They started ahead, crawling through brush, over rocks, keeping alert for rattlers, which abounded in Lobo Canyon. Henry was so stiff and sore that it was difficult for him to keep going. They rested often, but were making fair progress. They struck about a mile of fairly open traveling, but ran into another slide, which halted them for a while.
“Isn’t there another way to get into this canyon, Henry?” Judge panted.
Henry sprawled on top of a rock to get his breath, nodded and rubbed a sore elbow.
“I’ve heard there is, Judge. Somewhere near the upper end, but I don’t know just where.”
Judge took off a boot and examined his sore toes. It was very quiet down there. Finally Judge said:
“Henry, we’re two old fools! We ruin ourselves, trying to get in here to find the body of a dead man. Suppose we do find him—we can’t carry him out. Why, we will be lucky to get out ourselves.”
Henry sprawled on the rock, looking up at a circling buzzard, far up in the blue sky.
“Two old fools,” he said slowly. “That’s right, Judge. Fighting to keep a job, getting all busted up physically. This is a young man’s job, Judge. Maybe Pete Gonyer—who knows?”
“Pete must be forty.”