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

That North Country We Know As Landmarks,  Anyway. Look At That Saw-Tooth

Range. The Indians Call It Echo Cliffs. At The Far End It Drops Off Into

The Colorado River. Lee's Ferry Is There--About One Hundred And Sixty

Miles. That Ragged Black Rent Is The Grand Canyon. Looks Like A Thread,

Doesn't It? But Carley,  It's Some Hole,  Believe Me. Away To The Left You

See The Tremendous Wall Rising And Turning To Come This Way. That's The

North Wall Of The Canyon. It Ends At The Great Bluff--Greenland Point. See

The Black Fringe Above The Bar Of Gold. That's A Belt Of Pine Trees. It's

About Eighty Miles Across This Ragged Old Stone Washboard Of A Desert.

. . . Now Turn And Look Straight And Strain Your Sight Over Wildcat. See

The Rim Purple Dome. You Must Look Hard. I'm Glad It's Clear And The Sun Is

Shining. We Don't Often Get This View. . . . That Purple Dome Is Navajo

Mountain,  Two Hundred Miles And More Away!"

Carley Yielded To Some Strange Drawing Power And Slowly Walked Forward

Until She Stood At The Extreme Edge Of The Summit.

What Was It That Confounded Her Sight? Desert Slope--Down And Down--Color--

Distance--Space! The Wind That Blew In Her Face Seemed To Have The Openness

Of The Whole World Back Of It. Cold,  Sweet,  Dry,  Exhilarating,  It Breathed

Of Untainted Vastness. Carley's Memory Pictures Of The Adirondacks Faded

Into Pastorals; Her Vaunted Images Of European Scenery Changed To Operetta

Settings. She Had Nothing With Which To Compare This Illimitable Space.

"Oh!--America!" Was Her Unconscious Tribute.

Stanton And Flo Had Come On To Places Beside Her. The Young Man Laughed.

"Wal,  Now Miss Carley,  You Couldn't Say More. When I Was In Camp Trainin'

For Service Overseas I Used To Remember How This Looked. An' It Seemed One

Of The Things I Was Goin' To Fight For. Reckon I Didn't The Idea Of The

Germans Havin' My Painted Desert. I Didn't Get Across To Fight For It,  But

I Shore Was Willin'."

"You See,  Carley,  This Is Our America," Said Flo,  Softly.

Carley Had Never Understood The Meaning Of The Word. The Immensity Of The

West Seemed Flung At Her. What Her Vision Beheld,  So Far-Reaching And

Boundless,  Was Only A Dot On The Map.

"Does Any One Live--Out There?" She Asked,  With Slow Sweep Of Hand.

"A Few White Traders And Some Indian Tribes," Replied Stanton. "But You Can

Ride All Day An' Next Day An' Never See A Livin' Soul."

What Was The Meaning Of The Gratification In His Voice? Did Westerners

Court Loneliness? Carley Wrenched Her Gaze From The Desert Void To Look At

Her Companions. Stanton's Eyes Were Narrowed; His Expression Had Changed;

Lean And Hard And Still,  His Face Resembled Bronze. The Careless Humor Was

Gone,  As Was The Heated Flush Of His Quarrel With Flo. The Girl,  Too,  Had

Subtly Changed,  Had Responded To An Influence That Had Subdued And Softened

Her. She Was Mute; Her Eyes Held A Light,  Comprehensive And All-Embracing;

She Was Beautiful Then. For Carley,  Quick To Read Emotion,  Caught A Glimpse

Of A Strong,  Steadfast Soul That Spiritualized The Brown Freckled Face.

Carley Wheeled To Gaze Out And Down Into This Incomprehensible Abyss,  And

On To The Far Up-Flung Heights,  White And Red And Yellow,  And So On To The

Wonderful Mystic Haze Of Distance. The Significance Of Flo's Designation Of

Miles Could Not Be Grasped By Carley. She Could Not Estimate Distance. But

She Did Not Need That To Realize Her Perceptions Were Swallowed Up By

Magnitude. Hitherto The Power Of Her Eyes Had Been Unknown. How Splendid To

See Afar! She Could See--Yes--But What Did She See? Space First,

Annihilating Space,  Dwarfing Her Preconceived Images,  And Then Wondrous

Colors! What Had She Known Of Color? No Wonder Artists Failed Adequately

And Truly To Paint Mountains,  Let Alone The Desert Space. The Toiling

Millions Of The Crowded Cities Were Ignorant Of This Terrible Beauty And

Sublimity. Would It Have Helped Them To See? But Just To Breathe That

Untainted Air,  Just To See Once The Boundless Open Of Colored Sand And

Rock--To Realize What The Freedom Of Eagles Meant Would Not That Have

Helped Anyone?

And With The Thought There Came To Carley's Quickened And Struggling Mind A

Conception Of Freedom. She Had Not Yet Watched Eagles,  But She Now Gazed

Out Into Their Domain. What Then Must Be The Effect Of Such Environment On

People Whom It Encompassed? The Idea Stunned Carley. Would Such People Grow

In Proportion To The Nature With Which They Were In Conflict? Hereditary

Influence Could Not Be Comparable To Such Environment In The Shaping Of

Character.

"Shore I Could Stand Here All Day," Said Flo. "But It's Beginning To Cloud

Over And This High Wind Is Cold. So We'd Better Go,  Carley."

"I Don't Know What I Am,  But It's Not Cold," Replied Carley.

"Wal,  Miss Carley,  I Reckon You'll Have To Come Again An' Again Before You

Get A Comfortable Feelin' Here," Said Stanton.

It Surprised Carley To See That This Young Westerner Had Hit Upon The

Truth. He Understood Her. Indeed She Was Uncomfortable. She Was Oppressed,

Vaguely Unhappy. But Why? The Thing There--The Infinitude Of Open Sand And

Rock--Was Beautiful,  Wonderful,  Even Glorious. She Looked Again.

Steep Black-Cindered Slope,  With Its Soft Gray Patches Of Grass,  Sheered

Down And Down,  And Out In Rolling Slope To Merge Upon A Cedar-Dotted Level.

Nothing Moved Below,  But A Red-Tailed Hawk Sailed Across Her Vision. How

Still--How Gray The Desert Floor As It Reached Away,  Losing Its Black Dots,

And Gaining Bronze Spots Of Stone! By Plain And Prairie It Fell Away,  Each

Inch Of Gray In Her Sight Magnifying Into Its League-Long Roll. On And On,

And Down Across Dark Lines That Were Steppes,  And At Last Blocked And

Changed By The Meandering Green Thread Which Was The Verdure Of A Desert

River. Beyond Stretched The White Sand,  Where Whirlwinds Of Dust Sent Aloft

Their Funnel-Shaped Spouts; And It Led Up To The Horizon-Wide Ribs And

Ridges Of Red And Walls Of Yellow And Mountains Of Black,  To The Dim Mound

Of Purple So Ethereal And Mystic Against The Deep-Blue Cloud-Curtained Band

Of Sky.

And On The Moment The Sun Was Obscured And That World Of Colorful Flame

Went Out,  As If A Blaze Had Died.

Deprived Of Its Fire,  The Desert Seemed To Retreat,  To Fade Coldly And

Gloomily,  To Lose Its Great Landmarks In Dim Obscurity. Closer,  Around To

The North,  The Canyon Country Yawned With Innumerable Gray Jaws,  Ragged And

Hard,  And The Riven Earth Took On A Different Character. It Had No Shadows.

It Grew Flat And,  Like The Sea,  Seemed To Mirror The Vast Gray Cloud

Expanse. The Sublime Vanished,  But The Desolate Remained. No Warmth--No

Movement--No Life! Dead Stone It Was,  Cut Into A Million Ruts By Ruthless

Ages. Carley Felt That She Was Gazing Down Into Chaos.

At This Moment,  As Before,  A Hawk Had Crossed Her Vision,  So Now A Raven

Sailed By,  Black As Coal,  Uttering A Hoarse Croak.

"Quoth The Raven--" Murmured Carley,  With A Half-Bitter Laugh,  As She

Turned Away Shuddering In Spite Of An Effort Of Self-Control. "Maybe He

Meant This Wonderful And Terrible West Is Never For Such As I. . . . Come,

Let Us Go."

Carley Rode All That Afternoon In The Rear Of The Caravan,  Gradually

Succumbing To The Cold Raw Wind And The Aches And Pains To Which She Had

Subjected Her Flesh. Nevertheless,  She Finished The Day's Journey,  And,

Sorely As She Needed Glenn's Kindly Hand,  She Got Off Her Horse Without

Aid.

Camp Was Made At The Edge Of The Devastated Timber Zone That Carley Had

Found So Dispiriting. A Few Melancholy Pines Were Standing,  And Everywhere,

As Far As She Could See Southward,  Were Blackened Fallen Trees And Stumps.

It Was A Dreary Scene. The Few Cattle Grazing On The Bleached Grass

Appeared As Melancholy As The Pines. The Sun Shone Fitfully At Sunset,  And

Then Sank,  Leaving The Land To Twilight And Shadows.

Once In A Comfortable Seat Beside The Camp Fire,  Carley Had No Further

Desire To Move. She Was So Far Exhausted And Weary That She Could No Longer

Appreciate The Blessing Of Rest. Appetite,  Too,  Failed Her This Meal Time.

Darkness Soon Settled Down. The Wind Moaned Through The Pines. She Was

Indeed Glad To Crawl Into Bed,  And Not Even The Thought Of Skunks Could

Keep Her Awake.

Morning Disclosed The Fact That Gray Clouds Had Been Blown Away. The Sun

Shone Bright Upon A White-Frosted Land. The Air Was Still. Carley Labored

At Her Task Of Rising,  And Brushing Her Hair,  And Pulling On Her Boots; And

It Appeared Her Former Sufferings Were As Naught Compared With The Pangs Of

This Morning. How She Hated The Cold,  The Bleak,  Denuded Forest Land,  The

Emptiness,  The Roughness,  The Crudeness! If This Sort Of Feeling Grew Any

Worse She Thought She Would Hate Glenn. Yet She Was Nonetheless Set Upon

Going On,  And Seeing The Sheep-Dip,  And Riding That Fiendish Mustang Until

The Trip Was Ended.

Getting In The Saddle And On The Way This Morning Was An Ordeal That Made

Carley Actually Sick. Glenn And Flo Both Saw How It Was With Her,  And They

Left Her To Herself. Carley Was Grateful For This Understanding. It Seemed

To Proclaim Their Respect. She Found Further Matter For Satisfaction In The

Astonishing Circumstance That After The First Dreadful Quarter Of An Hour

In The Saddle She Began To Feel Easier. And At The End Of Several Hours Of

Riding She Was Not Suffering Any Particular Pain,  Though She Was Weaker.

At Length The