Ashton straightened on his saddle. "That is quite true, Miss Knowles. You know, I myself am an engineer."
"Oh!" she exclaimed in dismay. "You, an engineer? Have you come here to see if our mesa can be irrigated?"
"No, indeed, no, I shall not do that," he replied. "I have not the slightest thought of such a project. I am merely out for sport."
She eyed him uncertainly. "But--We get all the reports--There is an Ashton connected with that wonderful Zariba Dam, just being finished in Arizona."
"That is my father. He is interested in it with a Mr. Leslie. They are financing the project. But I have nothing to do with it, nothing whatever, I assure you. The engineer is another man, a fellow named--"
He paused as if unable to remember. The girl looked at him with a shade of disappointment in her clear eyes.
"A Mr. Blake--Thomas Blake," she supplied the name. "I thought you might have known him."
"Ah--Blake?" he murmured hesitatingly. "Why, yes, I did at one time have somewhat of an acquaintance with him."
"You did?" she cried, her eyes brilliant with excitement. "Oh, tell me! I--" She faltered under his surprised stare, and went on rather lamely: "You see, I--we have been immensely interested in the Zariba Dam. The reports all describe it as an extraordinary work of engineering. And so we have been curious to learn something about the engineer."
"But if you're so opposed to irrigation projects?" he thrust.
"That makes no difference," she parried. "We--Daddy and I--cannot but admire such a remarkable engineer."
Ashton shrugged. "The dam was a big thing. I fail to see why you should admire Blake just because he happened to blunder on the idea that solved the difficulty."
"You do not like him," she said with frank directness.
He hesitated and looked away. When he replied it was with evident reluctance: "No, I do not. He is--You would hardly admire him personally, even though he did bully Genevieve Leslie into marrying him."
"No wonder you are surprised," said Ashton. "It was the most amazing thing imaginable--she the daughter of H. V. Leslie, one of our wealthiest financiers, and he a rough, uncouth drunkard."
"Drunkard?" almost screamed the girl. "No, no, not drunkard! I cannot believe it!"