"I'm an Easterner, a tenderfoot," replied Enoch. "I am very tired and I thought I'd like to rest in the desert. I was on the train when the idea struck me, and I got off just as I was. I bought the horse and these clothes from an Indian."
"Where you going?" repeated John's brother. "To see Injun villages?"
"No, I don't think so. I just want to be by myself."
"It's foolish for tenderfoot to go alone in desert," said John. "You don't know where to get water, get grub."
"Oh, I'll pick it up as I go."
The Indians stared at Enoch in the firelight. His ruddy hair was tumbled by the night wind. His face was deep lined with fatigue that was mental as well as physical.
"You mustn't go alone in desert." John Red Sun's voice was earnest.
"You sleep here to-night. We'll talk it over."
"You're very kind," said Enoch. "I'll unsaddle my pony. Ought I to hobble him or stake him out?"
"I fix 'im. You drink your coffee." The brother handed Enoch a tin cup as he spoke. "Then you go to sleep. You mucho tired."
Their hospitality touched Enoch. "You're very kind," he repeated gratefully, and he drank the vile coffee without blinking. Then, conscious that he was trembling with weariness, he rolled himself in his blankets. But he slept only fitfully. The sand was hard, and his long afternoon's nap had taken the edge from his appetite for sleep. He spent much of the night wondering what Washington, what the President was saying about him. And his sunburned face was new dyed with his burning sense of shame.