"Me? Nothing! It was the Canyon. Let me tell you about that first trip." And he told rapidly but in detail, the story of Nucky's first two days in the Canyon.
Seaton listened with an absorbed interest. "Has he spoken of his mother to you since?" he asked, when Frank had finished.
"No, and he probably never will again. Do you think you can clear the matter up for him?"
"I'll certainly try! Do you like the boy, Frank?"
"Yes, I do. I think he's got the real makings in him. Better leave him out here with me, Seaton."
Seaton's face fell. "I—I hoped he'd want to stick by me. But the decision is up to the boy. If he wants to stay out here, I'll raise no objections."
"I'm sure it would be better for him," said Frank. "Gambling is a persistent disease. He's got years of struggle ahead of him, no matter where he goes."
"I know that, of course. Well, we'll take the trip down the trail to-morrow before we try to make any decisions. I must go along now. He's waiting for me."
"Better put cotton in one ear," suggested Allen, with a smile.
The ride was a long and pleasant one. John Seaton gave secondary heed to the shifting grandeur of the views, for he was engrossed by his endeavor to replace the sullen, unboyish Nucky he had known with this voluble, high strung and entirely adolescent person who bumped along the trail regardless of weariness or the hour.