“Don’t pay too much attention to our young friend’s high opinion of his own prowess. Ordinarily Andy isn’t the least bit boastful. But we’re living a more or less primitive life these days. Our existence may depend on what we can do with our legs and arms and hands. Surmounting the difficulties of this wilderness has become the most important thing in our lives. We must excuse one another for being primevally proud of our little achievements.”
“Good work, Doctor!” laughed Andy, a trifle red of face. “Was I shooting the old bazoo too hard? Maybe so. Thanks for your explanation to Charmian. The doctor’s a wonder at keeping the serene equilibrium of camp life at par. He always understands that folks are different once they’ve shaken the dust of civilization from their feet. They’re more primitive—that’s right.
“Well, to continue, old Henry has been worrying ever since the bell burro made a sandwich out of his old gauge. Reading that gauge and sending in his reports are the greatest things in life for him. And so—well, he just up and hit the trail, that’s all. He’s got a loose screw in his head, of course. So we were camped at the cache, ready to start back in the morning. And when I found he’d gone I knew right away what had happened and struck out at dawn alone. And—boasting or no boasting—I’ve brought all that I meant to pack in and at least half of what Shirttail Henry had laid out for his pack. So we’re not so bad off, after all. How’s our pillar of determination and her sprain?”
The three walked down the cañon toward their camp, Shonto carrying the pack. Andy told the others, as they stumbled over the round, smooth stone cannon balls of the creek-bed, what Shirttail Henry had divulged concerning the onward trail to the Valley of Arcana.
When they had climbed the steep southern wall of the cañon in which they were encamped they would find themselves on a wooded plateau, none too level. For several miles they would travel across timberland, then the trees would become scarcer and patches of chaparral would make their appearance. Gradually the chaparral would claim the land, and would extend for miles—how many he did not know—to the country immediately surrounding the valley of their quest. Halfway through this immense stretch of prickly brush Reed, the ranger, and his companions had been obliged to discontinue the trip.
“But they always tried it in summer,” said Andy. “In summer or spring, when the air is hot and a fellow needs a lot of water. It’s cool now—cold—and we won’t suffer much along that line. We’ll pack every drop of water we can and nurse it religiously. We won’t need much. Strikes me a fellow could catch enough dew over night to last him all next day. Stretch out a closely woven piece of canvas, maybe. And if it should rain or snow, we’d perhaps be mighty uncomfortable, but we’d be assured of plenty of water.”
“Let’s not pray for either,” the girl suggested. “I’d rather chance a drought.”
“For my part,” said Shonto, “I almost wish we could go back and give it up entirely. It’s going to be serious if winter overtakes us; and, because of the many delays we’ve been up against, it strikes me that that’s almost sure to happen.”
“Can’t give up and go back now, with Mary unable to travel,” Andy reminded him.
“Yes, that’s so,” sighed the older man. “We’re in for it now, and we may as well forge on as to twiddle our thumbs in the cañon while Mary’s—er—sprain gets better. But I’ll tell you one thing: I’m never going to consent to leave that woman alone in the gorge, crippled as she is. Either you or I, Andy, must stay with her. Of course Charmian must go on, if anybody does; this is her circus. And as you are the expert mountaineer of the party, I have decided to stay with Mary. But it’s going to give me grey hairs whether I go or stay. If I go, Mary will be constantly on my guilty mind. If I stay with her, I won’t be able to sleep for worrying about you two.”