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

Brought A Sternness To His Face. She Could Hardly Realize She Was Looking

At The Glenn Kilbourne Of Old.

"Come Close To The Fire," He Said,  And Pulled Up A Chair For Her. Then He

Threw More Wood Upon The Red Coals. "You Must Be Careful Not To Catch Cold

Out Here. The Altitude Makes A Cold Dangerous. And That Gown Is No

Protection."

"Glenn,  One Chair Used To Be Enough For Us," She Said,  Archly,  Standing

Beside Him.

But He Did Not Respond To Her Hint,  And,  A Little Affronted,  She Accepted

The Proffered Chair. Then He Began To Ask Questions Rapidly. He Was Eager

For News From Home--From His People--From Old Friends. However He Did Not

Inquire Of Carley About Her Friends. She Talked Unremittingly For An Hour,

Before She Satisfied His Hunger. But When Her Turn Came To Ask Questions

She Found Him Reticent.

He Had Fallen Upon Rather Hard Days At First Out Here In The West; Then His

Health Had Begun To Improve; And As Soon As He Was Able To Work His

Condition Rapidly Changed For The Better; And Now He Was Getting Along

Pretty Well. Carley Felt Hurt At His Apparent Disinclination To Confide In

Her. The Strong Cast Of His Face,  As If It Had Been Chiseled In Bronze; The

Stern Set Of His Lips And The Jaw That Protruded Lean And Square Cut; The

Quiet Masked Light Of His Eyes; The Coarse Roughness Of His Brown Hands,

Mute Evidence Of Strenuous Labors--These All Gave A Different Impression

From His Brief Remarks About Himself. Lastly There Was A Little Gray In The

Light-Brown Hair Over His Temples. Glenn Was Only Twenty-Seven,  Yet He

Looked Ten Years Older. Studying Him So,  With The Memory Of Earlier Years

In Her Mind,  She Was Forced To Admit That She Liked Him Infinitely More As

He Was Now. He Seemed Proven. Something Had Made Him A Man. Had It Been

His Love For Her,  Or The Army Service,  Or The War In France,  Or The

Struggle For Life And Health Afterwards? Or Had It Been This Rugged,

Uncouth West? Carley Felt Insidious Jealousy Of This Last Possibility. She

Feared This West. She Was Going To Hate It. She Had Womanly Intuition

Enough To See In Flo Hutter A Girl Somehow To Be Reckoned With. Still,

Carley Would Not Acknowledge To Herself That His Simple,  Unsophisticated

Western Girl Could Possibly Be A Rival. Carley Did Not Need To Consider The

Fact That She Had Been Spoiled By The Attention Of Men. It Was Not Her

Vanity That Precluded Flo Hutter As A Rival.

Gradually The Conversation Drew To A Lapse,  And It Suited Carley To Let It

Be So. She Watched Glenn As He Gazed Thoughtfully Into The Amber Depths Of

The Fire. What Was Going On In His Mind? Carley's Old Perplexity Suddenly

Had Rebirth. And With It Came An Unfamiliar Fear Which She Could Not

Smother. Every Moment That She Sat There Beside Glenn She Was Realizing

More And More A Yearning,  Passionate Love For Him. The Unmistakable

Manifestation Of His Joy At Sight Of Her,  The Strong,  Almost Rude

Expression Of His Love,  Had Called To Some Responsive,  But Hitherto Unplumbed Deeps Of

Her. If It Had Not Been For These Undeniable Facts Carley Would Have Been

Panic-Stricken. They Reassured Her,  Yet Only Made Her State Of Mind More Dissatisfied.

"Carley,  Do You Still Go In For Dancing?" Glenn Asked,  Presently,  With His

Thoughtful Eyes Turning To Her.

"Of Course. I Like Dancing,  And It's About All The Exercise I Get," She

Replied.

"Have The Dances Changed--Again?"

"It's The Music,  Perhaps,  That Changes The Dancing. Jazz Is Becoming

Popular. And About All The Crowd Dances Now Is An Infinite Variation Of

Fox-Trot."

"No Waltzing?"

"I Don't Believe I Waltzed Once This Winter."

"Jazz? That's A Sort Of Tinpanning,  Jiggly Stuff,  Isn't It?"

"Glenn,  It's The Fever Of The Public Pulse," Replied Carley. "The Graceful

Waltz,  Like The Stately Minuet,  Flourished Back In The Days When People

Rested Rather Than Raced."

"More's The Pity," Said Glenn. Then After A Moment,  In Which His Gaze

Returned To The Fire,  He Inquired Rather Too Casually,  "Does Morrison Still

Chase After You?"

"Glenn,  I'm Neither Old--Nor Married," She Replied,  Laughing.

"No,  That's True. But If You Were Married It Wouldn't Make Any Difference

To Morrison."

Carley Could Not Detect Bitterness Or Jealousy In His Voice. She Would Not

Have Been Averse To Hearing Either. She Gathered From His Remark,  However,

That He Was Going To Be Harder Than Ever To Understand. What Had She Said

Or Done To Make Him Retreat Within Himself,  Aloof,  Impersonal,  Unfamiliar?

He Did Not Impress Her As Loverlike. What Irony Of Fate Was This That Held

Her There Yearning For His Kisses And Caresses As Never Before,  While He

Watched The Fire,  And Talked As To A Mere Acquaintance,  And Seemed Sad And

Far Away? Or Did She Merely Imagine That? Only One Thing Could She Be Sure

Of At That Moment,  And It Was That Pride Would Never Be Her Ally.

"Glenn,  Look Here," She Said,  Sliding Her Chair Close To His And Holding

Out Her Left Hand,  Slim And White,  With Its Glittering Diamond On The

Third Finger.

He Took Her Hand In His And Pressed It,  And Smiled At Her. "Yes,  Carley,

It's A Beautiful,  Soft Little Hand. But I Think I'd Like It Better If It

Were Strong And Brown,  And Coarse On The Inside--From Useful Work."

"Like Flo Hutter's?" Queried Carley.

"Yes."

Carley Looked Proudly Into His Eyes. "People Are Born In Different

Stations. I Respect Your Little Western Friend,  Glenn,  But Could I Wash And

Sweep,  Milk Cows And Chop Wood,  And All That Sort Of Thing?"

"I Suppose You Couldn't," He Admitted,  With A Blunt Little Laugh.

"Would You Want Me To?" She Asked.

"Well,  That's Hard To Say," He Replied,  Knitting His Brows. "I Hardly Know.

I Think It Depends On You. . . . But If You Did Do Such Work Wouldn't You

Be Happier?"

"Happier! Why Glenn,  I'd Be Miserable! ... But Listen. It Wasn't My

Beautiful And Useless Hand I Wanted You To See. It Was My Engagement Ring."

"Oh!--Well?" He Went On,  Slowly.

"I've Never Had It Off Since You Left New York," She Said,  Softly. "You

Gave It To Me Four Years Ago. Do You Remember? It Was On My Twenty-Second

Birthday. You Said It Would Take Two Months' Salary To Pay The Bill."

"It Sure Did," He Retorted,  With A Hint Of Humor.

"Glenn,  During The War It Was Not So--So Very Hard To Wear This Ring As An

Engagement Ring Should Be Worn," Said Carley,  Growing More Earnest. "But

After The War--Especially After Your Departure West It Was Terribly Hard To

Be True To The Significance Of This Betrothal Ring. There Was A Let-Down In

All Women. Oh,  No One Need Tell Me! There Was. And Men Were Affected By

That And The Chaotic Condition Of The Times. New York Was Wild During The

Year Of Your Absence. Prohibition Was A Joke.--Well,  I Gadded,  Danced,

Dressed,  Drank,  Smoked,  Motored,  Just The Same As The Other Women In Our

Crowd. Something Drove Me To. I Never Rested. Excitement Seemed To Be

Happiness--Glenn,  I Am Not Making Any Plea To Excuse All That. But I Want

You To Know--How Under Trying Circumstances--I Was Absolutely True To You.

Understand Me. I Mean True As Regards Love. Through It All I Loved You

Just The Same. And Now I'm With You,  It Seems,  Oh,  So Much More! . . . Your

Last Letter Hurt Me. I Don't Know Just How. But I Came West To See You--To

Tell You This--And To Ask You. . . . Do You Want This Ring Back?"

"Certainly Not," He Replied,  Forcibly,  With A Dark Flush Spreading Over His

Face.

"Then--You Love Me?" She Whispered.

"Yes--I Love You," He Returned,  Deliberately. "And In Spite Of All You

Say--Very Probably More Than You Love Me. . . . But You,  Like All Women,

Make Love And Its Expression The Sole Object Of Life. Carley,  I Have Been

Concerned With Keeping My Body From The Grave And My Soul From Hell."

"But--Dear--You're Well Now?" She Returned,  With Trembling Lips.

"Yes,  I've Almost Pulled Out."

"Then What Is Wrong?"

"Wrong?--With Me Or You," He Queried,  With Keen,  Enigmatical Glance Upon

Her.

"What Is Wrong Between Us? There Is Something."

"Carley,  A Man Who Has Been On The Verge--As I Have Been--Seldom Or Never

Comes Back To Happiness. But Perhaps--"

"You Frighten Me," Cried Carley,  And,  Rising,  She Sat Upon The Arm Of His

Chair And Encircled His Neck With Her Arms. "How Can I Help If I Do Not

Understand? Am I So Miserably Little? . . . Glenn,  Must I Tell You? No

Woman Can Live Without Love. I Need To Be Loved. That's All That's Wrong

With Me."

"Carley,  You Are Still An Imperious,  Mushy Girl," Replied Glenn,  Taking Her

Into His Arms. "I Need To Be Loved,  Too. But That's Not What Is Wrong With

Me. You'll Have To Find It Out Yourself."

"You're A Dear Old Sphinx," She Retorted.

"Listen,  Carley," He Said,  Earnestly. "About This Love-Making Stuff. Please

Don't Misunderstand Me. I Love You. I'm Starved For Your Kisses. But--Is It

Right To Ask Them?"

"Right! Aren't We Engaged? And Don't I Want To Give Them?"

"If I Were Only Sure We'd Be Married!" He Said,  In Low,  Tense Voice,  As If

Speaking More To Himself.