Manifestly, Virey had been speaking without weighing words and looking at Adam without really seeing him. The brooding shade passed out of his eyes, and in its place grew a light of interest that leaped to the crystal-cold clearness of a lens.
“You’re a prospector,” he asserted.
“No. I pan a little gold dust once in a while for fun, because I happen across it.”
“You’re no miner, then—nor hunter, nor teamster.”
“I’ve been a little of all you name, but I can’t be called any one of them.”
“You might be one of the robbers that infest these hills.”
“I might be, only I’m not,” declared Adam, dryly. The fire in his depths stirred restlessly, but he kept a cool, smothering control over it. He felt disposed to be lenient and kind toward this unfortunate man. If only the woman had not stood there with that half-veiled mocking shadow of doubt in her eyes!
“You’re an educated man!” ejaculated Virey, incredulously.
“I might claim to be specially educated in the ways of the desert.”
“And the ways of women, are they mysteries to you?” queried Virey, with scorn. His interrogation seemed like a bitter doubt flung out of an immeasurable depth of passion.