He was giving
small heed, too, to the details of the landscape about him. He was
conscious of the heat and of color, color that glowed and quivered and
was ever changing, and he told himself that when he was rested he would
find the beauty in the desert that Diana's pictures had said was there.
But for now, he was conscious only of pain and shame, the old, old
shame that the Canyon had tried to teach him to forget. He was
determined that he would stay in the desert until this shame was gone
forever.
It was a fall and not a summer sun, so the pony was able to keep a
steady pace until noon. Gradually the blur of green that Enoch had
observed to the north had outlined itself more and more vividly, and at
noon he rode into the shade of a little grove of stunted pinon and
juniper. He could find no water but there was a coarse dried grass
growing among the trees that the horse cropped eagerly. Enoch removed
the saddle and pack from Pablo, and spread his half dried blankets on
the ground. Then he threw himself down to rest before preparing his
midday meal. In a moment slumber overwhelmed him.
He was wakened at dusk by the soft nuzzling of the pony against his
shoulder.
"By Jove!" he exclaimed softly. "What a sleep!" He jumped to his feet
and began to gather wood for his fire.
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