To the north, the river gorge wound like a snake; the gorge
and one huge mountain dominating the entire northern landscape.
Satiated by wonders as Milton was, he exclaimed over the beauty of this
giant, sleeping in the desert sun.
A sprawling cone in outline, there was nothing extraordinary about it
in contour, but its size and color surpassed anything that Enoch had as
yet seen. From base to apex it was a perfect rose tint, deepening
where its great shoulders bent, to crimson. As if still not satisfied
with her work, nature had sent a recent snow storm to embellish the
verdureless rock, and the mountain was lightly powdered with white
which here was of a gauze-like texture permitting pale rose to glimmer
through, there lay in drifts, white defined against crimson.
Enoch sat gazing about him while Milton worked rapidly with his note
book and instruments. Finally he slipped his pencil into his pocket
with a sigh.
"And that's done! What do you say to a return for lunch, Judge?"
"I'm very much with you," replied Enoch. "Here! Hold up, old man!
What's the matter?" For Milton was swaying and would have fallen if
Enoch had not caught him.
Milton clung to Enoch's broad shoulder for a moment, then straightened
himself with a jerk.
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