He took the red straps to his anvil and punched screw holes in them and bent the angles with his hammer and the forked sparks leaped out. Then he dipped the iron hissing into his half-barrel of black water. “There you are,” he said and threw them on the ground.

“I thank you,” said Louis. “How much will that be?”

“The pleasure of your company.”

“It’s always like that,” Louis said helplessly.

“No, when I put your new well down you paid my price.”

“That reminds me—Mr. Trask here is thinking of buying the Bordoni place—the old Sanchez grant—you remember?”

“I know it well,” said Samuel. “It’s a fine piece.”

“He was asking about water, and I told him you knew more about that than anybody around here.”

Adam passed the bottle, and Samuel took a delicate sip and wiped his mouth on his forearm above the soot.

“I haven’t made up my mind,” said Adam. “I’m just asking some questions.”

“Oh, Lord, man, now you’ve put your foot in it. They say it’s a dangerous thing to question an Irishman because he’ll tell you. I hope you know what you’re doing when you issue me a license to talk. I’ve heard two ways of looking at it. One says the silent man is the wise man and the other that a man without words is a man without thought. Naturally I favor the second—Liza says to a fault. What do you want to know?”

“Well, take the Bordoni place. How deep would you have to go to get water?”

“I’d have to see the spot—some places thirty feet, some places a hundred and fifty, and in some places clear to the center of the world.”

“But you could develop water?”

“Nearly every place except my own.”

“I’ve heard you have a lack here.”

“Heard? Why, God in heaven must have heard! I’ve screamed it loud enough.”

“There’s a four-hundred-acre piece beside the river. Would there be water under it?”

“I’d have to look. It seems to me it’s an odd valley. If you’ll hold your patience close, maybe I can tell you a little bit about it, for I’ve looked at it and poked my stinger down into it. A hungry man gorges with his mind—he does indeed.”

Louis Lippo said, “Mr. Trask is from New England. He plans to settle here. He’s been west before though—in the army, fighting Indians.”

“Were you now? Then it’s you should talk and let me learn.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Why not? God help my family and my neighbors if I had fought the Indians!”

“I didn’t want to fight them, sir.” The “sir” crept in without his knowing it.

“Yes, I can understand that. It must be a hard thing to kill a man you don’t know and don’t hate.”

“Maybe that makes it easier,” said Louis.

“You have a point, Louis. But some men are friends with the whole world in their hearts, and there are others that hate themselves and spread their hatred around like butter on hot bread.”