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

Became Possessed As By A Thousand Devils. She Became Merely A Female Robbed

Of Her Mate. Reason Was Not In Her,  Nor Charity,  Nor Justice. All That Was

Abnormal In Human Nature Seemed Coalesced In Her,  Dominant,  Passionate,

Savage,  Terrible. She Hated With An Incredible And Insane Ferocity. In The

Seclusion Of Her Tent,  Crouched On Her Bed,  Silent,  Locked,  Motionless,  She

Yet Was The Embodiment Of All Terrible Strife And Storm In Nature. Her

Heart Was A Maelstrom And Would Have Whirled And Sucked Down To Hell All

The Beings That Were Men. Her Soul Was A Bottomless Gulf,  Filled With The

Gales And The Fires Of Jealousy,  Superhuman To Destroy.

That Fury Consumed All Her Remaining Strength,  And From The Relapse She

Sank To Sleep.

Morning Brought The Inevitable Reaction. However Long Her Other Struggles,

This Monumental And Final One Would Be Brief. She Realized That,  Yet Was

Unable To Understand How It Could Be Possible,  Unless Shock Or Death Or

Mental Aberration Ended The Fight. An Eternity Of Emotion Lay Back Between

This Awakening Of Intelligence And The Hour Of Her Fall Into The Clutches

Of Primitive Passion.

That Morning She Faced Herself In The Mirror And Asked,  "Now--What Do I Owe

You?" It Was Not Her Voice That Answered. It Was Beyond Her. But It Said:

"Go On! You Are Cut Adrift. You Are Alone. You Owe None But Yourself! . . .

Go On! Not Backward--Not To The Depths--But Up--Upward!"

She Shuddered At Such A Decree. How Impossible For Her! All Animal,  All

Woman,  All Emotion,  How Could She Live On The Cold,  Pure Heights? Yet She

Owed Something Intangible And Inscrutable To Herself. Was It The Thing That

Woman Lacked Physically,  Yet Contained Hidden In Her Soul? An Element Of

Eternal Spirit To Rise! Because Of Heartbreak And Ruin And Irreparable Loss

Must She Fall? Was Loss Of Love And Husband And Children Only A Test? The

Present Hour Would Be Swallowed In The Sum Of Life's Trials. She Could Not

Go Back. She Would Not Go Down. There Was Wrenched From Her Tried And Sore

Heart An Unalterable And Unquenchable Decision--To Make Her Own Soul Prove

The Evolution Of Woman. Vessel Of Blood And Flesh She Might Be,  Doomed By

Nature To The Reproduction Of Her Kind,  But She Had In Her The Supreme

Spirit And Power To Carry On The Progress Of The Ages--The Climb Of Woman

Out Of The Darkness.

Carley Went Out To The Workmen. The House Should Be Completed And She Would

Live In It. Always There Was The Stretching And Illimitable Desert To Look

At,  And The Grand Heave Upward Of The Mountains. Hoyle Was Full Of Zest For

The Practical Details Of The Building. He Saw Nothing Of The Havoc Wrought

In Her. Nor Did The Other Workmen Glance More Than Casually At Her. In This

Carley Lost Something Of A Shirking Fear That Her Loss And Grief Were

Patent To All Eyes.

That Afternoon She Mounted The Most Spirited Of The Mustangs She Had

Purchased From The Indians. To Govern Him And Stick On Him Required All Her

Energy. And She Rode Him Hard And Far,  Out Across The Desert,  Across Mile

After Mile Of Cedar Forest,  Clear To The Foothills. She Rested There,

Absorbed In Gazing Desertward,  And Upon Turning Back Again,  She Ran Him

Over The Level Stretches. Wind And Branch Threshed Her Seemingly To

Ribbons. Violence Seemed Good For Her. A Fall Had No Fear For Her Now. She

Reached Camp At Dusk,  Hot As Fire,  Breathless And Strengthless. But She Had

Earned Something. Such Action Required Constant Use Of Muscle And Mind. If

Need Be She Could Drive Both To The Very Furthermost Limit. She Could Ride

And Ride--Until The Future,  Like The Immensity Of The Desert There,  Might

Swallow Her. She Changed Her Clothes And Rested A While. The Call To Supper

Found Her Hungry. In This Fact She Discovered Mockery Of Her Grief. Love

Was Not The Food Of Life. Exhausted Nature's Need Of Rest And Sleep Was No

Respecter Of A Woman's Emotion.

Next Day Carley Rode Northward,  Wildly And Fearlessly,  As If This Conscious

Activity Was The Initiative Of An Endless Number Of Rides That Were To Save

Her. As Before The Foothills Called Her,  And She Went On Until She Came To

A Very High One.

Carley Dismounted From Her Panting Horse,  Answering The Familiar Impulse To

Attain Heights By Her Own Effort.

"Am I Only A Weakling?" She Asked Herself. "Only A Creature Mined By The

Fever Of The Soul! . . . Thrown From One Emotion To Another? Never The

Same. Yearning,  Suffering,  Sacrificing,  Hoping,  And Changing--Forever The

Same! What Is It That Drives Me? A Great City With All Its Attractions Has

Failed To Help Me Realize My Life. So Have Friends Failed. So Has The

World. What Can Solitude And Grandeur Do? . . . All This Obsession Of

Mine--All This Strange Feeling For Simple Elemental Earthly Things Likewise

Will Fail Me. Yet I Am Driven. They Would Call Me A Mad Woman."

It Took Carley A Full Hour Of Slow Body-Bending Labor To Climb To The

Summit Of That Hill. High,  Steep,  And Rugged,  It Resisted Ascension. But At

Last She Surmounted It And Sat Alone On The Heights,  With Naked Eyes,  And

An Unconscious Prayer On Her Lips.

What Was It That Had Happened? Could There Be Here A Different Answer From

That Which Always Mocked Her?

She Had Been A Girl,  Not Accountable For Loss Of Mother,  For Choice Of Home

And Education. She Had Belonged To A Class. She Had Grown To Womanhood In

It. She Had Loved,  And In Loving Had Escaped The Evil Of Her Day,  If Not

Its Taint. She Had Lived Only For Herself. Conscience Had Awakened--But,

Alas! Too Late. She Had Overthrown The Sordid,  Self-Seeking Habit Of Life;

She Had Awakened To Real Womanhood; She Had Fought The Insidious Spell Of

Modernity And She Had Defeated It; She Had Learned The Thrill Of Taking

Root In New Soil,  The Pain And Joy Of Labor,  The Bliss Of Solitude,  The

Promise Of Home And Love And Motherhood. But She Had Gathered All These

Marvelous Things To Her Soul Too Late For Happiness.

"Now It Is Answered," She Declared Aloud. "That Is What Has Happened? . . .

And All That Is Past. . . . Is There Anything Left? If So What?"

She Flung Her Query Out To The Winds Of The Desert. But The Desert Seemed

Too Gray,  Too Vast,  Too Remote,  Too Aloof,  Too Measureless. It Was Not

Concerned With Her Little Life. Then She Turned To The Mountain Kingdom.

It Seemed Overpoweringly Near At Hand. It Loomed Above Her To Pierce The

Fleecy Clouds. It Was Only A Stupendous Upheaval Of Earth-Crust,  Grown Over

At The Base By Leagues And Leagues Of Pine Forest,  Belted Along The Middle

By Vast Slanting Zigzag Slopes Of Aspen,  Rent And Riven Toward The Heights

Into Canyon And Gorge,  Bared Above To Cliffs And Corners Of Craggy Rock,

Whitened At The Sky-Piercing Peaks By Snow. Its Beauty And Sublimity Were

Lost Upon Carley Now; She Was Concerned With Its Travail,  Its Age,  Its

Endurance,  Its Strength. And She Studied It With Magnified Sight.

What Incomprehensible Subterranean Force Had Swelled Those Immense Slopes

And Lifted The Huge Bulk Aloft To The Clouds? Cataclysm Of Nature--The

Expanding Or Shrinking Of The Earth--Vast Volcanic Action Under The Surface!

Whatever It Had Been,  It Had Left Its Expression Of The Travail Of The

Universe. This Mountain Mass Had Been Hot Gas When Flung From The Parent

Sun,  And Now It Was Solid Granite. What Had It Endured In The Making? What

Indeed Had Been Its Dimensions Before The Millions Of Years Of Its

Struggle?

Eruption,  Earthquake,  Avalanche,  The Attrition Of Glacier,  The Erosion Of

Water,  The Cracking Of Frost,  The Weathering Of Rain And Wind And Snow--

These It Had Eternally Fought And Resisted In Vain,  Yet Still It Stood

Magnificent,  Frowning,  Battle-Scarred And Undefeated. Its Sky-Piercing

Peaks Were As Cries For Mercy To The Infinite. This Old Mountain Realized

Its Doom. It Had To Go,  Perhaps To Make Room For A Newer And Better

Kingdom. But It Endured Because Of The Spirit Of Nature. The Great Notched

Circular Line Of Rock Below And Between The Peaks,  In The Body Of The

Mountains,  Showed Where In Ages Past The Heart Of Living Granite Had Blown

Out,  To Let Loose On All The Near Surrounding Desert The Streams Of Black

Lava And The Hills Of Black Cinders. Despite Its Fringe Of Green It Was

Hoary With Age. Every Looming Gray-Faced Wall,  Massive And Sublime,  Seemed

A Monument Of Its Mastery Over Time. Every Deep-Cut Canyon,  Showing The

Skeleton Ribs,  The Caverns And Caves,  Its Avalanche-Carved Slides,  Its

Long,  Fan-Shaped,  Spreading Taluses,  Carried Conviction To The Spectator

That It Was But A Frail Bit Of Rock,  That Its Life Was Little And Brief,

That Upon It Had Been Laid The Merciless Curse Of Nature. Change! Change

Must Unknit The Very Knots Of The Center Of The Earth. So Its Strength Lay

In The Sublimity Of Its Defiance. It Meant To Endure To The Last Rolling

Grain Of Sand. It Was A Dead Mountain Of Rock,  Without Spirit,  Yet It

Taught A Grand Lesson To The Seeing Eye.

Life Was Only A Part,  Perhaps An Infinitely Small Part Of Nature's Plan.

Death And Decay Were Just As Important To Her Inscrutable Design. The

Universe Had Not Been Created For Life,  Ease,  Pleasure,  And Happiness Of A

Man Creature Developed From Lower Organisms. If Nature's Secret Was