The Enchanted Canyon

  CHAPTER VI

  A NEWSPAPER REPORTER

  "I wonder if Christ ever cared for a woman. He may have, for Godwished Him to know and suffer all that men know and suffer, and alllove must have been noble in His eyes."--_Enoch's Diary_.

  "Abbott," said Enoch the next day, "do you recall that I have commentedto you several times on the fact that some of the southwestern statesdid not back the Geological Survey in its search for oil fields as wehad expected they would?"

  "Yes, Mr. Secretary," answered Charley, looking up from his notebookwith keen interest in eye and voice. "I have wondered just why thematter bothered you so."

  "It has bothered me for several different reasons. It has, to beginwith, conflicted with my idea of the fundamental purpose of thisoffice. What could be a stronger reason for being for the GeologicalSurvey than to find and show the public the resources of the publiclands? When the Bureau of Mines reports to me that certain oil fieldsare diminishing at an alarming rate, and when any fool knows that avital part of our future history is to be written in terms of oil, itbehooves the Secretary of the Interior to look for remedial steps.Certain sections of our Southwest are saturated with oil and yet,Abbott, the states resent our locating oil fields. As far as I knownow, no open hostility has been shown, unless"--Enoch interruptedhimself suddenly,--"do you recall last year that some Indians drove aSurvey group out of Apache Canyon and that young Rice was killed andall his data lost?"

  "Certainly, I recall it. I knew Rice."

  Enoch nodded. "Do you recall that a number of newspapers took occasionthen to sneer at government attempts to usurp State and commercialfunctions?"

  "Now you speak of it, I do remember. The Brown papers were especiallynasty."

  "Yes," agreed Enoch. "Now listen closely, Abbott. When my suspicionshad been sufficiently roused, I went to the Secretary of State, and helaughed at me. Then, the Mexico trouble began to come to a head and Itold the President what I feared. This was after I'd had that letterfrom Juan Cadiz. Last night, as you know, I had a session with Cadizand one of his bandit friends. Here is what I drew from them."

  Enoch reviewed rapidly his conversation of the night before. Abbottlistened with snapping eyes.

  "It looks as if Secretary Fowler would have to stop laughing," he said,when Enoch had finished.

  "Abbott," Enoch's voice was very low, "John Fowler, the Secretary ofState, always will laugh at it."

  "Why?" asked Charley.

  "I don't know," replied Enoch.

  The two men stared at each other for a long moment. Then Abbott said,"I've known for a long time that he was jealous of you, politically.Also he may own Mexican oil stock or he may merely wish to have thepolitical backing of the Brown newspapers."

  "Can you think of any method of persuading him that I am not apolitical rival, that I merely want to go to the Senate, when I havefinished here?" asked Enoch earnestly.

  Abbott shook his head, "He might be convinced that you want to be aSenator. But he's a clever man. And even a fool knows that you areAmerica's man on horseback." Charley's voice rose a little. "Why,even in this rotten, cynical city of Washington, they believe in you,they feel that you are the man of destiny. Mr. Fowler is just cleverenough to be jealous of you."

  A look of sadness came into Enoch's keen gaze. "I wonder if the gameis worth it, after all," murmured he. "Abbott, I'd swap it all for--"he stopped abruptly, looked broodingly out of the window, then said,"Charley, my boy, why are you going into political life?"

  The younger man's eyes deepened and he cleared his throat. "A fewyears ago, if I'd answered that question truthfully, I'd have said forpersonal aggrandizement! But my intimate association with you, Mr.Huntingdon, has given me a different ideal. I'm going into politics toserve this country in the best way I can."

  "Thanks, Abbott," said Enoch. "I've been wanting to say to you forsome time that I thought you had served your apprenticeship as asecretary. How would you like an appointment as a specialinvestigator?"

  Charley shook his head. "As long as you are Secretary of the Interior,I prefer this job; not only because of my personal feeling for you butbecause I can learn more here about the way a clean political game canbe played than I can anywhere else."

  "All right, Abbott! I'm more than grateful and more than satisfied athaving you with me. See if I can have a conference with first theSecretary of State and then the President. Now let me finish thisreport before the Attorney General arrives."

  Enoch's conference with Secretary Fowler was inconclusive. TheSecretary of State chose to take a humorous attitude toward what hetermed the Secretary of the Interior's midnight conference withbandits. Enoch laughed with him and then departed for his audiencewith the chief executive.

  The President listened soberly. When the report was finished, hescowled.

  "What attitude does Mr. Fowler take in this?"

  "He thinks I'm making mountains out of mole hills. It seems to me, Mr.President, that I must be extremely careful not to encroach on thedomain of the Secretary of State. My idea is very deliberately to pushthe work of the Geological Survey and to follow very carefully anyactivities against its work."

  "All very well, of course," agreed the President, "but what of the biggame back of it all--what's the means of fighting that?"

  "Publicity," replied Enoch briefly.

  "Exactly!" exclaimed the President, "There are other newspapers. Browndoes not own them all. As fast as evidence is produced, let the storybe told. By Jove, if this war talk grows much more menacing,Huntingdon, I think I'll ask you to go across the country and make afew speeches,--on the Geological Survey!"

  "I'm willing!" replied Enoch, with a little sigh.

  The President looked at him keenly. "Huntingdon, we're working you toohard! You look tired. I try not to overload you, but--"

  "But you are so overloaded yourself that you have to shift some of theload," said Enoch, with a smile. "I'm not seriously tired, Mr.President."

  "I hope not, old man. By the way, what did you think of Miss Allenyesterday?"

  "I thought her a very interesting young woman," replied Enoch.

  "My heavens, man!" exclaimed the chief executive. "What do you want!Why, Diana Allen is as rare as--as a great poem. Look here,Huntingdon, you make a mistake to cut all women out of your life. It'snot normal."

  "Perhaps not," agreed Enoch briefly. "I would be very glad," he added,as if fearing that he had been too abrupt, "I would be very glad to seemore of Miss Allen."

  "You ought to make a great effort to do," said the President. "Keep meinformed on this Mexican matter, please, and take care of yourself, myboy. Good-by, Mr. Secretary. Think seriously of a speaking tour,won't you?"

  "I will," replied Enoch obediently, as he left the room.

  The remainder of the day was crowded to the utmost. It was not untilmidnight that Enoch achieved a free moment. This was when in theprivacy of his own room Jonas had bidden him a final good night. Enochdid not open his journal. Instead he scrawled a letter.

  "Dear Miss Allen: After deliberating on the matter a somewhat shortertime, I'll admit, than you suggested, but still having deliberated onit, I have decided that friendship is an art that needs attention andstudy. Will you not dine with me to-morrow, or rather, this evening,at the Ashton, at eight o'clock? Jonas, who will bring you this, canbring your answer. Sincerely yours, Enoch Huntingdon."

  He gave the note to Jonas the next morning. Jonas' black eyes, when hesaw the superscription, nearly started from their sockets: for duringall the years of his service with Enoch, he never had carried a note toa woman. It was mid-morning when he tip-toed to the Secretary's deskand laid a letter on it. Enoch was in conference at the time with BillTimmins, perhaps the foremost newspaper correspondent in America. Heexcused himself for a moment and opened the envelope.

  "Dear Mr. Secretary: Thank you, yes. Sincerely, Diana Allen."

  He slipped the letter into his breast pocket and went
on with theinterview, his face as somber as ever. But all that day it seemed tothe watchful Jonas that the Secretary seemed less tired than he hadbeen for weeks.

  There was a little balcony at the Ashton, just big enough for a tablefor two, and shielded from the view of the main dining-room by palms.It was set well out from the second floor, overlooking a quiet park.Enoch was in the habit of dining here with various men with whom hewished semi-privacy yet whom he did not care to entertain at his ownhome.

  Diana was more than charmed by the arrangement. The corners of hermouth deepened as if she were also amused, but Enoch, engrossed inseating her where the light exactly suited him, did not note thecurving lips. He did not know much about women's dress, but he likedDiana's soft white gown, and the curious turquoise necklace she woreinterested him. He asked her about it.

  "Na-che gave it to me," she said. "It was her mother's. It has nospecial significance beyond the fact that the workmanship is very fineand that the tracery on the silver means joy."

  "Joy? What sort of joy?" asked Enoch.

  "Is there more than one sort?" countered Diana, in the bantering voicethat Enoch always fancied was half tender.

  "Oh, yes!" replied the Secretary. "There's joy in work, play, friends.There are as many kinds of joy as there are kinds of sorrow. Onlysorrow is so much more persistent than joy! A sorrow can stay by oneforever. But joys pass. They are always short lived."

  "Joy in work does not pass, Mr. Secretary," said Diana.

  Enoch laid down his spoon. "Please, Miss Allen, don't Mr. Secretary meany more."

  Diana merely smiled. "Granted that one has a real friend, I believejoy in friendship is permanent," she went on.

  "I hope you're right," said Enoch quietly. "We'll see, you and I."

  Diana did not reply. She was, perhaps, a little troubled by Enoch'scalm and persistent declaration of principles. It is not easy for awoman even of Diana's poise and simple sincerity to keep in order agentleman as distinguished and as courteous and as obviously in earnestas Enoch.

  Finally, "Do you mind talking your own shop, Mr. Huntingdon?" she asked.

  "Not at all," replied Enoch eagerly. "Is there some aspect of my workthat interests you?"

  "I imagine that all of it would," said Diana. "But I was not thinkingof your work as a Cabinet Official. I was thinking of you as PoliceCommissioner of New York."

  Enoch looked surprised.

  "Father wrote to me the other day," Diana went on, "and asked me tosend him the collection of your speeches. I bought it at Brentano'sand I don't mind telling you that it pinched the Johnstown lunches agood bit to do so, but it was worth it, for I read the book beforemailing it."

  "You're not hinting that I ought to reimburse you, are you?" demandedEnoch, with a delighted chuckle.

  "Well, no--we'll consider that the luncheon and this dinner square theJohnstown pinching, perhaps a trifle more. What I wanted to say wasthat it struck me as worth comment that after you ceased being PoliceCommissioner, you never again talked of the impoverished boyhood ofAmerica. And yet you were a very successful Commissioner, were younot?"

  Enoch looked from Diana out over the balcony rail to the fountain thattwinkled in the little park.

  "One of the most difficult things in public life," he said slowly, "isto hew straight to the line one laid out at the beginning."

  "I should think," Diana suggested, "that the difficulty would depend onwhat the line was. A man who goes into politics to make himself rich,for example, might easily stick to his original purpose."

  "Exactly! But money of itself never interested me!" Here Enochstopped with a quick breath. There flashed across his inward visionthe picture of a boy in Luigi's second story, throwing dice withpassionate intensity. Enoch took a long sip of water, then went on."I wanted to be Police Commissioner of New York because I wanted tomake it impossible for other boys to have a boyhood like mine. I don'tmean that, quite literally, I thought one man or one generation couldaccomplish the feat. But I did truly think I could make a beginning.Miss Allen, in spite of the beautiful fights I had, in spite of thespectacular clean-ups we made, I did nothing for the boys that mysuccessor did not wipe out with a single stroke of his pen, his firstweek in office."

  Diana drew a long breath. "I wonder why," she said.

  "I think that lack of imagination, poor memory, personal selfishness,is the answer. There is nothing people forget quite so quickly as thegriefs of their own childhood. There is nothing more difficult forpeople to imagine than how things affect a child's mind. And yet,nothing is so important in America to-day as the right kind ofeducation for boys. It has not been found as yet."

  "Have you a theory about it?" asked Diana.

  "Yes, I have. Have you?"

  Diana nodded. "I don't think boys and girls should be educated fromthe same angle."

  "No? Why not?" Enoch's blue eyes were eager.

  "Wandering about the desert among the Indians, one has leisure to thinkand to observe the workings of life under frank and simple conditions.It has seemed to me that the boy approaches life from an entirelydifferent direction from a girl and that our system of education shouldrecognize that. Both are primarily guided by sex, their femaleness ortheir maleness is always their impelling force. I'm talking now on thematter of the spiritual and moral training, not book education."

  "Why not include the mental training? I think you'd be quite right indoing so."

  "Perhaps so," replied Diana.

  They were silent for a moment, then Enoch said, with a quiet vehemence,"Some day they'll dare to defy the creeds and put God into the publicschools. I don't know about girls, but, Miss Allen, the growing boysneed Him, more than they need a father. Something to cling to,something high and noble and permanent while sex with all its thousandvaried impulses flagellates them! Something to go to with thoseexquisite, generous fancies that even the worst boy has and that eventhe best boy will not share even with the best mother. The homes todaydon't have God in them. The churches with their hide-bound creedsfrighten away most men. Think, Miss Allen, think of the travesty ofour great educational system which ignores the two great facts of theuniverse, God and sex."

  "You've never put any of this into your public utterances."

  "No," replied Enoch, "I've been saving it for you," and he looked ather with a quiet smile.

  Diana could but smile in return.

  "And so," said Enoch, "returning to the answer to your originalquestion, I have found it hard to keep to any sort of fine idealism,partly because of my own inward struggles and partly because politicsis a vile game anyhow."

  "We Americans," Diana lifted her chin and looked into Enoch's eyes verydirectly, "feel that at least one politician has played a clean game.It is a very great privilege for me to know you, Mr. Huntingdon."

  "Miss Allen," half whispered Enoch, "if you really knew me, with all myinward devils and my half-achieved dreams, you would realize that it'sno privilege at all. Nevertheless, I wish that you did know all aboutme. It would make me feel that the friendship which we are formingcould stand even 'the wreckful siege of battering days'!"

  "There was a man who understood friendships!" said Diana quickly. "Hesaid in his sonnets all that could be said about it."

  "Now don't disappoint me by agreeing with the idiots who try to provethat Shakespeare wrote the sonnets to a man!" cried Enoch. "Only awoman could have brought forth that beauty of song."

  Diana rose nobly to do battle. "What nonsense, Mr. Huntingdon! As ifa man like Shakespeare--" She paused as if struck by a sudden thought."That's a curious attitude for a notorious woman hater to take, Mr.Secretary."

  Enoch laid down his fork. "Do you think I'm a woman hater, MissAllen?" looking steadily into Diana's eyes.

  "I didn't mean to be so personal. Just like a woman!" sighed Diana.

  "But do you think I'm a woman hater?" insisted Enoch.

  Diana looked up earnestly. "Please, Mr. Huntingdon, if our friends
hipis to ripen, you must not force it."

  Enoch's face grew suddenly white. There swept over him with bitterrealism a conception of the falseness of the position into which he waspermitting himself to drift. He answered his own question with anattempted lightness of tone.

  "I can never marry, but I don't hate women."

  Diana's chin lifted and Enoch leaned forward quickly. All the aplombwon through years of suffering and experience deserted him. For themoment he was again the boy in the bottom of the Grand Canyon.

  "Oh, I am stupid, but let me explain. I want you to--"

  "Please don't!" said Diana coldly. "I need no warning, Mr. Huntingdon."

  "Oh, my dear Miss Allen, you must not be offended! What can I say?"

  "You might ask me if it's not time to go home," suggested Diana,coolly. "You mustn't forget that I'm a wage earner."

  Enoch bit his lip and turned to sign the check. Then he followed Dianato the door. Here they came upon the Indian Commissioner and his wife,and all opportunity for explanations was gone for the two invitedthemselves to walk along to Diana's rooming place. Enoch went up thesteps with Diana, however, and asked her tensely:

  "Will you lunch with me to-morrow, Miss Allen, that I may explainmyself?"

  "Thank you, no. I shall be very busy to-morrow, Mr. Huntingdon."

  "Let me call here in the evening, then."

  "I'd rather you wouldn't," answered the girl, coldly. "Good night, Mr.Secretary," and she was gone.

  Enoch stood as if struck dumb, then he made an excuse to Mr. and Mrs.Watkins, and started homeward. The night was stifling. When Jonas lethim into the house, his collar was limp and his hair lay wet on hisforehead.

  "I'm going to New York to-night, Jonas," he said huskily.

  "What's happened, boss?" asked Jonas breathlessly, as he followed Enochup the stairs.

  "Nothing! I'm going to give myself a day's rest. Give me something totravel in," pulling off his coat.

  "I'm going with you, boss," not stirring, his black eyes rolling.

  "No, I'm going alone, Jonas. Here, I'll pack my own grip. You go onout." This in a voice that sent Jonas, however reluctantly, into thehall, where he walked aimlessly up and down, wringing his hands.

  "He ain't been as bad as this in years," he muttered. "I wonder whatshe did to him!"

  Enoch came out of his room shortly. "Tell every one I'm in New York,Jonas," he said, and was gone.

  But Enoch did not go to New York. There was, he found on reaching thestation, no train for an hour. He checked his suitcase, and thewatching Jonas followed him out into the dark streets. He knew exactlywhither the boss was heading, and when Enoch had been admitted into abrick house on a quiet street not a stone's throw from the station,Jonas entered nimbly through the basement.

  He had a short conference with a colored man in the kitchen, then hewent up to the second floor and sat down in a dark corner of the hallwhere he could keep an eye on all who entered the rear room. Welldressed men came and went from the room all night. It was nearing sixo'clock in the morning when Jonas stopped a waiter who was carrying ina tray of coffee.

  "How many's there now?" he demanded.

  "Only four," replied the waiter. "That red-headed guy's winning theshirts off their backs. I've seen this kind of a game before. It'sgood for another day."

  "Are any of 'em drinking?" asked Jonas.

  "Nothing but coffee. Lord, I'm near dead!"

  "Let me take that tray in for you. I want to get word to my boss."

  The waiter nodded and, sinking into Jonas' chair, closed his eyes.

  Jonas carried the tray into a handsome, smoke filled room, where fourmen with intent faces were gathered around a card table. Enoch, in hisshirt sleeves, was dealing as Jonas set a steaming cup at his elbow.Perhaps the intensity of the colored man's gaze distracted Enoch'sattention for a moment from the cards. He looked up and when he metJonas' eyes he deliberately laid down the deck, rose, took Jonas by thearm and led him to the door.

  "Don't try this again, Jonas," he said, and he closed the door afterhis steward.

  Once more Jonas took up his vigil. He left his chair at nine o'clockto telephone Charley Abbott that the Secretary had gone to New York,then he returned to his place. Noon came, afternoon waned. As duskdrew on again, Jonas went once more to the telephone.

  "That you, Miss Allen? . . . This is Jonas. . . . Yes, ma'am, I'mwell, but the boss is in a dangerous condition. . . . Yes, ma'am, Ithought you'd feel bad because you see, it's your fault. . . . No,ma'am, I can't explain over the telephone, but if you'll come to thestation and meet me at the news-stand on the corner, I'll tellyou. . . . Miss Allen, for God's sake, just trust me and come along.Come now, in a cab, and I'll pay for it. . . . Thank you! Thank you,ma'am! Thank you!"

  He banged up the receiver and flew out the basement door. When hereached the news-stand, he stood with his hands twitching, talking tohimself for a half hour before Diana appeared. She walked up to him asdirectly as a man would have done.

  "What's happened, Jonas?"

  "You and the boss must have quarreled last night. When anythingstrikes the boss deep, he wants to gamble. Of late years he's mostlyfought it off, but once in a while it gets him. He's been at it sincelast night over yonder, and for the first time in years I can't doanything with him. And if it gets out, you know, Miss Allen, he'sruined. I don't dast to leave him long, that's why I got you to comehere."

  Diana's chin lifted. "Do you mean to tell me that a man of Mr.Huntingdon's reputation and ability, still stoops to that sort ofthing?"

  "Stoop! What do you mean, stoop? O Lord, I thought, seeing he setsthe world by you, that you was different from the run of women andwould understand." Jonas twisted his brown hands together.

  "Understand what?" asked Diana, her great eyes fastened on Jonas withpity and scorn struggling in them.

  "Understand what it means to him. How it's like a conjur that Luigiwished on him when he was a little boy. How he's pulled himself awayfrom it and he didn't have anybody on earth to help him till I comealong. What do you women folks know about how a strong man like himfights Satan? I've seen him walk the floor all night and win, and I'veseen him after he's given in, suffer sorrow and hate of himself like aman the Almighty's forgot. That's why he's so good, because he sinsand then suffers for it."

  As Jonas' husky voice subsided, a sudden gleam of tears shone inDiana's eyes.

  "I'll send him a note, Jonas, and wait here for the answer. If thatdoesn't bring him, I'll go after him myself."

  "The note'll bring him," said Jonas, "and he'll give me thunder fortelling."

  "Let me have a pencil and get me some paper from the news-stand." Shewrote rapidly.

  "Dear Mr. Huntingdon:

  "I must see you at once on urgent business. I am in the railwaystation. Could you come to me here?

  "DIANA ALLEN."

  Jonas all but snatched the note and dashed away. Enoch was scowling atthe cards before him when Jonas thrust the note into his hand. Enochstared at the address, laid the cards down slowly, and read the note.

  "All right, gentlemen," he said quietly. "I've had my fun! Goodnight!" He took his hat from Jonas and strode out of the room. He didnot speak as the two walked rapidly to the station. Diana was standingby a cab near the main entrance.

  "This is good of you, Mr. Huntingdon," she said gravely, shaking hands."Thank you, Jonas!" She entered the cab and Enoch followed her.

  "Let me have your suitcase check, boss." Jonas held out a black handthat still shook a little.

  "I'll get Miss Allen to drop me at the house, Jonas," said Enoch.

  Jonas nodded and heaved a great sigh as the cab started off.

  "How did you come to do it?" asked Enoch, looking strangely at Diana.

  "I heard you were in New York, Mr. Secretary. Jonas called me up!"

  "Jonas had no business to do so. I am humiliated beyond words!"

  Enoch spoke with
a dreary sort of hopelessness.

  "I thought we were friends," said Diana calmly. "It isn't as if wehadn't known each other and all about each other since childhood. Youmust not say a word against Jonas."

  "How could I? He is my guardian angel," said Enoch.

  Diana went on still in the commonplace tone of the tea table. "I wantto apologize for my fit of temper, Mr. Secretary. I was very stupidand I'm thoroughly ashamed of myself. You may tell me anything youplease!"

  "I don't deserve it!" Enoch spoke abruptly.

  Diana's voice suddenly deepened and softened. "Ah, but you do deserveit, dear Mr. Secretary. You deserve all that grateful citizens can dofor you, and even then we cannot expect to discharge our full debt toyou. Here's my house. Perhaps when you're not too busy, you'll ask meto dine again with you."

  Enoch did not reply. He stood with bared head while she ran up thesteps. Then he reentered the cab and was driven home. But it was nottill two weeks later that Enoch sent a note to Diana, asking her totake dinner with him. Even his diary during that period showed norecord of his inward flagellations. He did not receive an answer untillate in the afternoon.

  It had been an exceptionally hectic day. Enoch had been summonedbefore the Senate Committee on appropriations, and with the director ofthe Reclamation Service had endured a grilling that had had someaspects of the third degree.

  After some two hours of it the Director had lost his temper.

  "Gentlemen!" he had cried, "treat me as if I were a common thief,attempting to loot the public funds, if you find satisfaction in it,but at least do not humiliate the Secretary of the Interior in the samemanner!"

  "These people can't humiliate me, Whipple." Enoch had spoken quietly.

  The blow had struck home and the Senator who was acting as chairman hadapologized.

  Enoch had nodded. "I know! You are in the position of having toappropriate funds for the carrying on of a highly specialized businessabout which you are utterly ignorant. You are uneasy and you mistakeimpertinent questioning for keen investigation."

  "I move we adjourn until to-morrow," a member had said hastily. Themotion had carried and Enoch, as though it was already past sixo'clock, had started for his office, Whipple accompanying him.

  "After all this howl over the proposed Paloma Dam," said Whipple, "wemay not be able to build it. There's a bunch of Mexicans both this andthe other side of the border that have made serious trouble with thepreliminary survey, and I have the feeling that there is some powerbehind that wants to start something."

  "Is that so?" asked Enoch with interest. "Come in and talk to me a fewmoments about it."

  Whipple followed to the Secretary's office. A sealed letter was lyingon the desk. Enoch opened it, and read it without ceremony.

  "Dear Mr. Huntingdon: I find that some old friends are starting for theGrand Canyon this afternoon and they have given me an opportunity tomake one of their party. I have been able to arrange my work to Mr.Watkins' satisfaction and so, I'm off. I want to thank you very deeplyfor the wonderful openings you have made for me and for the very greatpersonal kindness you have shown me. When I return in the winter, Ihope I may see you again.

  "Very sincerely yours,

  "DIANA ALLEN."

  Enoch folded the note and slipped it into his pocket, then he looked atthe waiting Director. "I hope you'll excuse me, Whipple, but this issomething to which I must give my personal attention," and without aword further, he put on his hat and walked out of the office. He didnot go to his waiting carriage but, leaving the building by anotherdoor, he walked quickly to the drug store on the corner and, entering atelephone booth, called the railroad station. The train connecting forthe Southwest had left an hour before. Enoch hung up the receiver andwalked out to the curb, scowling and striking his walking stick againsthis trouser leg. Finally he got aboard a trolley.

  It was a little after three o'clock in the morning when Jonas locatedhim. Enoch was leaning against the wall watching the roulette table.

  "Good evening, boss," said Jonas.

  Enoch looked round at him. "That you, Jonas? I haven't touched a cardor a dollar this evening, Jonas."

  Jonas, who had already ascertained this from the owner of the gamblinghouse, nodded.

  "Have you had your supper yet, boss?"

  Enoch hesitated, thinking heavily. "Why, no, Jonas, I guess not."Then he added irritably, "A man must rest, Jonas. I can't slave allthe time."

  "Sure!" returned the colored man, holding his trembling hands behindhim. "But how come you to think this was rest, boss? You better comeback now and let me fix you a bite to eat."

  "Jonas, what's the use? Who on earth but you cares what I do? What'sthe use?"

  "Miss Diana Allen," said Jonas softly, "she told Mr. Abbott this noon,at lunch, that you was one of the great men of this country and that hewas a lucky dog to spend all his time with you."

  Enoch stood, his arms folded on his chest, his massive head bowed.Finally he said, "All right, old man, I'll try again. But I'm lonely,Jonas, lonely beyond words, and all the greatness in the world, Jonas,can't fill an empty heart."

  "I know it, boss! I know it!" said Jonas huskily, as he led the way tothe street. There, Enoch insisted on walking the three or four mileshome.

  "All right," agreed Jonas, cheerfully. "I guess ghosteses don't mindtravel, and that's all I am, just a ghost."

  Enoch stopped abruptly, put a hand on Jonas' shoulder and hailed apassing night prowler. Once in the cab, Jonas said:

  "The White House done called you twice to-night. Mr. Secretary. Itold 'em you'd call first thing in the morning."

  "Thanks!" replied Enoch briefly.

  The house was silent when they reached it. Jonas never employedservants who could not sleep in their own homes. By the time theSecretary was ready for bed, Jonas appeared with a tray, Enoch silentlyand obediently ate and then turned in.

  The White House called before the Secretary had finished breakfast.

  "You saw last night's papers?" asked the President.

  "No! I'm sorry. I--I took a rest last evening."

  "I'm glad you did. Well, I think you'd better plan--come up here, willyou, at once? I won't try to talk to you over the telephone."

  Enoch, in the carriage, glanced over the paper. The Brown paper of theevening before contained a nasty little story of innuendo about thework of the Survey near Paloma. The morning paper declared in glaringheadlines that the President by his pacifist policy toward Mexico wastainting the nation's honor and that it would shortly bring England,France and Germany about our ears.

  The President was still at breakfast when Enoch was shown in to him.The chief executive insisted that Enoch have a cup of coffee.

  "You don't look to me, my boy, like a man who had enjoyed his rest.And I'm going to ask you to add to your burdens. Could you leave nextweek for a speaking trip?"

  The tired lines around Enoch's mouth deepened. "Yes, Mr. President.Have you a general route planned?"

  "Yes, New York, Chicago, Denver, San Francisco and in between as can bearranged. Take two months to it."

  "I shall be glad to be free of office routine for a while," said Enoch.He sipped his coffee slowly, then rose as he added:

  "I shall stick strictly to the work of my department, Mr. President, inthe speech making."

  "Oh! Absolutely! And let me be of any help to you I may."

  "Thank you," Enoch smiled a little grimly. "You might come along andsupply records for the phonograph."

  "By Jove, I would if it were necessary!" said the President.

  Jonas and Abbott each was perfect in his own line. In five days' timeEnoch was aboard the private car, with such paraphernalia as was neededfor carrying on office work en route. The itinerary had been arrangedto the last detail. A few carefully chosen newspaper correspondentswere aboard and one hot September evening, a train with the Secretary'scar hitched to it, pulled out of Washington.

  Of Enoch's
speeches on that trip little need be said here. Neverbefore had he spoken with such fire and with such simple eloquence.The group of speeches he made are familiar now to every schoolboy. Onecannot read them to-day without realizing that the Secretary was tryingas never before to interpret for the public his own ideals of serviceto the common need. He seemed to Abbott and to the newspaper men whofor six weeks were so intimately associated with him to drawinspiration and information from the free air. And there was to all ofhis speeches an almost wistful persuasiveness, as if, Abbott said, hepicked one listener in each audience, each night, and sought anew tomake him feel the insidious peril to the nation's soul that lay inpersonal complacency and indifference to the nation's spiritualwelfare. Only Jonas, struggling to induce the Secretary to take adecent amount of sleep, nodded wisely to himself. He knew that Enochmade each speech to a lovely, tender face, that no man who saw everforgot.

  Little by little, the newspapers of the country began to take Enoch'spoint of view. They not only gave his speeches in full, but theycommented on them editorially, at great length, and with the exceptionof the Brown papers, favorably. By the time Enoch was on his way home,with but two weeks more of speech making before him, it looked asthough the thought of war with Mexico had been definitely quashed. AndEnoch was tired to the very marrow of his bones.

  But the Brown papers were not finished. One evening, in Arizona,shortly after the train had pulled out of a station, Enoch asked forthe newspapers that had been brought aboard from the desert city.Charley Abbott, who had been with the newspaper men on the observationplatform for an hour or so, answered the Secretary's request with acuriously distraught manner.

  "I--that is--Mr. Huntingdon, Jonas says you slept worse than ever lastnight. Why not save the papers till morning and try to sleep now?"

  Enoch looked at his secretary keenly. "Picked up some Brown papershere, eh! Nothing that bunch can say can hurt me, old man."

  "Don't you ever think it!" exclaimed Charley vehemently. "You might aswell say you were immune to rattler bites, Mr. Huntingdon--" here hisvoice broke.

  "Look here, Abbott," said Enoch, "if it's bad, I've got to fight it,haven't I?"

  "But this sort of thing, a man--" Charley suddenly steadied himself."Mr. Secretary, they've put some nasty personal lies about you in thepaper. The country at large and all of us who know you, scorn the liesas much as they do Brown. In a day or so, it we ignore them, the stuffwill have been forgotten. I beg of you, don't read any newspapersuntil I tell you all's clear."

  Enoch smiled. "Why, my dear old chap, I've weathered all sorts of mudslinging!"

  "But never this particular brand," insisted Charley.

  "Let's have the papers, Abbott. I'm not afraid of anything Brown cansay."

  Charley grimly handed the papers to the Secretary and returned to theobservation platform.

  A reporter had seen Enoch in the gambling house on the evening ofDiana's departure for the Canyon. He had learned something from thegambling house keeper of the Secretary's several trips there. Thereporter had then, with devilish ingenuity, followed Enoch back toMinetta Lane, where he had found Luigi. Then followed eight or tenparagraphs in Luigi's own words, giving an account of Enoch and Enoch'smother. The whole story was given with a deadly simplicity, that itseemed to the Secretary must carry conviction with it.

  As Enoch had told Abbott, he had weathered much political mud slinging,but even his worst political enemies had spared him this. Hisadherents had made much of the fact that Enoch was slum bred and selfmade. That was the sort of story which the inherent democracy ofAmerica loved. But the Brown account made of Enoch a creature of theunderworld, who still loved his early haunts and returned to them inall their vileness. And in all the years of his political life, nonewspaper but this had ever mentioned Enoch's mother. The tale closedwith a comment on the fact that Enoch, who shunned all women, had beenseen several times in Washington giving marked attention to Miss DianaAllen. Diana and her work were fully identified.

  Enoch read the account to the last word, a flush of agonizinghumiliation deepening on his face as he did so. When he had finished,he doubled the paper carefully, and laid it on the chair next to his.Then he lighted a cigarette and sat with folded arms, unseeing eyes onthe newspaper. When Jonas came in an hour later, the cigarette,unsmoked, was cold between the Secretary's lips. With trembling hands,the colored man picked up the paper and with unbelievable venomgleaming in his black eyes, he carried it to the rear door, spat uponit and flung it out into the desert night. Then he returned to Enoch.

  "Mr. Secretary," he said huskily, "let me take your keys."

  Mechanically Enoch obeyed. Jonas selected a small key from the bunchand, opening a large leather portfolio, he took out the black diary.This he placed carefully on the folding table which stood at Enoch'selbow. Then he started toward the door.

  The Secretary did not look up. Nor did he heed the colloquy which tookplace at the door between Jonas and Abbott.

  "How is he, Jonas?"

  "I ain't asked him. He's a sick man."

  "God! Let me come in, Jonas."

  "No, sir, you ain't! How come you think you kin talk to him when evenI don't dast to?"

  "But he mustn't be alone, Jonas."

  "He ain't alone. I left him with his Bible. Ain't nobody going totrouble him this night."

  "I didn't know he read the Bible that way." Abbott's voice wasdoubtful.

  "I don't mean the regular Lord's Bible. It's a book he's been writingfor years and he always turns to it when he's in trouble. I don't knownothing about it. What he don't want me to know, I don't know," andJonas slammed the door behind him.

  It was late when Enoch suddenly straightened himself up and, with anair of resolution, opened the black book. He uncapped his fountain penand wrote:

  "Diana, how could I know, how could I dream that such a thing couldhappen to you, through me! You must never come back to Washington.Perhaps they will forget. As for myself, I can't seem to think clearlyjust what I must do. I am so very tired. One thing is certain, younever must see me again. For one wild moment the desire to return tothe Canyon, now I am in its neighborhood overwhelmed me. I decided togo up there and see if I could find the peace that I found in myboyhood. Then I realized that you were at home, that all the worldwould see me go down Bright Angel, and I gave up the idea. Butsomehow, I must find rest, before I return to Washington. Oh, Diana,Diana!"

  It was midnight when Enoch finally lay down in his berth. To Jonas'delight, he fell asleep almost immediately, and the faithful steward,after reporting to the anxious group on the platform, was soon asleephimself.

  But it was not one o'clock when the Secretary awoke. The train wasrumbling slowly, and he looked from the window. Only the moonlit flatsof the desert were to be seen. Enoch rose with sudden energy anddressed himself. He chucked his toilet case, with his diary and achange of underwear, into a satchel, and scrawled a note to Abbott:

  "Dear Charley: I'm slipping off into the desert for a little rest.You'll hear from me when I feel better. Give out that I'm sick--Iam--and cancel the few speaking engagements left. Tell Jonas he is notto worry. Yours, E. H."

  He sealed this note, then he pulled on a soft hat and, as the trainstopped at a water tank, he slipped off the platform and stood in theshadow of an old shed. It seemed to him a long time before the engine,with violent puffing and jolting, started the long train on again. Butfinally the tail lights disappeared in the distance and Enoch was alonein the desert. For a few moments he stood beside the track, drawing indeep breaths of the warm night air. Then he started slowly westwardalong the railway tracks. He had noted a cluster of adobe houses amile or so back, and toward these he was headed. In spite of the agonyof the blow he had sustained Enoch, gazing from the silver flood of thedesert, to the silver arch of the heavens, was conscious of a thrill ofexcitement and not unpleasant anticipation. Somewhere, somehow, in thedesert, he would find peace and sufficient sp
iritual strength tosustain him when once more he faced Washington and the world.

  BOOK III

  THE ENCHANTED CANYON