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

An' He Cussed Something Awful. Glenn Beat Him Against The Fence An' Then We

All Saw Ruff Reach For A Gun Or Knife. All The Men Yelled. An' Shore I

Screamed. But Glenn Saw As Much As We Saw. He Got Fiercer. He Beat Ruff

Down To His Knees An' Swung On Him Hard. Deliberately Knocked Ruff Into The

Dip Ditch. What A Splash! It Wet All Of Us. Ruff Went Out Of Sight. Then He

Rolled Up Like A Huge Hog. We Were All Scared Now. That Dip's Rank Poison,

You Know. Reckon Ruff Knew That. He Floundered Along An' Crawled Up At The

End. Anyone Could See That He Had Mouth An' Eyes Tight Shut. He Began To

Grope An' Feel Around,  Trying To Find The Way To The Pond. One Of The Men

Led Him Out. It Was Great To See Him Wade In The Water An' Wallow An' Souse

His Head Under. When He Came Out The Men Got In Front Of Him Any Stopped

Him. He Shore Looked Bad. . . . An' Glenn Called To Him,  'Ruff,  That

Sheep-Dip Won't Go Through Your Tough Hide,  But A Bullet Will!"

Not Long After This Incident Carley Started Out On Her Usual Afternoon

Ride,  Having Arranged With Glenn To Meet Her On His Return From Work.

Toward The End Of June Carley Had Advanced In Her Horsemanship To A Point

Where Flo Lent Her One Of Her Own Mustangs. This Change Might Not Have Had

All To Do With A Wonderful Difference In Riding,  But It Seemed So To

Carley. There Was As Much Difference In Horses As In People. This Mustang

She Had Ridden Of Late Was Of Navajo Stock,  But He Had Been Born And Raised

And Broken At Oak Creek. Carley Had Not Yet Discovered Any Objection On His

Part To Do As She Wanted Him To. He Liked What She Liked,  And Most Of All

He Liked To Go. His Color Resembled A Pattern Of Calico,  And In Accordance

With Western Ways His Name Was Therefore Calico. Left To Choose His Own

Gait,  Calico Always Dropped Into A Gentle Pace Which Was So Easy And

Comfortable And Swinging That Carley Never Tired Of It. Moreover,  He Did

Not Shy At Things Lying In The Road Or Rabbits Darting From Bushes Or At

The Upwhirring Of Birds. Carley Had Grown Attached To Calico Before She

Realized She Was Drifting Into It; And For Carley To Care For Anything Or

Anybody Was A Serious Matter,  Because It Did Not Happen Often And It

Lasted. She Was Exceedingly Tenacious Of Affection.

June Had Almost Passed And Summer Lay Upon The Lonely Land. Such Perfect

Dawns

Broke Cool,  Fresh,  Fragrant,  Sweet,  And Rosy,  With A Breeze That Seemed Of

Heaven Rather Than Earth,  And The Air Seemed Tremulously Full Of The Murmur

Of Falling Water And The Melody Of Mocking Birds. At The Solemn Noontides

The Great White Sun Glared Down Hot--So Hot That T Burned The Skin,  Yet

Strangely Was A Pleasant Burn. The Waning Afternoons Were Carley's Especial

Torment,  When It Seemed The Sounds And Winds Of The Day Were Tiring,  And

All Things Were Seeking Repose,  And Life Must Soften To An Unthinking

Happiness. These Hours Troubled Carley Because She Wanted Them To Last,  And

Because She Knew For Her This Changing And Transforming Time Could Not

Last. So Long As She Did Not Think She Was Satisfied.

Maples And Sycamores And Oaks Were In Full Foliage,  And Their Bright Greens

Contrasted Softly With The Dark Shine Of The Pines. Through The Spaces

Between Brown Tree Trunks And The White-Spotted Holes Of The Sycamores

Gleamed The Amber Water Of The Creek. Always There Was Murmur Of Little

Rills And The Musical Dash Of Little Rapids. On The Surface Of Still,  Shady

Pools Trout Broke To Make Ever-Widening Ripples. Indian Paintbrush,  So

Brightly Carmine In Color,  Lent Touch Of Fire To The Green Banks,  And Under

The Oaks,  In Cool Dark Nooks Where Mossy Bowlders Lined The Stream,  There

Were Stately Nodding Yellow Columbines. And High On The Rock Ledges Shot Up

The Wonderful Mescal Stalks,  Beginning To Blossom,  Some With Tints Of Gold

And Others With Tones Of Red.

Riding Along Down The Canyon,  Under Its Looming Walls,  Carley Wondered That

If Unawares To Her These Physical Aspects Of Arizona Could Have Become More

Significant Than She Realized. The Thought Had Confronted Her Before. Here,

As Always,  She Fought It And Denied It By The Simple Defense Of

Elimination. Yet Refusing To Think Of A Thing When It Seemed Ever Present

Was Not Going To Do Forever. Insensibly And Subtly It Might Get A Hold On

Her,  Never To Be Broken. Yet It Was Infinitely Easier To Dream Than To

Think.

But The Thought Encroached Upon Her That It Was Not A Dreamful Habit Of

Mind She Had Fallen Into Of Late. When She Dreamed Or Mused She Lived

Vaguely And Sweetly Over Past Happy Hours Or Dwelt In Enchanted Fancy Upon

A Possible Future. Carley Had Been Told By A Columbia Professor That She

Was A Type Of The Present Age--A Modern Young Woman Of Materialistic Mind.

Be That As It Might,  She Knew Many Things Seemed Loosening From The

Narrowness And Tightness Of Her Character,  Sloughing Away Like Scales,

Exposing A New And Strange And Susceptible Softness Of Fiber. And This

Blank Habit Of Mind,  When She Did Not Think,  And Now Realized That She Was

Not Dreaming,  Seemed To Be The Body Of Carley Burch,  And Her Heart And Soul

Stripped Of A Shell. Nerve And Emotion And Spirit Received Something From

Her Surroundings. She Absorbed Her Environment. She Felt. It Was A

Delightful State. But When Her Own Consciousness Caused It To Elude Her,

Then She Both Resented And Regretted. Anything That Approached Permanent

Attachment To This Crude And Untenanted West Carley Would Not Tolerate For

A Moment. Reluctantly She Admitted It Had Bettered Her Health,  Quickened

Her Blood,  And Quite Relegated Florida And The Adirondacks,  To Little

Consideration.

"Well,  As I Told Glenn," Soliloquized Carley,  "Every Time I'm Almost Won

Over A Little To Arizona She Gives Me A Hard Jolt. I'm Getting Near Being

Mushy Today. Now Let's See What I'll Get. I Suppose That's My Pessimism Or

Materialism. Funny How Glenn Keeps Saying Its The Jolts,  The Hard Knocks,

The Fights That Are Best To Remember Afterward. I Don't Get That At All."

Five Miles Below West Fork A Road Branched Off And Climbed The Left Side Of

The Canyon. It Was A Rather Steep Road,  Long And Zigzaging,  And Full Of

Rocks And Ruts. Carley Did Not Enjoy Ascending It,  But She Preferred The

Going Up To Coming Down. It Took Half An Hour To Climb.

Once Up On The Flat Cedar-Dotted Desert She Was Met,  Full In The Face,  By A

Hot Dusty Wind Coming From The South. Carley Searched Her Pockets For Her

Goggles,  Only To Ascertain That She Had Forgotten Them. Nothing,  Except A

Freezing Sleety Wind,  Annoyed And Punished Carley So Much As A Hard Puffy

Wind,  Full Of Sand And Dust. Somewhere Along The First Few Miles Of This

Road She Was To Meet Glenn. If She Turned Back For Any Cause He Would Be

Worried,  And,  What Concerned Her More Vitally,  He Would Think She Had Not

The Courage To Face A Little Dust. So Carley Rode On.

The Wind Appeared To Be Gusty. It Would Blow Hard Awhile,  Then Lull For A

Few Moments. On The Whole,  However,  It Increased In Volume And Persistence

Until She Was Riding Against A Gale. She Had Now Come To A Bare,  Flat,

Gravelly Region,  Scant Of Cedars And Brush,  And Far Ahead She Could See A

Dull Yellow Pall Rising High Into The Sky. It Was A Duststorm And It Was

Sweeping Down On The Wings Of That Gale. Carley Remembered That Somewhere

Along This Flat There Was A Log Cabin Which Had Before Provided Shelter For

Her And Flo When They Were Caught In A Rainstorm. It Seemed Unlikely That

She Had Passed By This Cabin.

Resolutely She Faced The Gale And Knew She Had A Task To Find That Refuge.

If There Had Been A Big Rock Or Bushy Cedar To Offer Shelter She Would Have

Welcomed It. But There Was Nothing. When The Hard Dusty Gusts Hit Her,  She

Found It Absolutely Necessary To Shut Her Eyes. At Intervals Less Windy She

Opened Them,  And Rode On,  Peering Through The Yellow Gloom For The Cabin.

Thus She Got Her Eyes Full Of Dust--An Alkali Dust That Made Them Sting And

Smart. The Fiercer Puffs Of Wind Carried Pebbles Large Enough To Hurt

Severely. Then The Dust Clogged Her Nose And Sand Got Between Her Teeth.

Added To These Annoyances Was A Heat Like A Blast From A Furnace. Carley

Perspired Freely And That Caked The Dust On Her Face. She Rode On,

Gradually Growing More Uncomfortable And Miserable. Yet Even Then She Did

Not Utterly Lose A Sort Of Thrilling Zest In Being Thrown Upon Her Own

Responsibility. She Could Hate An Obstacle,  Yet Feel Something Of Pride In

Holding Her Own Against It.

Another Mile Of Buffeting This Increasing Gale So Exhausted Carley And

Wrought Upon Her Nerves That She Became Nearly Panic-Stricken. It Grew

Harder And Harder Not To Turn Back. At Last She Was About To Give Up When

Right At Hand Through The Flying Dust She Espied The Cabin. Riding Behind

It,  She Dismounted And Tied The Mustang To A Post. Then She Ran Around To

The Door And Entered.

What A Welcome Refuge! She Was All Right Now,  And When Glenn Came Along She

Would Have Added To Her Already Considerable List Another Feat For Which He

Would Commend Her. With Aid Of Her Handkerchief,  And The Tears That Flowed

So Copiously,  Carley Presently Freed Her Eyes Of The Blinding Dust. But

When She Essayed To Remove It From Her Face She Discovered She Would Need A

Towel And Soap And Hot Water.

The Cabin Appeared To Be Enveloped In A Soft,  Swishing,  Hollow Sound. It

Seeped And Rustled. Then The Sound Lulled,  Only To Rise Again. Carley Went

To The Door,  Relieved And Glad To See That The Duststorm Was Blowing By.