"
"Hum!" said Enoch slowly, "it doesn't seem to me that things are so
much better now, that we need to boast about them. There are no
Indians, to be sure, but the river is about all human endurance and
ingenuity can cope with, just as it was in Powell's day."
"She's a bird, all right!" sighed Milton. "Well, Judge, I'm going to
turn in. To-morrow's another day! Good night."
"Good night, Captain!" replied Enoch. He threw another stick of
driftwood on the fire and after a moment's thought fetched the black
diary from his rubber dunnage bag. When the fire was clear and bright,
he began to write.
"Diana, you were wrong. No matter how strenuous the work is, you are
never out of the background of my thoughts. But at least I am having
surcease from grieving for you. I have had no time to dwell on the
fact that you cannot belong to me. I am afraid to come out of the
Canyon. Afraid that when these wonderful days of adventure are over,
the knowledge that I must not ask you to marry me will descend on me
like a stifling fog. As for Brown! Diana, why not let me kill him!
I'd be willing to stand before any jury in the world with his blood on
my hands. What he has done to me is typical of Brown and all his
works.
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