Enoch discovered that
the camp lay at the foot of a mesa, close in whose shadow a small herd
of scraggly, unkempt ponies was staked. The two Indians moved about
deftly. They watered the horses, made coffee and cakes and fried
bacon. By the time Enoch had shaved, a pie tin was waiting for him in
the ashes.
"We sell you two days' grub," said John. "One day north on this trail
go two men up to the Canyon, to placer mine. They're good men. I know
'em many years. They got good outfit, but burros go slow, so you can
easy overtake 'em to-day. You tell 'im you want a job. Tell 'im John
Red Sun send you. Then you get rested in the desert. Not good for any
white man to go alone and do nothing in the desert. He'll go loco.
See?"
Enoch suddenly smiled. "I do see, yes. And I must say you're mighty
kind and sensible. I'll do as you suggest. By the way, will you sell
me those boots of yours? I'll swap you mine and anything you say,
beside. I believe our feet are the same size."
Red Sun's brother was wearing Navajo moccasins reaching to the knee,
but Red Sun was resplendent in a pair of high laced boots, into which
were tucked his corduroy pants. The Indians both looked at Enoch's
smart Oxford ties with eagerness.
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