But it鈥檚 a lost art, as Scott Carrier would spend the next decade discovering. Something strangehappened out there on the Wyoming plains: the lure of the lost art got into Scott鈥檚 blood andwouldn鈥檛 let go. Despite the hopelessness of that expedition, Scott spent years researchingpersistence hunting on his brother鈥檚 behalf. He even created a nonprofit corporation devoted tofinding the Last of the Long Distance Hunters, and recruited elite ultrarunner Creighton King鈥攖heDouble Grand Canyon record holder before the Skaggs bros came along鈥攖o join an expedition tothe Sea of Cortez, where word had it that a tiny clan of Seri Indians had preserved the link to ourdistance-running past. 苹果时时彩计划app下载 I鈥檇 spoken to Jenn once on the phone, and while she and Billy were wildly eager to join the trekinto the Copper Canyons, I didn鈥檛 see any way they鈥檇 pull it off. She and the Bonehead had nomoney, no credit cards, and no time off from school: they were both still in college and Caballo鈥檚race was smack in the middle of midterms, meaning they鈥檇 flunk the semester if they skipped out. "Four鈥攖wo鈥攕even," she returned, slowly, then stopped, "three鈥攏ine鈥攚hat was the next one?鈥攅r鈥攖wo鈥攖wo鈥? We got four liters of water from a little grocery store and dumped in a handful of iodine pills. 鈥淚don鈥檛 know if it will work,鈥?Eric said, 鈥渂ut maybe you can flush out whatever bacteria youswallowed.鈥?Jenn and Billy sat on the curb and began gulping. While they drank, Scott explainedthat no one had noticed that Jenn and Billy were missing until the rest of the group had gotten offthe mountain. By then, everyone was so dangerously dehydrated that turning back to search wouldhave put them all in danger. Caballo grabbed a bottle of water and went back on his own, urgingthe others to sit tight; the last thing he wanted was for all his gringos to go scattering into thecanyons at nightfall. Ran 30 some miles out to Tarahumara country and back today, like the messenger that I am. Themessage fueled me more than the bag of pinole in my pocket. Was lucky enough to see bothManuel Luna and Felipe Quimare on the same loop, the same day. When I spoke to each of them, Icould sense excitement even in the Geronimo like solemnness that is the face of Manuel. "Devoting too much time to the practice?" he queried, "or do you mean you think he was devoting too much time and attention to the particular client?" "Poor old fellow!" he murmured. "He thought of me a lot! He was good to me. And I never knew. If I had known him I might have made his last days easier. I might have prevented what happened."