CHAPTER XIII
AT TWO IN THE CAÑON
THOUGH the afternoon was not far spent, the party immediately went into camp in the gorge. If Mary’s sprain was severe, the doctor told the others gravely, it would be impossible for her to touch the injured foot to the ground for many days. The men might carry her back, but it would be next to impossible, and altogether reckless, to carry her forward. What were they to do?
Mary was suffering silently beside the campfire, and the others had withdrawn to a distance to hold their conference. Then came her snappy voice:
“That’s mighty impolite. I know what you’re talking about. Come over here by the fire and I’ll relieve your minds.”
When they had congregated about her she said placidly:
“Now, there’s just one thing for you to do. That is to go on, and leave me here in the cañon with enough grub to last me until you give up hope of ever finding the Valley of Tomfoolery. Which will be in a few days, at most, I’m thinking.”
“Mary Temple,” Charmian told her firmly, “we’ll do nothing of the sort. We’ll stay with you till you can walk or carry you over the back trail right now—and that ends that. We were only trying to decide which of the two would be the better plan.”
“Charmian,” said Mary, “will you kindly remember that it is my ankle that is sprained. I’m running that ankle myself, and whatever I say that has that ankle for a subject goes. This is not the first time that I have been in the wilderness, and a little thing like this doesn’t trouble me in the least. This expedition, foolish though it is, means a lot to you. And I’m not going to allow you to come this far and have to give up because of me. You’ll see this thing to the bitter end or I’ll never move from this country, this cañon, this fireside, or this rock on which I’m sitting. You, and all of you—even old Marblehead—have browbeaten me, bullied me, overrun me since we lost those rascals, Leach and Morley, on the desert. But now at last, because of my sprained ankle, I am in command of the situation. And I mean to be obeyed. You’ll leave me here, with provisions and an ample supply of firewood within arm’s reach, while you continue on to the end of the Bonehead Country. You’re not going to all this expense and deprivation and hardship for nothing. The sky’s still clear. Henry’s late winter seems assured. You may not have another chance in years to even come as far as you have. And you’re going to shoot the piece while you’re about it.”
“Why, Mary Temple!” laughed Charmian. “What atrocious slang!”
“It’s time for slang,” Mary declared testily. “Shoot the piece!”