Ramon started and turned his face her way; in the moonlight his eyes shone with a certain love-hunger which Annie-Many-Ponies exulted to see--because she did not understand.
"You not let moon look on you," she chided in an undertone, her sentences clipped of superfluous words as is the Indian way, her voice that pure, throaty melody that is a gift which nature gives lavishly to the women of savage people.

"Moon see, men see." Ramon swung back into the shadow, reached out his two arms to fold her close and got nothing more substantial than another whispery laugh.
"Where are yoh,sweetheart ?" He peered into the shadow where she had been, and saw the place empty.

He laughed, chagrined by her elusiveness, yet hungering for her the more.
"You not touch," she warned.

"Till priest say marriage prayers, no man touch." He called her a devil in Spanish, and she thought it a love-word and laughed and came nearer.

He did not attempt to touch her, and so, reassured, she stood close so that he could see the pure, Indian profile of her face when she raised it to the sky in a mute invocation, it might be, of her gods.
"When yoh come ?" he asked swiftly, his race betrayed in tone and accent.
"I look and look--I no see yoh." "I come," she stated with a quiet meaning.