All the world to the west, sky, peaks, mesas, sand and rock
had turned to a burning rose color. The plateau edge, near his feet,
was green. These were the only two colors in all the world. Enoch
stood absorbed by beauty when a sound of voices came faintly from
behind him.
His first thought was that Mack and Curly had stolen a march on him.
His next was that strangers, who might recognize him, were near at
hand. He started down the trail as rapidly as he dared. It was dusk
when he reached the foot. For the last half of the trip voices had
been floating down to him, as the newcomers threaded their way slowly
but steadily. Enoch stood panting at the foot of the trail, listening
acutely. A voice called. Another voice answered. Enoch suddenly lost
all power to move. The full moon sailed silently over the plateau
wall. Enoch, grasping his gun and his game bag, stood waiting.
A mule came swiftly down the last turn of the trail and headed for the
spring. The man who was riding him pulled him back on his haunches
with a "Whoa, you mule!" that echoed like a cannon shot. Then he flung
himself off with another cry.
"Oh, boss! Oh, boss! Here he is, Miss Diana! O dear Lord, here he
is! Boss! Boss! How come you to treat me so!"
And Jonas threw his arms around Enoch with a sob that could not be
repressed.
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