The way back was swifter but more nerve wracking than the upward climb
had been. By the time he reached the green shale, Enoch was trembling
from muscle and nerve strain. It was purple dusk now, by the river,
with the castellated tops of butte and mountain molten gold in the
evening sun. When he reached the brittle strata, the water reflected
firelight from the still unseen camp blaze. Enoch, clinging perilously
to the breaking rock, half faint with hunger, his fingers numb with the
cold, laughed again, to himself, and said aloud:
"'. . . . . . . . . . . . . And yet
Dauntless the slug horn to my lips I set
And blew, Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came.'"
CHAPTER XII
THE END OF THE CRUISE
"Christ could forgive the unforgivable, but the Colorado in the Canyon
is like the voice of God, inevitable, inexorable."--_Enoch's Diary_.
Jonas stood on a projecting rock peering anxiously down the river.
Enoch, staggering wearily into the firelight, called to him cheerfully:
"Ship ahoy, Jonas!"
"My Gawd, boss!" exclaimed Jonas, running up to take the gunny sack and
the gun. "Don't you never go off like that alone again. How come you
stayed so late?"
"Now the Na-che's gone I suppose I'll have a few attentions again!"
said Enoch.
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