Seaton hailed a tall, rather heavily built man in corduroys and high laced boots, who had lounged up to the cigar stand. As he approached, Nucky saw that he was middle aged, with a heavily tanned face out of which the blue of his eyes shone conspicuously.
"Here he is, Frank!" exclaimed Seaton. "Nucky, this is the man who is going to look out for you while I'm gone."
"Well, young New York! What're you going to do with the Canyon?"
Frank slapped the boy on the shoulder.
Nucky grinned uncertainly. "I dunno!" he said.
"Had a look at it?" demanded the guide.
"Yes!" Nucky spoke with sudden firmness. "And I don't like it. I want to go back to New York."
"Come on out with Frank and me and get used to it," suggested John
Seaton.
"I'm not going near it again," returned Nucky.
Allen looked at the boy with deliberate interest. He noted the pasty skin, the hollow chest, the strong, unformed features, the thin lips that were trembling, despite the cigarette stained fingers that pressed against them.
"Did you ever talk to Indians?" asked Allen, suddenly.