With infinite care, and astonishing speed, Frank slid from his mule and made his way back to the motionless Spoons.

“Always said you were more than human, old chap,” said Allen, kicking the snow away from the mule’s fore legs.  “Easy now!  Don’t lose your passenger!” The mule regained his balance and stepped carefully forward out of the drift, while the guide, balanced perilously on the outer edge of the trail, kept a supporting hand on Nucky’s shoulders.

But there was no need of the flask Frank pulled from his pocket.  Nucky opened his eyes almost immediately.  Whatever emotion Frank may have felt, he kept to himself.  “I told you Spoons was better than a life insurance policy, Enoch.”

Enoch slowly pushed himself erect.  He looked from Frank’s quizzical eyes to Spoons’ twitching ears, then at his own shaking hands.

“I fainted, didn’t I?” he asked.

Allen nodded, and something in the twist of the man’s lips maddened Nucky.  He burst forth wildly: 

“You think I’m a blank blank sissy!  Well, maybe I am.  But if New York couldn’t scare me, this blank blank hole out here in this blank blank jumping off place can’t.  I’m going on down this trail and if I fall and get killed, it’s up to you and Mr. Seaton.”

“Good work, New York!” responded Allen briefly.  He edged his way carefully back to his mule and the cavalcade moved onward.  Perhaps five minutes afterward, as they left the snow line, the guide looked back.  Nucky was huddled in the saddle, his eyes closed tight, but his thin lips were drawn in a line that caused Allen to change his purpose.  He did not speak as he had planned, but led the way on for a long half hour, in silence, his eyes thoughtful.

But Nucky did not keep his eyes closed long.  The pull of horror, of mystery, of grandeur was too great.  And after the avalanche, his confidence in Spoons was established.  He was little more than a child and under his bravado and his watchfulness there was a child’s recklessness.  If he were to fall, at least he must see whither he was to fall.  He forced himself to look from time to time into the depths below.  The trail dropped steadily, while higher and higher soared canyon wall and mountain peak.  It was still early when the trail met the plateau on which lie the Indian gardens.

Frank’s mule suddenly quickened his stride as did Spoons.  But Nucky, although he was weary and saddle sore had no intention of crying a halt, now that the trail was level.  His pulse began to subside and once more he sat erect in the saddle.  When the mules rushed forward to bury their noses in a cress-grown spring, he grinned at Frank.

“Well, here I am, after all!”

Frank grinned in return.  “If I could put through a few more stunts like this, you’d look almost like a boy, instead of a potato sprout.  Get down and limber up.”

Nucky half scrambled, half fell off his mule.  “Must be spring down here,” he cried, staring about at grass and cottonwood.