“Lie?” in bitter scornfulness.  “Lie!  Why, it is his very life to lie—­to women.  God pity us!  This world seems filled with just such men, and we are their natural victims.  Love?  Their only conception of it is passion, and, that once satiated, not even ordinary kindness is left with which to mock the memory.  In Heaven’s name, girl, in your life have you not long since learned this?  Now, I will tell you what this monster wanted of me to-night.”  She paused, scarcely knowing how best to proceed, or just how much of the plot this other might already comprehend.

“Have you ever heard of the ‘Little Yankee’ mine?” she questioned.

“Si, senorita,” the voice faltering slightly, the black eyes drooping.  “Eet is up in de deep canyon yonder; I know eet.”

“He told me about it,” Miss Norvell continued more calmly.  “He is having trouble with those people out there.  There is something wrong, and he is afraid of exposure.  You remember the young man who walked home with me last night:  Well, he is a mining engineer.  He has agreed to examine into the claims of the ‘Little Yankee’ people, and this—­this Farnham wants him stopped.  You understand?  He sent for me to use my influence and make him go away.  I refused, and then this—­this creature threatened to kill Mr. Winston if he remained in camp, and—­and I know he will.”

The Mexican’s great black eyes widened, but not with horror.  Suddenly in the silent pause she laughed.

“Si, si; now I know all—­you lofe dis man. Bueno!  I see eet as eet vas.”

The telltale red blood swept to the roots of Miss Norvell’s hair, but her indignant reply came swift and vehement.

“No, stop!  Never dare to speak such words.  I am not like that!  Can you think of nothing except the cheap masquerade of love?  Have you never known any true, pure friendship existing between man and woman?  This mining engineer has been good to me; he has proved himself a gentleman.  It is not love which makes me so anxious now to serve him, to warn him of imminent danger—­it is gratitude, friendship, common humanity.  Is it impossible for you to comprehend such motives?”

The other touched her for the first time with extended hand, her face losing much of its previous savagery.

“I know so ver’ leettle ’bout such kinds of peoples, senorita,” she explained regretfully, her voice low, “de kind vat are good and gentle and vidout vantin’ somting for eet.  Eet ees not de kinds I meet vis ver’ much.  Dey be all alike vis me—­lofe, lofe, lofe, till I get seek of de vord—­only de one, an’ I not know him ver’ vell yet.  Maybe he teach me vat you mean some day.  He talk better, not like a fool, an’ he not try to make me bad.  Is dat eet, senorita?”

“Yes; who is it you mean?”