to stoutness, his hair and mustache turning white. Yet he preserved a certain youthfulness of appearance. As though still wearing the uniform, he walked with military bearing, and in spite of his surroundings, paid considerable attention to the elegance of his attire.
Watson caught sight of him coming down the street on horseback, wearing a handsome riding suit, and a white helmet. The Frenchman greeted the engineer, and dismounting, walked along beside him, leading his horse by the reins, while he looked at some of the young American’s drawings.
“And when do you expect Robledo?” he inquired.
“He’ll be getting here at any time now. He has probably already landed at Buenos Aires. Some friends are coming along with him, it seems.”
They had reached the small frame house where the Frenchman lodged. Tossing his horse’s reins with military abruptness to the mulatto servant, de Canterac turned to Richard.
“In six weeks’ time, my friend, the first dam will be finished, and you and Robledo will be able to irrigate a part of your property right away.”