What in the world was he to do with the young gambler in San Francisco,
that paradise of gamblers? He could employ a detective to dog Nucky,
but that was to acknowledge defeat. If there were only some place
along the line where he could leave the boy, giving him a taste of out
of door life, such as only the west knows!

For a long time Seaton turned this idea over in his mind. The train
was pulling out of Albuquerque when he had a sudden inspiration. He
knew Nucky too well by now to ask him for information or for an
expression of opinion. But that night, at dinner, he said, casually,

"We're going to leave the main line, at Williams, Enoch, and go up to
the Grand Canyon. There's a guide at Bright Angel that I camped with
two years ago. It's such bad weather that I don't suppose there'll be
many people up there and I telegraphed him this afternoon to give me a
week or so. I'm going to turn you over to him and I'll go on to the
Coast. I'll pick you up on my way back."

"All right," said Nucky, casually.

Mr. Seaton ground his teeth with impatience and thought of what Jack's
enthusiasm would have been over such a program. But he said nothing
and strolled out to the observation car.

It was raining and sleeting at Williams. They had to wait for hours in
the little station for the connecting train to the Canyon. It came in,
finally, and Seaton and Nucky climbed aboard, the only visitors for the
usually popular side trip. It was a wild and lonely run to the
Canyon's rim. Nucky, sitting with his face pressed against the window,
saw only vague forms of cactus and evergreens through the sleet which,