It was a long portage. After the
bowlder-strewn ledge was passed, however, it was not necessary to make
trail, for although the shore was strewn with broken rock and
driftwood, the way was fairly open.
After the contents of the boats had been made up into rough packs, both
crews attacked the trail-making. It was mid-morning before pick-ax,
shovel and crowbar had opened up a way which Jonas claimed was fit only
for kangaroos or elephants. Rough as it was, when Milton declared it
fit for their purposes, the rest without protest heaved the packs to
their shoulders.
It was hot at midday in the Canyon. The thermometer registered 98
degrees in the shade. Enoch, following Milton, dropped his third pack
at the end of the quarter mile portage and sat down beside it.
"Old man!" he groaned, "you've got to give me a ten minutes' rest."
Milton grinned and nodded sympathetically. "Take all the time you
want, Judge!"
"I'm ashamed," said Enoch, "but don't forget you fellows have had ten
months of this, as against my two days."
"I don't forget for a minute, Judge. And just let me tell you that if
ever I were on trial for a serious offense of any kind I'd be perfectly
satisfied to be tried before a real he-man, like you.
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