"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. "No," said Nucky. "Well, let's forget the Canyon and go over to the hogan, yonder. Is that the best you two can do on shoes? I'm always sorry for you lady-like New Yorkers. Come over here a minute. I guess we can rent some boots to fit you." "I'm going to write letters, Frank," said Seaton. "You and Enoch'll find me over at one of the desks. Fit the boy out as you think best." Not long after, Nucky trailed the guide through the lobby. He was wearing high laced boots, with a very self-conscious air. Once outside, in the glory of the westering sun, Frank took a deep breath. "Great air, boy! Get all you can of it into those flabby bellows of yours. Before we go to the hogan, come over to the corral. My Tom horse has got a saddle sore. A fool tourist rode him all day with a fold in the blanket as big as your fist." "Is he a bronco?" asked Nucky, with sudden animation. "He was a bronco. You easterners have the wrong idea. A bronco is a plains pony before he's broken. After he's busted he's a horse. See?" "Aw, you're dead wrong, Frank!" drawled a voice. Nucky looked up in astonishment to see a tall man, whose skin was a rich bronze, offering a cigarette to the guide. "Dry up, Mike!" returned Frank with a grin. "What does a Navaho know about horses! Enoch, this is a sure enough Indian. Mike, let me introduce Mr. Enoch Huntingdon of New York City." The Navaho nodded and smiled. "You look as if a little Canyon climbing would do you good," said he. "I was looking at Tom horse, Frank. He's in bad shape. How much did that tender-foot weigh that rode him?" "I don't know. I wasn't here the day they hired him out. I know the cuss would have weighed a good deal less if I'd been here when that saddle was taken off! Going down to-morrow with Miss Planer?" "Not unless some one breaks trail for us. Are you going to try it?" "Not unless my young friend here gets his nerve up. Want to try it, Enoch?" "Try what?" asked Nucky. "The trip down Bright Angel." "Not on your life!" cried Nucky.