Part 8 (1/2)
It followed then that she must be Valencia Valdes. There could be no doubt of it.
He watched her as she talked to old Antonio and gave the necessary directions. How radiant and happy she was in this life which had fallen to her; by inheritance! He vowed she should not be disinherited through any action of his. He owed her his life. At least, he could spare her this blow.
They drove home more silently than they had come. He was thinking over the best way to do what he was going to do. The evening before they had sat together in front of the fire in the living-room, while her old duenna had nodded in a big arm-chair. So they would sit to-night and to-morrow night.
He would send at once for the papers upon which his claim depended, and he would burn them before her eyes. After that they would be friends--and, in the end, much more than friends.
He was still dreaming his air-castle, when they drove through the gate that led to her home. In front of the porch a saddled bronco trailed its rein, and near by stood a young man in riding-breeches and spurs. He turned at the sound of wheels; and the man in the buggy saw that it was Manuel Pesquiera.
The Spaniard started when he recognized the other, and his eyes grew bright. He moved forward to a.s.sist the young woman in alighting; but, in spite of his bad knee, the Coloradoan was out of the rig and before him.
”_Buenos, amigo_” she nodded to Don Manuel, lightly releasing the hand of Muir.
”_Buenos, senorita_” returned that young man. ”I behold you are already acquaint' with Mr. Richard Gordon, whose arrival is to me very unexpect'.”
She seemed to grow tall before her guest's eyes; to stand in a kind of proud splendor that had eclipsed her girlish slimness. The dark eyes under the thick lashes looked long and searchingly at him.
”Mr. Richard Gordon? I understand this gentleman's name to be Muir,” she made voice gently.
d.i.c.k laughed with a touch of shame. Now once in his life he wished he could prove an alibi. For, under the calm judgment of that steady gaze, the thing he had done seemed scarce defensible.
”Don Manuel has it right, _senorita_. Gordon is my name; Muir, too, for that matter. Richard Muir Gordon is what I was christened.”
The underlying red of her cheeks had fled and left them clear olive. One might have thought the scornful eyes had absorbed all the fire of her face.
”So you have lied to me, sir?”
”Let me lay the facts before you, first. That's a hard word, _senorita_.”
”You gave your name to me as Muir, You imposed yourself on my hospitality under false pretenses. You are only a spy, come to my house to mole for evidence against me.”
”No--no!” he cried sharply. ”You will remember that I did not want to come. I foresaw that it might be awkward, but I did not foresee this.”
”That you would be found out before you had won your end? I believe you, sir,” she retorted contemptuously.
”I see I'm condemned before I'm heard.”
”Will any explanation alter the facts? Are you not a liar and a cheat?
You gave me a false name to spy out the land.”
”Am I the only one that gave a wrong name?” he asked.
”That is different,” she flamed. ”You had made a mistake and, half in sport, I encouraged you in it. But you seem to have found out my real name since. Yet you still accepted what I had to offer, under a false name, under false pretenses. You questioned me about the grants. You have lived a lie from first to last.”
”It ain't as bad as you say, ma'am. Don Manuel had told me it wasn't safe to come here in my own name. I didn't care about the safety, but I wanted to see the situation exactly as it was. I didn't know who you were when I came here. I took you to be Miss Maria Yuste. I----”
”My name is Maria Yuste Valencia Valdes,” the young woman explained proudly. ”When, may I ask, did you discover who I was?”
”I guessed it at Antelope Springs.”