All the afternoon, Enoch, riding under the burning sun, through the
ever shifting miracles of color, rested in his happy dream. The past
and the future did not exist for him. It was enough that Diana,
straight and slender and unflagging rode before him. It was enough
that that evening after the years of yearning he would feel the touch
of Lucy's hand on his burning forehead. For the first time in his
life, Enoch's spirit was at peace.
The pools were well up on the desert, where pinnacles and buttes had
given way at last to a roughly level country, with only occasional
fissures as reminders of the canyon. Bear grass and yucca, barrel and
fish-hook cactus as well as the ocotilla appeared. The sun was sinking
when the horses smelled water and cantered to the shallow but grateful
basins. Far to the south, the chaos out of which they had labored was
black, and mysterious with drifting vapors. The wind which whirled
forever among the chasms was left behind. They had entered into
silence and tranquillity.
After supper and while the last glow of the sunsets still clung to the
western horizon, Na-che said,
"Jonas, you want to see the great Navajo charm, made by Navajo god when
he made these waterholes?"
Jonas pricked up his ears.
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