"We shall quit for this year soon?" asked Turner one morning after the two men had investigated a great deal of the canyon without finding a new cave site.
"Oh, yes, you are right," George replied. "It is about time I faced the facts. We aren't going to find the other cave. I had hopes...but I must be realistic. I think we will leave in a few days, yes, only a few more days and then I will give it up."
"Snow will be here soon," his old friend reminded him.
"Possibly. The signs are there for it," George looked out the flap of their tent. "The signs are there, certainly."
George and Turner hunted game whenever necessary and that afternoon Turner succeeded in shooting a fine large turkey which cheered them both.
But the cold hurt Turner's joints. Starting that night, George made a nightly ritual of massaging his companion's legs.
The next night, after he finished rubbing Turner's legs, Turner noticed George glancing wistfully at the fine gold watch he had been given years earlier to commemorate twenty five years of service to the university.
"That watch makes you sad," said Turner.
"Perhaps," said George. "A little."
"The school was your home, the students your children," explained the old Apache, "Now they are lost."
"Yes, my friend, those days are lost," George sighed, "Lost to me forever."
"The watch is haunted."
"Yes, I never thought of it that way. I suppose you're quite right."