“We can’t see the Canyon from our windows,” said John.  “I took care of that!  It isn’t a thing you want staring at you day and night!  Nucky, I want you to get your first look at the Canyon, alone.  One always should.  You’d better put on your coat and go out now before the storm gets any worse.  Don’t wander away.  Stick to the view in front of the hotel.  I’ll be out in a half hour.”

Nucky pulled on his overcoat, picked up his cap and went out.  A porter was sweeping the walk before the main entrance.

“Say, mister, I want to see the Canyon,” said Nucky.

“Nothin’ to hinder.  Yonder she lies, waiting for you, son!” jerking his thumb over his shoulder.

Nucky looked in the direction indicated.  Then he took a deep, shocked breath.  The snow flakes were falling into nothingness!  A bitter wind was blowing but Nucky felt the sweat start to his forehead.  Through the sifting snow flakes, disappearing before his gaze, he saw a void, silver gray, dim in outline, but none the less a void.  The earth gaped to its center, naked, awful, before his horrified eyes.  Yet, the same urgent need to know the uttermost that forces one to the edge of the skyscraper forced Nucky to the rail.  He clutched it.  A great gust of wind came up from the Canyon, clearing the view of snow for the moment, and Nucky saw down, down for a mile to the black ribbon of the Colorado below.

“I can’t stand it!” he muttered.  “I can’t stand it!” and turning, he bolted for the hotel.  He stopped before the log fire in the lobby.  A little group of men and women were sitting before the blaze, reading or chatting.  One of the women looked up at the boy and smiled.  It seemed impossible to Nucky that human beings could be sitting so calmly, doing quite ordinary things, with that horror lying just a few feet away.  For perhaps five minutes he struggled with his sense of panic, then he went slowly out and forced himself to the railing again.

While he had been indoors, it had ceased to storm and the view lay clear and clean before him.  Although there was a foot of level snow on the rim, so vast were the ledges and benches below that the drifts served only as high lights for their crimson and black and orange.  Just beneath Nucky were tree tops, heavy laden with white.  Far, far below were tiny shrubs that the porter said were trees and below these,—­orderly strips of brilliant colors and still below, and below—!  Nucky moistened his dry lips and once more bolted to the hotel.

Just within the door, John Seaton met him.

“Well, Enoch?”

There was no coldness in Nucky’s eyes now.  They were the frightened eyes of a child.

“I can’t stand that thing!” he panted.  “I gotta get back to N’ York, now!”

Seaton looked at Nucky curiously.  “For heaven’s sake, Enoch!  Where’s your nerve?”

“What good would nerve do a guy lookin’ at hell!” gasped Nucky.