SON OF THE WIND
found a good place where it could be under cover and under lock; only the people wanted to know how long it was to be kept there. Carron looked at the ceiling, saw all his adventure still in the air above him. "A week," he said, and wished that he could put a lock on the hours. The day was already half done.
He presented himself to Beckwith's advice as a hunter desirous of the best direction to take for game. They named him roads and trails, but none went in the direction he wanted. The Big Cañon? Lord! They scorned his suggestion. Nothing in there but eagles. None the less he was stubborn. Well then, the only way to get in was by going twenty-five miles back, someway below Raders. There might be a trail turned off there—they couldn't say.
Carron had no intention of retracing his steps so far. Besides, he felt quite sure a trail did not turn off there. He had looked for one too well, four days ago. His thought was fixed on the little window by the Sphinx which had shown him the distance beyond. Esmeralda Charley, listening to the description of this, was not sanguine about it as a point of passage through the hills. In the end they made an expedition straight out from Beckwith to the cañon wall—ten miles across very vile country,
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