Jon wandered down to the opposite end of the car. Clay took advantage of the separation to pull himself together. It wasn’t normal that a seemingly casual bit of contact would leave him in such a state. Well, not altogether casual, was it? This bear of a photographer had some potent energy.
The train rumbled on, passing through a tunnel and finally emerging into a broader shallow valley, clear of the canyon at last. This park-like spot, some twenty-five miles up the river from Clarkdale, was Perkinsville. The name came from a historical family who’d once headquartered their ranch there. The grassy swale bordering the river still held some picturesque old buildings and corrals.
The spot marked the end of the line for the excursion, although the track continued on to connect to the former
