LITMIR.BIZ

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Enoch! Where's your nerve?"

      "What good would nerve do a guy lookin' at hell!" gasped Nucky.

      "Hell? Why the Canyon is one of the beautiful sights of the world!

       You're crazy, Enoch! Come out with me and look again."

      "Not on your life!" cried Nucky. "I'm going back to little old N'

       York."

      "It can't be done, my boy. There'll be no trains out of here for at least twelve hours, because of the storm. And listen, Enoch! No nonsense! Remember that if you wander away from the hotel, you're lost. There are no trolleys in this neck of the woods, and no telephones and no police. Wait a moment, Enoch, there's Frank Allen, the guide."

      Seaton hailed a tall, rather heavily built man in corduroys and high laced boots, who had lounged up to the cigar stand. As he approached, Nucky saw that he was middle aged, with a heavily tanned face out of which the blue of his eyes shone conspicuously.

      "Here he is, Frank!" exclaimed Seaton. "Nucky, this is the man who is going to look out for you while I'm gone."

      "Well, young New York! What're you going to do with the Canyon?"

       Frank slapped the boy on the shoulder.

      Nucky grinned uncertainly. "I dunno!" he said.

      "Had a look at it?" demanded the guide.

      "Yes!" Nucky spoke with sudden firmness. "And I don't like it. I want to go back to New York."

      "Come on out with Frank and me and get used to it," suggested John

       Seaton.

      "I'm not going near it again," returned Nucky.

      Allen looked at the boy with deliberate interest. He noted the pasty skin, the hollow chest, the strong, unformed features, the thin lips that were trembling, despite the cigarette stained fingers that pressed against them.

      "Did you ever talk to Indians?" asked Allen, suddenly.

      "No," said Nucky.

      "Well, let's forget the Canyon and go over to the hogan, yonder. Is that the best you two can do on shoes? I'm always sorry for you lady-like New Yorkers. Come over here a minute. I guess we can rent some boots to fit you."

      "I'm going to write letters, Frank," said Seaton. "You and Enoch'll find me over at one of the desks. Fit the boy out as you think best."

      Not long after, Nucky trailed the guide through the lobby. He was wearing high laced boots, with a very self-conscious air. Once outside, in the glory of the westering sun, Frank took a deep breath.

      "Great air, boy! Get all you can of it into those flabby bellows of yours. Before we go to the hogan, come over to the corral. My Tom horse has got a saddle sore. A fool tourist rode him all day with a fold in the blanket as big as your fist."

      "Is he a bronco?" asked Nucky, with sudden animation.

      "He was a bronco. You easterners have the wrong idea. A bronco is a plains pony before he's broken. After he's busted he's a horse. See?"

      "Aw, you're dead wrong, Frank!" drawled a voice.

      Nucky looked up in astonishment to see a tall man, whose skin was a rich bronze, offering a cigarette to the guide.

      "Dry up, Mike!" returned Frank with a grin. "What does a Navaho know about horses! Enoch, this is a sure enough Indian. Mike, let me introduce Mr. Enoch Huntingdon of New York City."

      The Navaho nodded and smiled. "You look as if a little Canyon climbing would do you good," said he. "I was looking at Tom horse, Frank. He's in bad shape. How much did that tender-foot weigh that rode him?"

      "I don't know. I wasn't here the day they hired him out. I know the cuss would have weighed a good deal less if I'd been here when that saddle was taken off! Going down to-morrow with Miss Planer?"

      "Not unless some one breaks trail for us. Are you going to try it?"

      "Not unless my young friend here gets his nerve up. Want to try it,

       Enoch?"

      "Try what?" asked Nucky.

      "The trip down Bright Angel."

      "Not on your life!" cried Nucky.

      Both men laughed, the Indian moving off through the snow in the direction of a dim building among the cedars, while Frank led on to the corral fence. Fifteen or twenty horses and mules were moving about the enclosure. Allen crossed swiftly among them, with Nucky following, apprehensively, close behind him. Frank's horse was in the stable, but while he seemed to examine the sore spot on the animal's back, Frank's real attention was riveted on Nucky. The boy was obviously ill at ease and only half interested in the horse.

      "These are the lads that take us down the trail," said Allen finally, slapping a velvety black mule on the flank.

      "We can't trust the horses. A mule knows more in a minute than a horse knows all his life."

      "Will you go with me to take another look at it?" asked Nucky.

      An expression of understanding crossed Frank's weather-beaten face. "Sure I will, boy! Let's walk up the rim a little and see if you can steady your nerves."

      "I'd rather stay by the rail," replied Nucky, doggedly.

      "All right, old man! Don't take this thing too hard, you know! After all, it's only a crack in the earth."

      Nucky grinned feebly, and trudged steadily up to the rail. The sun was setting and the Canyon was like the infinite glory of God. Untiring as was his love for the view Allen preferred, this time, to watch the strange young face beside him. Nucky's pallor was still intense in spite of the stinging wind. His deep set eyes were strained like a child's, listening to a not-to-be-understood explanation of something that frightens him. For a full five minutes he gazed without speaking. Then the sun sank and the Canyon immediately was filled with gloom. Nucky's lips quivered. "I can't stand it!" he muttered again, "I can't stand it!" and once more he bolted.

      This time he went directly to his room. Neither Allen nor Seaton attempted to follow him.

      "He is some queer kid!" said Frank, taking the cigar Seaton offered him. "He may be a born crook or he may not, but believe me, there's something in him worth finding out about."

      "Just what I say!" agreed Seaton. "But don't be sure you're the one that can unlock him. Mrs. Seaton couldn't and if she failed, any woman on earth would. And I still believe that a chap that's got any good in him will open up to a good woman."

      "His woman, man! His! Not to somebody else's woman." Allen's tone was impatient.

      "His woman! Don't talk like a chump, Frank! Enoch's only fourteen."

      "Makes no difference. Your wife is an angel as I learned two years ago, but she may not have Enoch's number, just the same. If I were you, I'd mooch up to the kid's room if he doesn't come down promptly to supper. His nerves are in rotten shape and he oughtn't to be alone too long."

      Seaton nodded, and shortly after seven he knocked softly on Nucky's door. There was an inarticulate, "Come in!" Nucky was standing by the window in the dark room.

      "Supper's ready, old man. You'd better have it now and get to bed early. Jumping from sea level to a mile in the air makes a chap sleepy. Are you washed up?"

      "I'm all ready," mumbled Nucky.

      He went to bed shortly after eight. Something forlorn and childish about the boy's look as he said good night moved John Seaton to say,

      "Tell a bell boy to open the door between our rooms, will you, Enoch?" and he imagined that a relieved look flickered in Nucky's eyes.

      Seaton himself went to bed and to sleep early. He was wakened about midnight by a soft sound from Nucky's room and he lay for a few moments listening. Then he rose and turned on the light in his room, and in Nucky's. The boy hastily

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