Nucky's vanity had been deeply wounded. Greater than his fear, which
was very great indeed, was Nucky's vanity. He gulped the second cup of
coffee, then with the air of bravado which belonged to Marty the Dude,
he sauntered up to the cigar stand where the guide still lounged.

"All right, Frank," said Nucky. "I'm ready for Bright Angel when you
are."

The guide looked at the boy carefully. Two bright red spots were
burning in Nucky's cheeks. He was biting his lips, nervously. But his
blue eyes were hard and steady.

"I'll be ready in half an hour, Enoch. Meet me at the corral. We'll
camp down below for a night or two if you hold out and I'll have to
have the grub put up. You go over to the store room yonder and get a
flannel shirt and a pair of denim pants to pull on over those you're
wearing. Mr. Seaton left his camera for you. I put it on your bureau.
Bring that along. Skip now!"

Nucky's cheeks were still burning when he met Allen at the corral.
Three mules, one a well loaded pack mule, the others saddled, were
waiting. Frank leaned against the bars.

"Enoch," said the man, "there's no danger at all, if you let your mule
alone. Don't try to guide him. He knows the trail perfectly. All you
have to do is to sit in the saddle and look up, not down! Remember,
up, not down! I shall lead. You follow, on Spoons. Old Foolish Face
brings up the rear with the pack. Did you ever ride, before?"

"I never touched a horse in my life," replied Nucky, trying to curb the