The younger man hesitated. "It's so absurd—but—well, I've always wanted to be Chief of the Geological Survey."
"Why?"
"Why did you dream of a wild trip down the Colorado as the realization of your greatest desire?" asked Milton.
"I couldn't put it into words," answered Enoch. "But I suppose it's the pioneer in me or something elemental that never quite dies in any of us, of Anglo-Saxon blood."
Milton nodded. "The Chief of the Geological Survey's job is to administer nature in the raw. I'd like to have a chance at it."
"I believe you'd get away with it, too, Milton," Enoch replied thoughtfully.
Milton laughed. "Too bad you aren't Secretary of the Interior! Well,
I'm all in! Let's go to bed."
"You go ahead. I'll sit here with my pipe a bit longer."
But, after all, Enoch did not write in his diary that night. Before
Milton had established himself in his blankets, Harden rose and went to
a canteen for a drink of water. On his return he stumbled over
Forrester's feet. Instantly Forrester sat erect.
"What're you doing, you clumsy dub foot?" he shouted.