"Judge, are you any good with a gun?"
"Yes, I've hunted a good deal," replied Enoch.
"Very well, we'll make you the camp hunter. The rest understand the
river work better than you. Forrester, you and Agnew and Jonas, patch
up the Ida; and Harden, you stay with me and let's see what the maps
say about the chances of our getting out before we reach the Ferry.
When the rest have finished the patch, you and Agnew row downstream and
see if you can pick up any wreckage from the Na-che."
Jonas made some coffee and Enoch, after resting for a half hour, took
the gun and started slowly along the river's edge.
His course was necessarily downstream for, above the heap of stones
where he had tied the Ida, the river washed against a wall on which a
fly could scarcely have found foothold. There was a depression in the
wall, where the camp was set. Enoch worked out of this depression and
found a foothold on the bottom-most of the deep weathered, narrow
strata that here formed a fifty-foot terrace. These terraced strata
gave back for half a mile in uneven and brittle striations that were
not unlike rude steps. Above them rose a sheer orange wall, straight
to the sky. Far below a great shale bank sloped from the river's edge
up to a gigantic black butte, whose terraced front seemed to Enoch to
offer some hope of his reaching the top.
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