One golden afternoon he edged his way around the shoulder of a gnarled and broken peak, in search of rabbits for supper.  Just at the outermost point of the shoulder he came upon a cedar twisting itself about a broad, flat bowlder.  Enoch instantly stopped the search for game and dropped upon the rock, his back against the cedar.  Lighting his pipe, he gave himself up to contemplation of the view.  Below him yawned blue space, flecked with rose colored mists.  Beyond this mighty blue chasm lay a mountain of purest gold, banded with white and silhouetted against a sky of palest azure.  An eagle dipped lazily across the heavens.

When he had gazed his fill, Enoch put his pipe in his pocket, unrolled the diary and, balancing it oh his knee, began to write: 

“Oh, Diana, no wonder you are lovely!  No wonder you are serene and pure and reverent!

  ’And her’s shall be the breathing balm
  And her’s the silence and the calm’—­

“You remember how it goes, Diana.

“I heard Curly curse yesterday.  A thousand echoes sent his words back to him and he looked at the glory of the canyon walls and was ashamed.  I saw shame in his eyes.

“It was not cowardice that drove me away for this interval, Diana.  Never believe that of me!  I was afraid, yes, but of myself, not of the newspapers.  If I had stayed on the train, I would have returned at once to Washington and have shot the reporter who wrote the stuff.  Perhaps I shall do it yet.  But if I do, it will be after the Canyon and I have come to agreement on the subject.  I am very sure I shall shoot Brown.  Some one should have done it, long ago.

“I wonder what you are doing this afternoon.  Somewhere between a hundred and a hundred and fifty miles we are from Bright Angel, Mack says, via the river.  And only a handful of explorers, you told me, ever have completed the trip down the Colorado.  I would like to try it.

“Diana, you look at me with your gentle, faithful eyes, the corners of your lips a little uncertain as if you want to tell me that I am disappointing you and yet, because you are so gentle, you did not want to hurt me.  Diana, don’t be troubled about me.  I shall go back, long enough at least to discharge my pressing duties.  After that, who knows or cares!  Oh, Diana!  Diana!  What is the use?  There is nothing left in my life.  I am empty—­empty!

“Even all this is make believe, for, as soon as you saw that I was beginning to care for you,—­beginning is a good word here!—­you went away.

“Good-by, Diana.”

Enoch’s gun made no contribution to the larder that night.  Curly uttered loud and bitter comment on the fact.

“You’re getting spoiled by high living,” said Enoch severely.  “What would you have done if I hadn’t come along and taken pity on you?  Why, you and Mack would have starved to death here in the Canyon, for it’s morally certain neither of you would have stopped panning gold long enough to prepare your food.”