He's an old warrior, is Spoons! He could carry a grand piano
down this trail and never scrape the varnish. Look up, Enoch! We'll
soon reach a broad bench where I'll let you rest."
"Don't you think I'll ever get off this brute till we reach bottom!"
shuddered Nucky.
The guide laughed and silence fell again. The mules moved as silently
through the snow as the mists across the mountain tops. In careful
gradation the trail zigzagged downward. The snow lessened in depth
with each foot of drop. The bitter cold began to give way to the
increasing warmth of the sun. Sensation crept back into Nucky's feet
and hands. By a supreme effort for many moments he managed to fix his
eyes firmly on Frank's broad back, and though he could not give up his
hold on the pommel, he sat a little straighter. Then, of a sudden,
Spoons stopped in his tracks, and as suddenly a little avalanche of
snow shot down the canyon wall, catching the mule's forelegs. Spoons
promptly threw himself inward, against the wall. Nucky gave a startled
look at the sickening depths below and when Frank turned in his saddle,
Nucky had fainted, half clinging to Spoons' neck, half supported
against the wet, rocky wall.
With infinite care, and astonishing speed, Frank slid from his mule and
made his way back to the motionless Spoons.
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