Enoch lifted his tired eyes. Far on every side lay the
uneven, rock strewn desert floor, dotted with cactus and greasewood.
To the east, vivid against the blue sky, rose a solitary mountain peak,
a true purple in color, capped with snow. To the north, a green black
shadow was etched against the horizon. Except for the slight rustle of
the pepper tree, the vague murmur of the water, the silence was
complete.
"It's not a calming atmosphere," thought Enoch, "as I remember the
Canyon to have been. It's feverish and restless. But I'll give it a
try. For to-day, I'll not think. I'll concern myself entirely with
getting to this Navajo camp. First of all, I'll dry the blankets and
clothing."
He had pulled off his tweed coat some time before. Now he hung his
vest on the pepper tree and went about his laundry work. He draped
blankets and garments over the greasewood, then moved by a sudden
impulse, undressed himself and lay down under the tiny falls. The
water, warmed by its languid trip through the pool above, was
refreshing only in its cleansing quality. But Enoch, lying at length
in the sand, the water trickling ceaselessly over him, felt his taut
muscles relax and a great desire to sleep came upon him.
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