Certainly he was a marked man. He wore the broadest
brimmed hat in Frank Allen's collection, and John Red Sun's high laced
boots. Strapped to his suitcase were the Ida's broken paddle and the
battered board with "a-che" on it. These stood conspicuously in his
seat in the Pullman, where he held a daily reception to all the porters
on the train. True to his orders, he never mentioned Enoch's name in
connection with his tale of the Canyon, but his own adventures lost
nothing by that.
Enoch did not wire the exact time of his arrival in Washington, as he
wished no one to meet the train. It was not quite three o'clock of a
cold December day when Charley Abbott, arranging the papers in Enoch's
private office, looked up as the inner door opened. Enoch, tanned and
vigorous, came in, followed by Jonas, in all his western glory.
Charley sprang forward to meet Enoch's extended hand. "Mr. Huntingdon!
Thank the Lord!"
"All set, Abbott!" exclaimed Enoch, "and ready to steam ahead. Let me
introduce old Canyon Bill, formerly known as Jonas!"
Charley clasped Jonas' hand, burst out laughing, and slapped him on the
back. "Some story goes with that outfit, eh, Jonas, old boy! Say! if
you let the rest of the doormen and messengers see you, there won't be
a stroke of work done for the rest of the day.
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