Much to Jonas' satisfaction, Enoch had
been obliged to abandon the overalls and flannel shirt which he had
worn into the Canyon. Even the tweed suit was too ragged and shrunk to
be used again. So he was clad in the corduroy riding breeches and coat
that Jonas had brought. But John Red Sun's boots were still doing
notable service and the soft hat, faded and shapeless, was pulled down
over his eyes in comfort if not in beauty.
There was a vague trail to the spring which lay southwest of the Ferry.
It led through the familiar country of fissures and draws that made
travel slow and heavy. The trail rose, very gradually, wound around a
number of multi-colored peaks and paused at last at the foot of a
smooth-faced, purple butte. Here grew a cottonwood, sheltering from
sun and sand a lava bowl, eroded by time and by the tiny stream of
water that dripped into it gently. There was little or no view from
the spring, for peaks and buttes closely hemmed it in. The November
shadows deepened early on the strange, winding, almost subterranean
trail, and although when they reached the cottonwood, it was not
sundown, they made camp at once. Diana's tent was set up in the sand
to the right of the spring. Enoch collected a meager supply of wood
and before five o'clock supper had been prepared and eaten.
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