"
Milton smiled. "Well, we all have our Carcasonnes."
"What's yours?" demanded Enoch.
The younger man hesitated. "It's so absurd--but--well, I've always
wanted to be Chief of the Geological Survey."
"Why?"
"Why did you dream of a wild trip down the Colorado as the realization
of your greatest desire?" asked Milton.
"I couldn't put it into words," answered Enoch. "But I suppose it's
the pioneer in me or something elemental that never quite dies in any
of us, of Anglo-Saxon blood."
Milton nodded. "The Chief of the Geological Survey's job is to
administer nature in the raw. I'd like to have a chance at it."
"I believe you'd get away with it, too, Milton," Enoch replied
thoughtfully.
Milton laughed. "Too bad you aren't Secretary of the Interior! Well,
I'm all in! Let's go to bed."
"You go ahead. I'll sit here with my pipe a bit longer."
But, after all, Enoch did not write in his diary that night. Before
Milton had established himself in his blankets, Harden rose and went to
a canteen for a drink of water. On his return he stumbled over
Forrester's feet. Instantly Forrester sat erect.
"What're you doing, you clumsy dub foot?" he shouted.
"Oh, dry up, Forr; I didn't mean to hurt you, you great boob!"
"We'll settle this right now!" Forrester was on his feet and his fist
had landed on Harden's cheek before Enoch could cross the camp.
Pages:
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312