He was stiff and his
unaccustomed fingers made awkward work of cooking, but he managed,
after an hour's endeavor, to produce an unsavory meal, which he
devoured hungrily. He wiped out the frying pan with dried grass,
repacked his outfit, and hung it on the horse.
"It's up to you, Pablo, old boy, to get us to water, if you want any
to-night," he said, as he mounted, and headed Pablo north on the trail.
The pony was quite of Enoch's opinion, and he started forward at an
eager trot. The trail was discernible enough in the starlight, but
Enoch made no attempt to guide Pablo, who obviously knew the country
better than his new owner.
Enoch had dreamed of Diana, and now, the reins drooping limply from his
hands, he gave his mind over to thought of her. There was no one on
earth whom he desired to see so much or so little as Diana! No one
else to whom in his trouble his whole heart and mind turned with such
unutterable longing or such iron determination never to see again. He
had no intention of searching for her in the desert. He knew that her
work would keep her in the Grand Canyon country. He knew that it would
be easy to avoid her. And, in spite of the fact that every fiber of
his being yearned for her, he had not the slightest desire to see her!
She would, he knew, see the Brown story.
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