The Call Of The Canyon by Zane Grey (most inspirational books .txt) 📕

Hutter Burst Into His Hearty Laugh. "Wal,  I'd Rather Get Some Things Anyday

Than A Bad Cold."

"Shore I've Had Both," Replied Flo,  In Her Easy Drawl,  "And I'd Prefer The

Cold. But For Carley's Sake--"

"Pray Don't Consider Me," Said Carley. The Rather Crude Drift Of The

Conversation Affronted Her.

"Well,  My Dear," Put In Glenn,  "It's A Bad Night Outside. We'll All Make

Our Beds Here."

"Glenn,  You Shore Are A Nervy Fellow," Drawled Flo.

Long After Everybody Was In Bed Carley Lay Awake In The Blackness Of The

Cabin,  Sensitively Fidgeting And Quivering Over Imaginative Contact With

Creeping Things. The Fire Had Died Out. A Cold Air Passed Through The Room.

On The Roof Pattered Gusts Of Rain. Carley Heard A Rustling Of Mice. It Did

Not Seem Possible That She Could Keep Awake,  Yet She Strove To Do So. But

Her Pangs Of Body,  Her Extreme Fatigue Soon Yielded To The Quiet And Rest

Of Her Bed,  Engendering A Drowsiness That Proved Irresistible.

Morning Brought Fair Weather And Sunshine,  Which Helped To Sustain Carley

In Her Effort To Brave Out Her Pains And Woes. Another Disagreeable Day

Would Have Forced Her To Humiliating Defeat. Fortunately For Her,  The

Business Of The Men Was Concerned With The Immediate Neighborhood,  In Which

They Expected To Stay All Morning.

"Flo,  After A While Persuade Carley To Ride With You To The Top Of This

First Foothill," Said Glenn. "It's Not Far,  And It's Worth A Good Deal To

See The Painted Desert From There. The Day Is Clear And The Air Free From

Dust."

"Shore. Leave It To Me. I Want To Get Out Of Camp,  Anyhow. That Conceited

Hombre,  Lee Stanton,  Will Be Riding In Here," Answered Flo,  Laconically.

The Slight Knowing Smile On Glenn's Face And The Grinning Disbelief On Mr.

Hutter's Were Facts Not Lost Upon Carley. And When Charley,  The Herder,

Deliberately Winked At Carley,  She Conceived The Idea That Flo,  Like Many

Women,  Only Ran Off To Be Pursued. In Some Manner Carley Did Not Seek To

Analyze,  The Purported Advent Of This Lee Stanton Pleased Her. But She Did

Admit To Her Consciousness That Women,  Herself Included,  Were Both As Deep

And Mysterious As The Sea,  Yet As Transparent As An Inch Of Crystal Water.

It Happened That The Expected Newcomer Rode Into Camp Before Anyone Left.

Before He Dismounted He Made A Good Impression On Carley,  And As He Stepped

Down In Lazy,  Graceful Action,  A Tall Lithe Figure,  She Thought Him

Singularly Handsome. He Wore Black Sombrero,  Flannel Shirt,  Blue Jeans

Stuffed Into High Boots,  And Long,  Big-Roweled Spurs.

"How Are You-All?" Was His Greeting.

From The Talk That Ensued Between Him And The Men,  Carley Concluded That He

Must Be Overseer Of The Sheep Hands. Carley Knew That Hutter And Glenn Were

Not Interested In Cattle Raising. And In Fact They Were,  Especially Hutter,

Somewhat Inimical To The Dominance Of The Range Land By Cattle Barons Of

Flagstaff.

"When's Ryan Goin' To Dip?" Asked Hutter.

"Today Or Tomorrow," Replied Stanton.

"Reckon We Ought To Ride Over," Went On Hutter. "Say,  Glenn,  Do You Reckon

Miss Carley Could Stand A Sheep-Dip?"

This Was Spoken In A Low Tone,  Scarcely Intended For Carley,  But She Had

Keen Ears And Heard Distinctly. Not Improbably This Sheep-Dip Was What Flo

Meant As The Worst To Come. Carley Adopted A Listless Posture To Hide Her

Keen Desire To Hear What Glenn Would Reply To Hutter.

"I Should Say Not!" Whispered Glenn,  Fiercely.

"Cut Out That Talk. She'll Hear You And Want To Go."

Whereupon Carley Felt Mount In Her Breast An Intense And Rebellious

Determination To See A Sheep-Dip. She Would Astonish Glenn. What Did He

Want,  Anyway? Had She Not Withstood The Torturing Trot Of The

Hardest-Gaited Horse On The Range? Carley Realized She Was Going To Place

Considerable Store Upon That Feat. It Grew On Her.

When The Consultation Of The Men Ended,  Lee Stanton Turned To Flo. And

Carley Did Not Need To See The Young Man Look Twice To Divine What Ailed

Him. He Was Caught In The Toils Of Love. But Seeing Through Flo Hutter Was

Entirely Another Matter.

"Howdy,  Lee!" She Said,  Coolly,  With Her Clear Eyes On Him. A Tiny Frown

Knitted Her Brow. She Did Not,  At The Moment,  Entirely Approve Of Him.

"Shore Am Glad To See You,  Flo," He Said,  With Rather A Heavy Expulsion Of

Breath. He Wore A Cheerful Grin That In No Wise Deceived Flo,  Or Carley

Either. The Young Man Had A Furtive Expression Of Eye.

"Ahuh!" Returned Flo.

"I Was Shore Sorry About--About That--" He Floundered,  In Low Voice.

"About What?"

"Aw,  You Know,  Flo."

Carley Strolled Out Of Hearing,  Sure Of Two Things--That She Felt Rather

Sorry For Stanton,  And That His Course Of Love Did Not Augur Well For

Smooth Running. What Queer Creatures Were Women! Carley Had Seen Several

Million Coquettes,  She Believed; And Assuredly Flo Hutter Belonged To The

Species.

Upon Carley's Return To The Cabin She Found Stanton And Flo Waiting For Her

To Accompany Them On A Ride Up The Foothill. She Was So Stiff And Sore That

She Could Hardly Mount Into The Saddle; And The First Mile Of Riding Was

Something Like A Nightmare. She Lagged Behind Flo And Stanton,  Who

Apparently Forgot Her In Their Quarrel.

The Riders Soon Struck The Base Of A Long Incline Of Rocky Ground That Led

Up To The Slope Of The Foothill. Here Rocks And Gravel Gave Place To Black

Cinders Out Of Which Grew A Scant Bleached Grass. This Desert Verdure Was

What Lent The Soft Gray Shade To The Foothill When Seen From A Distance.

The Slope Was Gentle,  So That The Ascent Did Not Entail Any Hardship.

Carley Was Amazed At The Length Of The Slope,  And Also To See How High Over

The Desert She Was Getting. She Felt Lifted Out Of A Monotonous Level. A

Green-Gray League-Long Cedar Forest Extended Down Toward Oak Creek. Behind

Her The Magnificent Bulk Of The Mountains Reached Up Into The Stormy

Clouds,  Showing White Slopes Of Snow Under The Gray Pall.

The Hoofs Of The Horses Sank In The Cinders. A Fine Choking Dust Assailed

Carley's Nostrils. Presently,  When There Appeared At Least A Third Of The

Ascent Still To Be Accomplished And Flo Dismounted To Walk,  Leading Their

Horses. Carley Had No Choice But To Do Likewise. At First Walking Was A

Relief. Soon,  However,  The Soft Yielding Cinders Began To Drag At Her Feet.

At Every Step She Slipped Back A Few Inches,  A Very Annoying Feature Of

Climbing. When Her Legs Seemed To Grow Dead Carley Paused For A Little

Rest. The Last Of The Ascent,  Over A Few Hundred Yards Of Looser Cinders,

Taxed Her Remaining Strength To The Limit. She Grew Hot And Wet And Out Of

Breath. Her Heart Labored. An Unreasonable Antipathy Seemed To Attend Her

Efforts. Only Her Ridiculous Vanity Held Her To This Task. She Wanted To

Please Glenn,  But Not So Earnestly That She Would Have Kept On Plodding Up

This Ghastly Bare Mound Of Cinders. Carley Did Not Mind Being A Tenderfoot,

But She Hated The Thought Of These Westerners Considering Her A Weakling.

So She Bore The Pain Of Raw Blisters And The Miserable Sensation Of

Staggering On Under A Leaden Weight.

Several Times She Noted That Flo And Stanton Halted To Face Each Other In

Rather Heated Argument. At Least Stanton's Red Face And Forceful Gestures

Attested To Heat On His Part. Flo Evidently Was Weary Of Argument,  And In

Answer To A Sharp Reproach She Retorted,  "Shore I Was Different After He

Came." To Which Stanton Responded By A Quick Passionate Shrinking As If He

Had Been Stung.

Carley Had Her Own Reaction To This Speech She Could Not Help Hearing; And

Inwardly,  At Least,  Her Feeling Must Have Been Similar To Stanton's. She

Forgot The Object Of This Climb And Looked Off To Her Right At The Green

Level Without Really Seeing It. A Vague Sadness Weighed Upon Her Soul. Was

There To Be A Tangle Of Fates Here,  A Conflict Of Wills,  A Crossing Of

Loves? Flo's Terse Confession Could Not Be Taken Lightly. Did She Mean That

She Loved Glenn? Carley Began To Fear It. Only Another Reason Why She Must

Persuade Glenn To Go Back East! But The Closer Carley Came To What She

Divined Must Be An Ordeal The More She Dreaded It. This Raw,  Crude West

Might Have Confronted Her With A Situation Beyond Her Control. And As She

Dragged Her Weighted Feet Through The Cinders,  Kicking,  Up Little Puffs Of

Black Dust,  She Felt What She Admitted To Be An Unreasonable Resentment

Toward These Westerners And Their Barren,  Isolated,  And Boundless World.

"Carley," Called Flo,  "Come--Looksee,  As The Indians Say. Here Is Glenn's

Painted Desert,  And I Reckon It's Shore Worth Seeing."

To Carley's Surprise,  She Found Herself Upon The Knob Of The Foothill. And

When She Looked Out Across A Suddenly Distinguishable Void She Seemed

Struck By The Immensity Of Something She Was Unable To Grasp. She Dropped

Her Bridle; She Gazed Slowly,  As If Drawn,  Hearing Flo's Voice.

"That Thin Green Line Of Cottonwoods Down There Is The Little Colorado

River," Flo Was Saying. "Reckon It's Sixty Miles,  All Down Hill. The

Painted Desert Begins There And Also The Navajo Reservation. You See The

White Strips,  The Red Veins,  The Yellow Bars,  The Black Lines. They Are All

Desert Steps Leading Up And Up For Miles. That Sharp Black Peak Is Called

Wildcat. It's About A Hundred Miles. You See The Desert Stretching Away To

The Right,  Growing Dim--Lost In Distance? We Don't Know That Country.