"You build that dam," she whispered, blushing furiously, "and see to it
that it's a good dam and will hold water for years. I'm the reserve in
this battle--understand? When you need money, see me, but, oh, please
do not tell Don Mike about it. I'd die of shame."
She whirled Panchito and galloped down the draw, with Miguel Farrel
loping along behind her, while, from the door of his shack of an
office, old Bill Conway looked after them and thoughtfully rubbed a
certain spot on his cheek. Long after the young folks had disappeared
round the base of El Palomar, he continued to gaze. Eventually he was
brought out of his reverie when a cur dog belonging to one of the
teamsters on the grading gang thrust a cold muzzle into his hand.
"Purp," murmured Mr. Conway, softly, "this isn't a half-bad old world,
even if a fellow does grow old, and finds himself hairless and
childless and half broke and shackled to the worst automobile in the
world, bar none. And do you know why it isn't such a rotten world as
some folks claim? No? Well, I'll tell you, purp. It's because it
keeps a-movin'. And do you know what keeps it a-movin'? Purp, it's
love!"
XXI
At the base of El Palomar, Farrel and his party were met by the Parker
chauffeur with the car. Pablo had guided him out and was lounging
importantly in the seat beside William.
"Don Nicolas Sandoval came to the hacienda an hour ago, Don Miguel," he
reported.
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