For a time, after this was done, Enoch and Diana sat before the tiny eye of fire, listening to the subdued chatter with which Jonas and Na-che cleared up the meal.
Suddenly, Enoch said, "Diana, how brilliant the stars are, to-night! Why can't we climb to the top of the butte for a little while? I feel smothered here. It's far worse than the river bottom."
"Aren't you too tired?" asked Diana.
"Not too tired for as short a climb as that, unless you are feeling done up!"
"I!" laughed Diana. "Why, Na-che will vouch for it that I've never had such a lazy trip before! Na-che, the Judge and I are going up the butte. Just keep a little glow of fire for us, will you, so that we can locate the camp easily."
"Yes, Diana, and don't be frightened if you hear noises. I'm going to teach Jonas a Navajo song."
"We'll try not to be," replied Diana, laughing as she rose.
It was an ascent of several hundred feet, but easily made and the view from the top more than repaid them for the effort. In all his desert nights, Enoch never had seen the stars so vivid. For miles about them the shadowy peaks and chasms were discernible. And Diana's face was delicately clear cut as she seated herself on a block of stone and looked up at him.
"Diana," said Enoch, abruptly, "you make me wish that I were a poet, instead of a politician."
"But you aren't a politician!" protested Diana. "You shall not malign yourself so."