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

Do Any Real Work; They Did Not Bear Children; They Lived On Excitement And

Luxury. They Had No Ideals. How Greatly Were Men To Blame? Carley Doubted

Her Judgment Here. But As Men Could Not Live Without The Smiles And

Comradeship And Love Of Women,  It Was Only Natural That They Should Give

The Women What They Wanted. Indeed,  They Had No Choice. It Was Give Or Go

Without. How Much Of Real Love Entered Into The Marriages Among Her

Acquaintances? Before Marriage Carley Wanted A Girl To Be Sweet,  Proud,

Aloof,  With A Heart Of Golden Fire. Not Attainable Except Through Love! It

Would Be Better That No Children Be Born At All Unless Born Of Such

Beautiful Love. Perhaps That Was Why So Few Children Were Born. Nature's

Balance And Revenge! In Arizona Carley Had Learned Something Of The

Ruthlessness And Inevitableness Of Nature. She Was Finding Out She Had

Learned This With Many Other Staggering Facts.

"I Love Glenn Still," She Whispered,  Passionately,  With Trembling Lips,  As

She Faced The Tragic-Eyed Image Of Herself In The Mirror. "I Love Him More--

More. Oh,  My God! If I Were Honest I'd Cry Out The Truth! It Is Terrible.

. . . I Will Always Love Him. How Then Could I Marry Any Other Man? I Would

Be A Lie,  A Cheat. If I Could Only Forget Him--Only Kill That Love. Then I

Might Love Another Man--And If I Did Love Him--No Matter What I Had Felt Or

Done Before,  I Would Be Worthy. I Could Feel Worthy. I Could Give Him Just

As Much. But Without Such Love I'd Give Only A Husk--A Body Without Soul."

Love,  Then,  Was The Sacred And Holy Flame Of Life That Sanctioned The

Begetting Of Children. Marriage Might Be A Necessity Of Modern Time,  But It

Was Not The Vital Issue. Carley's Anguish Revealed Strange And Hidden

Truths. In Some Inexplicable Way Nature Struck A Terrible Balance--Revenged

Herself Upon A People Who Had No Children,  Or Who Brought Into The World

Children Not Created By The Divinity Of Love,  Unyearned For,  And Therefore

Somehow Doomed To Carry On The Blunders And Burdens Of Life.

Carley Realized How Right And True It Might Be For Her To Throw Herself

Away Upon An Inferior Man,  Even A Fool Or A Knave,  If She Loved Him With

That Great And Natural Love Of Woman; Likewise It Dawned Upon Her How False

And Wrong And Sinful It Would Be To Marry The Greatest Or The Richest Or

The Noblest Man Unless She Had That Supreme Love To Give Him,  And Knew It

Was Reciprocated.

"What Am I Going To Do With My Life?" She Asked,  Bitterly And Aghast. "I

Have Been--I Am A Waster. I've Lived For Nothing But Pleasurable Sensation.

I'm Utterly Useless. I Do Absolutely No Good On Earth."

Thus She Saw How Harrington's Words Rang True--How They Had Precipitated A

Crisis For Which Her Unconscious Brooding Had Long Made Preparation.

"Why Not Give Up Ideals And Be Like The Rest Of My Kind?" She Soliloquized.

That Was One Of The Things Which Seemed Wrong With Modern Life. She Thrust

The Thought From Her With Passionate Scorn. If Poor,  Broken,  Ruined Glenn

Kilbourne Could Cling To An Ideal And Fight For It,  Could Not She,  Who Had

All The World Esteemed Worth While,  Be Woman Enough To Do The Same? The

Direction Of Her Thought Seemed To Have Changed. She Had Been Ready For

Rebellion. Three Months Of The Old Life Had Shown Her That For Her It Was

Empty,  Vain,  Farcical,  Without One Redeeming Feature. The Naked Truth Was

Brutal,  But It Cut Clean To Wholesome Consciousness. Such So-Called Social

Life As She Had Plunged Into Deliberately To Forget Her Unhappiness Had

Failed Her Utterly. If She Had Been Shallow And Frivolous It Might Have

Done Otherwise. Stripped Of All Guise,  Her Actions Must Have Been Construed

By A Penetrating And Impartial Judge As A Mere Parading Of Her Decorated

Person Before A Number Of Males With The Purpose Of Ultimate Selection.

"I've Got To Find Some Work," She Muttered,  Soberly.

At The Moment She Heard The Postman's Whistle Outside; And A Little Later

The Servant Brought Up Her Mail. The First Letter,  Large,  Soiled,  Thick,

Bore The Postmark Flagstaff,  And Her Address In Glenn Kilbourne's Writing.

Carley Stared At It. Her Heart Gave A Great Leap. Her Hand Shook. She Sat

Down Suddenly As If The Strength Of Her Legs Was Inadequate To Uphold Her.

"Glenn Has--Written Me!" She Whispered,  In Slow,  Halting Realization. "For

What? Oh,  Why?"

The Other Letters Fell Off Her Lap,  To Lie Unnoticed. This Big Thick

Envelope Fascinated Her. It Was One Of The Stamped Envelopes She Had Seen

In His Cabin. It Contained A Letter That Had Been Written On His Rude

Table,  Before The Open Fire,  In The Light Of The Doorway,  In That Little

Log-Cabin Under The Spreading Pines Of West Ford Canyon. Dared She Read It?

The Shock To Her Heart Passed; And With Mounting Swell,  Seemingly Too Full

For Her Breast,  It Began To Beat And Throb A Wild Gladness Through All Her

Being. She Tore The Envelope Apart And Read:

Dear Carley:

I'm Surely Glad For A Good Excuse To Write You.

Once In A Blue Moon I Get A Letter,  And Today Hutter Brought Me One From A

Soldier Pard Of Mine Who Was With Me In The Argonne. His Name Is Virgil

Rust--Queer Name,  Don't You Think?--And He's From Wisconsin. Just A Rough-

Diamond Sort Of Chap,  But Fairly Well Educated. He And I Were In Some

Pretty Hot Places,  And It Was He Who Pulled Me Out Of A Shell Crater. I'd

"Gone West" Sure Then If It Hadn't Been For Rust.

Well,  He Did All Sorts Of Big Things During The War. Was Down Several Times

With Wounds. He Liked To Fight And He Was A Holy Terror. We All Thought

He'd Get Medals And Promotion. But He Didn't Get Either. These Much-Desired

Things Did Not Always Go Where They Were Best Deserved.

Rust Is Now Lying In A Hospital In Bedford Park. His Letter Is Pretty Blue.

All He Says About Why He's There Is That He's Knocked Out. But He Wrote A

Heap About His Girl. It Seems He Was In Love With A Girl In His Home Town--

A Pretty,  Big-Eyed Lass Whose Picture I've Seen--And While He Was Overseas

She Married One Of The Chaps Who Got Out Of Fighting. Evidently Rust Is

Deeply Hurt. He Wrote: "I'd Not Care So . . . If She'd Thrown Me Down To

Marry An Old Man Or A Boy Who Couldn't Have Gone To War." You See,  Carley,

Service Men Feel Queer About That Sort Of Thing. It's Something We Got Over

There,  And None Of Us Will Ever Outlive It. Now,  The Point Of This Is That

I Am Asking You To Go See Rust,  And Cheer Him Up,  And Do What You Can For

The Poor Devil. It's A Good Deal To Ask Of You,  I Know,  Especially As Rust

Saw Your Picture Many A Time And Knows You Were My Girl. But You Needn't

Tell Him That You--We Couldn't Make A Go Of It.

And,  As I Am Writing This To You,  I See No Reason Why I Shouldn't Go On In

Behalf Of Myself.

The Fact Is,  Carley,  I Miss Writing To You More Than I Miss Anything Of My

Old Life. I'll Bet You Have A Trunkful Of Letters From Me--Unless You've

Destroyed Them. I'm Not Going To Say How I Miss Your Letters. But I Will

Say You Wrote The Most Charming And Fascinating Letters Of Anyone I Ever

Knew,  Quite Aside From Any Sentiment. You Knew,  Of Course,  That I Had No

Other Girl Correspondent. Well,  I Got Along Fairly Well Before You Came

West,  But I'd Be An Awful Liar If I Denied I Didn't Get Lonely For You And

Your Letters. It's Different Now That You've Been To Oak Creek. I'm Alone

Most Of The Time And I Dream A Lot,  And I'm Afraid I See You Here In My

Cabin,  And Along The Brook,  And Under The Pines,  And Riding Calico--Which

You Came To Do Well--And On My Hogpen Fence--And,  Oh,  Everywhere! I Don't

Want You To Think I'm Down In The Mouth,  For I'm Not. I'll Take My

Medicine. But,  Carley,  You Spoiled Me,  And I Miss Hearing From You,  And I

Don't See Why It Wouldn't Be All Right For You To Send Me A Friendly Letter

Occasionally.

It Is Autumn Now. I Wish You Could See Arizona Canyons In Their Gorgeous

Colors. We Have Had Frost Right Along And The Mornings Are Great. There's A

Broad Zigzag Belt Of Gold Halfway Up The San Francisco Peaks,  And That Is

The Aspen Thickets Taking On Their Fall Coat. Here In The Canyon You'd

Think There Was Blazing Fire Everywhere. The Vines And The Maples Are Red,

Scarlet,  Carmine,  Cerise,  Magenta,  All The Hues Of Flame. The Oak Leaves

Are Turning Russet Gold,  And The Sycamores Are Yellow Green. Up On The

Desert The Other Day I Rode Across A Patch Of Asters,  Lilac And Lavender,

Almost Purple. I Had To Get Off And Pluck A Handful. And Then What Do You

Think? I Dug Up The Whole Bunch,  Roots And All,  And Planted Them On The

Sunny Side Of My Cabin. I Rather Guess Your Love Of Flowers Engendered This

Remarkable Susceptibility In Me.

I'm Home Early Most Every Afternoon Now,  And I