Seaton thought maybe
somewhere in that pindling carcass of yours there was the making of a
he man and that you'd like the experience. I promised him I'd try you
out and I'm trying you, hang you for an ungrateful, cowardly cub."
Nucky turned on his heel and began to pick up drift wood. He was in
poor physical trim but the pile, though it grew slowly, grew steadily.
By the time Frank announced the camp ready, Nucky's fuel pile was of
really imposing dimensions. And dusk was thickening in the gorge.
Before a great flat faced rock that looked toward the river, was a
stretch of clean dry sand. Against this rock, the guide had placed a
rubber air-mattress and a plentiful supply of blankets. A small
folding table stood before a rough stone fire place. A canvas shelter
stretched vertically on two strips of driftwood, shut off the night
wind that was beginning to sweep through the Canyon. The mules were
tethered close to the camp.
"Where'd that mattress come from?" exclaimed Nucky.
"Partly off old Funny Face's back and part out of a bicycle pump.
Didn't want to risk your sickly bones on the ground until you harden up
a bit. Pretty good pile of timber for an amateur, New York." Frank
looked up from the fire he was kindling into Nucky's thin, tired face.
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