There was, as it happened, not very much to show, and before half an hour had passed Barbara and Mrs. Devine climbed the steep ascent, while Brooke returned to redeem the hour spent with them by strenuous toil. It was also late that night before he flung aside the sheet of crude drawings and calculations he was making, and leaned back wearily in his chair. His limbs were aching, and so were his eyes, and he sat still awhile with them half-closed in a state of dreamy languor. He had dropped a tin shade over the lamp, and the tent was shadowy outside the narrow strip of radiance. There was no sound from the workmen's bark and canvas shanty, and the pulsating roar of the cañon broke sharply through an impressive stillness, until at last there was a faint rattle of gravel outside that suggested the approach of a cautious foot, and Brooke straightened himself suddenly as a man came into the tent. His face was invisible until he sat down within the range of light, and then Brooke started a little.
"Saxton!" he said.
Saxton laughed, and flung down his big hat. "Precisely!" he said. "There are camps in the province I wouldn't have cared to come into like this. It wouldn't be healthy for me, but in this case it seemed advisable to get here without anybody seeing me. Left my horse two hours ago at Tomlinson's ranch."
"It was something special brought you so far on foot?"
"Yes," said Saxton, "I guess it was. I came along to see what in the name of thunder you were doing here so long."
"I was building Devine a dam, and I am now stretching a rope across the cañon to bring his mine props over."
Saxton straightened himself, and stared at him, with blank astonishment in his face.
"I want to understand," he said. "You are putting him a rope across to bring props over with?"
"Yes," said Brooke. "Is there anything very extraordinary in that?"
Saxton laughed harshly. "Under the circumstances, I guess there is. Do you know who's stopping him cutting all the props he wants right behind the mine?"