The Call of the Canyon

by Zane Grey

  CHAPTER III

  Carley was awakened by rattling sounds in her room. The raising ofsleepy eyelids disclosed Flo on her knees before the little stove, inthe act of lighting a fire.

  "Mawnin', Carley," she drawled. "It's shore cold. Reckon it'll snowtoday, worse luck, just because you're here. Take my hunch and stay inbed till the fire burns up."

  "I shall do no such thing," declared Carley, heroically.

  "We're afraid you'll take cold," said Flo. "This is desert country withhigh altitude. Spring is here when the sun shines. But it's only shinin'in streaks these days. That means winter, really. Please be good."

  "Well, it doesn't require much self-denial to stay here awhile longer,"replied Carley, lazily.

  Flo left with a parting admonition not to let the stove get red-hot. AndCarley lay snuggled in the warm blankets, dreading the ordeal of gettingout into that cold bare room. Her nose was cold. When her nose grewcold, it being a faithful barometer as to temperature, Carley knew therewas frost in the air. She preferred summer. Steam-heated rooms withhothouse flowers lending their perfume had certainly not trained Carleyfor primitive conditions. She had a spirit, however, that was waxinga little rebellious to all this intimation as to her susceptibility tocolds and her probable weakness under privation. Carley got up. Herbare feet landed upon the board floor instead of the Navajo rug, andshe thought she had encountered cold stone. Stove and hot waternotwithstanding, by the time she was half dressed she was also halffrozen. "Some actor fellow once said w-when you w-went West you werec-camping out," chattered Carley. "Believe me, he said something."

  The fact was Carley had never camped out. Her set played golf, rodehorseback, motored and house-boated, but they had never gone in foruncomfortable trips. The camps and hotels in the Adirondacks were aswarm and luxurious as Carley's own home. Carley now missed many things.And assuredly her flesh was weak. It cost her effort of will and realpain to finish lacing her boots. As she had made an engagement withGlenn to visit his cabin, she had donned an outdoor suit. She wonderedif the cold had anything to do with the perceptible diminishing of thesound of the waterfall. Perhaps some of the water had frozen, like herfingers.

  Carley went downstairs to the living room, and made no effort to resista rush to the open fire. Flo and her mother were amused at Carley'simpetuosity. "You'll like that stingin' of the air after you get usedto it," said Mrs. Hutter. Carley had her doubts. When she was thoroughlythawed out she discovered an appetite quite unusual for her, and sheenjoyed her breakfast. Then it was time to sally forth to meet Glenn.

  "It's pretty sharp this mawnin'," said Flo. "You'll need gloves andsweater."

  Having fortified herself with these, Carley asked how to find West ForkCanyon.

  "It's down the road a little way," replied Flo. "A great narrow canyonopening on the right side. You can't miss it."

  Flo accompanied her as far as the porch steps. A queer-lookingindividual was slouching along with ax over his shoulder.

  "There's Charley," said Flo. "He'll show you." Then she whispered:"He's sort of dotty sometimes. A horse kicked him once. But mostly he'ssensible."

  At Flo's call the fellow halted with a grin. He was long, lean, loosejointed, dressed in blue overalls stuck into the tops of muddy boots,and his face was clear olive without beard or line. His brow bulged alittle, and from under it peered out a pair of wistful brown eyes thatreminded Carley of those of a dog she had once owned.

  "Wal, it ain't a-goin' to be a nice day," remarked Charley, as he triedto accommodate his strides to Carley's steps.

  "How can you tell?" asked Carley. "It looks clear and bright."

  "Naw, this is a dark mawnin'. Thet's a cloudy sun. We'll hev snow on an'off."

  "Do you mind bad weather?"

  "Me? All the same to me. Reckon, though, I like it cold so I can loafround a big fire at night."

  "I like a big fire, too."

  "Ever camped out?" he asked.

  "Not what you'd call the real thing," replied Carley.

  "Wal, thet's too bad. Reckon it'll be tough fer you," he went on,kindly. "There was a gurl tenderfoot heah two years ago an' she had ahell of a time. They all joked her, 'cept me, an' played tricks on her.An' on her side she was always puttin' her foot in it. I was shore sorryfer her."

  "You were very kind to be an exception," murmured Carley.

  "You look out fer Tom Hutter, an' I reckon Flo ain't so darn abovelayin' traps fer you. 'Specially as she's sweet on your beau. I seenthem together a lot."

  "Yes?" interrogated Carley, encouragingly.

  "Kilbourne is the best fellar thet ever happened along Oak Creek. Ihelped him build his cabin. We've hunted some together. Did you everhunt?"

  "No."

  "Wal, you've shore missed a lot of fun," he said. "Turkey huntin'.Thet's what fetches the gurls. I reckon because turkeys are so good toeat. The old gobblers hev begun to gobble now. I'll take you gobblerhuntin' if you'd like to go."

  "I'm sure I would."

  "There's good trout fishin' along heah a little later," he said,pointing to the stream. "Crick's too high now. I like West Fork best.I've ketched some lammin' big ones up there."

  Carley was amused and interested. She could not say that Charleyhad shown any indication of his mental peculiarity to her. It tookconsiderable restraint not to lead him to talk more about Flo and Glenn.Presently they reached the turn in the road, opposite the cottage Carleyhad noticed yesterday, and here her loquacious escort halted.

  "You take the trail heah," he said, pointing it out, "an' foller it intoWest Fork. So long, an' don't forget we're goin' huntin' turkeys."

  Carley smiled her thanks, and, taking to the trail, she stepped outbriskly, now giving attention to her surroundings. The canyon hadwidened, and the creek with its deep thicket of green and white hadsheered to the left. On her right the canyon wall appeared to be liftinghigher--and higher. She could not see it well, owing to interveningtreetops. The trail led her through a grove of maples and sycamores, outinto an open park-like bench that turned to the right toward the cliff.Suddenly Carley saw a break in the red wall. It was the intersectingcanyon, West Fork. What a narrow red-walled gateway! Huge pine treesspread wide gnarled branches over her head. The wind made soft rush intheir tops, sending the brown needles lightly on the air. Carley turnedthe bulging corner, to be halted by a magnificent spectacle. It seemeda mountain wall loomed over her. It was the western side of this canyon,so lofty that Carley had to tip back her head to see the top. She swepther astonished gaze down the face of this tremendous red mountain walland then slowly swept it upward again. This phenomenon of a cliff seemedbeyond the comprehension of her sight. It looked a mile high. Thefew trees along its bold rampart resembled short spear-pointed bushesoutlined against the steel gray of sky. Ledges, caves, seams, cracks,fissures, beetling red brows, yellow crumbling crags, benches of greengrowths and niches choked with brush, and bold points where singlelonely pine trees grew perilously, and blank walls a thousand feetacross their shadowed faces--these features gradually took shape inCarley's confused sight, until the colossal mountain front stood upbefore her in all its strange, wild, magnificent ruggedness and beauty.

  "Arizona! Perhaps this is what he meant," murmured Carley. "I neverdreamed of anything like this.... But, oh! it overshadows me--bears medown! I could never have a moment's peace under it."

  It fascinated her. There were inaccessible ledges that haunted her withtheir remote fastnesses. How wonderful would it be to get there, restthere, if that were possible! But only eagles could reach them. Therewere places, then, that the desecrating hands of man could not touch.The dark caves were mystically potent in their vacant staring out atthe world beneath them. The crumbling crags, the toppling ledges, theleaning rocks all threatened to come thundering down at the breath ofwind. How deep and soft the red color in contrast with the green! Howsplendid the sheer bold uplift of gigantic steps! Carley found herselfmarveling at the forces that had so rudely, violently, and grandly leftthis monument to n
ature.

  "Well, old Fifth Avenue gadder!" called a gay voice. "If the back wallof my yard so halts you--what will you ever do when you see the PaintedDesert, or climb Sunset Peak, or look down into the Grand Canyon?"

  "Oh, Glenn, where are you?" cried Carley, gazing everywhere near athand. But he was farther away. The clearness of his voice had deceivedher. Presently she espied him a little distance away, across a creek shehad not before noticed.

  "Come on," he called. "I want to see you cross the stepping stones."

  Carley ran ahead, down a little slope of clean red rock, to the shore ofthe green water. It was clear, swift, deep in some places and shallow inothers, with white wreathes or ripples around the rocks evidently placedthere as a means to cross. Carley drew back aghast.

  "Glenn, I could never make it," she called.

  "Come on, my Alpine climber," he taunted. "Will you let Arizona dauntyou?"

  "Do you want me to fall in and catch cold?" she cried, desperately.

  "Carley, big women might even cross the bad places of modern life onstepping stones of their dead selves!" he went on, with something ofmockery. "Surely a few physical steps are not beyond you."

  "Say, are you mangling Tennyson or just kidding me?" she demandedslangily.

  "My love, Flo could cross here with her eyes shut."

  That thrust spurred Carley to action. His words were jest, yet they helda hint of earnest. With her heart at her throat Carley stepped on thefirst rock, and, poising, she calculated on a running leap from stone tostone. Once launched, she felt she was falling downhill. She swayed, shesplashed, she slipped; and clearing the longest leap from the last stoneto shore she lost her balance and fell into Glenn's arms. His kissesdrove away both her panic and her resentment.

  "By Jove! I didn't think you'd even attempt it!" he declared, manifestlypleased. "I made sure I'd have to pack you over--in fact, rather likedthe idea."

  "I wouldn't advise you to employ any such means again--to dare me," sheretorted.

  "That's a nifty outdoor suit you've on," he said, admiringly. "I waswondering what you'd wear. I like short outing skirts for women, ratherthan trousers. The service sort of made the fair sex dippy about pants."

  "It made them dippy about more than that," she replied. "You and I willnever live to see the day that women recover their balance."

  "I agree with you," replied Glenn.

  Carley locked her arm in his. "Honey, I want to have a good time today.Cut out all the other women stuff.... Take me to see your little grayhome in the West. Or is it gray?"

  He laughed. "Why, yes, it's gray, just about. The logs have bleachedsome."

  Glenn led her away up a trail that climbed between bowlders, andmeandered on over piny mats of needles under great, silent, spreadingpines; and closer to the impondering mountain wall, where at the base ofthe red rock the creek murmured strangely with hollow gurgle, wherethe sun had no chance to affect the cold damp gloom; and on throughsweet-smelling woods, out into the sunlight again, and across a widerbreadth of stream; and up a slow slope covered with stately pines, to alittle cabin that faced the west.

  "Here we are, sweetheart," said Glenn. "Now we shall see what you aremade of."

  Carley was non-committal as to that. Her intense interest precluded anyhumor at this moment. Not until she actually saw the log cabin Glenn haderected with his own hands had she been conscious of any great interest.But sight of it awoke something unaccustomed in Carley. As she steppedinto the cabin her heart was not acting normally for a young woman whohad no illusions about love in a cottage.

  Glenn's cabin contained one room about fifteen feet wide by twenty long.Between the peeled logs were lines of red mud, hard dried. There was asmall window opposite the door. In one corner was a couch of poles, withgreen tips of pine boughs peeping from under the blankets. The floorconsisted of flat rocks laid irregularly, with many spaces of earthshowing between. The open fireplace appeared too large for the room,but the very bigness of it, as well as the blazing sticks and glowingembers, appealed strongly to Carley. A rough-hewn log formed the mantel,and on it Carley's picture held the place of honor. Above this a riflelay across deer antlers. Carley paused here in her survey long enough tokiss Glenn and point to her photograph.

  "You couldn't have pleased me more."

  To the left of the fireplace was a rude cupboard of shelves, packed withboxes, cans, bags, and utensils. Below the cupboard, hung upon pegs,were blackened pots and pans, a long-handled skillet, and a bucket.Glenn's table was a masterpiece. There was no danger of knocking itover. It consisted of four poles driven into the ground, upon which hadbeen nailed two wide slabs. This table showed considerable evidence ofhaving been scrubbed scrupulously clean. There were two low stools, madeout of boughs, and the seats had been covered with woolly sheep hide. Inthe right-hand corner stood a neat pile of firewood, cut with an ax,and beyond this hung saddle and saddle blanket, bridle and spurs. An oldsombrero was hooked upon the pommel of the saddle. Upon the wall, higherup, hung a lantern, resting in a coil of rope that Carley took to be alasso. Under a shelf upon which lay a suitcase hung some rough wearingapparel.

  Carley noted that her picture and the suit case were absolutely the onlyphysical evidences of Glenn's connection with his Eastern life. That hadan unaccountable effect upon Carley. What had she expected? Then, afteranother survey of the room, she began to pester Glenn with questions. Hehad to show her the spring outside and the little bench with basin andsoap. Sight of his soiled towel made her throw up her hands. She sat onthe stools. She lay on the couch. She rummaged into the contents of thecupboard. She threw wood on the fire. Then, finally, having exhaustedher search and inquiry, she flopped down on one of the stools to gaze atGlenn in awe and admiration and incredulity.

  "Glenn--you've actually lived here!" she ejaculated.

  "Since last fall before the snow came," he said, smiling.

  "Snow! Did it snow?" she inquired.

  "Well, I guess. I was snowed in for a week."

  "Why did you choose this lonely place--way off from the Lodge?" sheasked, slowly.

  "I wanted to be by myself," he replied, briefly.

  "You mean this is a sort of camp-out place?"

  "Carley, I call it my home," he replied, and there was a low, strongsweetness in his voice she had never heard before.

  That silenced her for a while. She went to the door and gazed up at thetowering wall, more wonderful than ever, and more fearful, too, inher sight. Presently tears dimmed her eyes. She did not understand herfeeling; she was ashamed of it; she hid it from Glenn. Indeed, there wassomething terribly wrong between her and Glenn, and it was not in him.This cabin he called home gave her a shock which would take time toanalyze. At length she turned to him with gay utterance upon herlips. She tried to put out of her mind a dawning sense that thisclose-to-the-earth habitation, this primitive dwelling, held strangeinscrutable power over a self she had never divined she possessed. Thevery stones in the hearth seemed to call out from some remote past,and the strong sweet smell of burnt wood thrilled to the marrow of herbones. How little she knew of herself! But she had intelligence enoughto understand that there was a woman in her, the female of the species;and through that the sensations from logs and stones and earth and firehad strange power to call up the emotions handed down to her from theages. The thrill, the queer heartbeat, the vague, haunting memory ofsomething, as of a dim childhood adventure, the strange prickling senseof dread--these abided with her and augmented while she tried to showGlenn her pride in him and also how funny his cabin seemed to her.

  Once or twice he hesitatingly, and somewhat appealingly, she imagined,tried to broach the subject of his work there in the West. But Carleywanted a little while with him free of disagreeable argument. It was aforegone conclusion that she would not like his work. Her intentionat first had been to begin at once to use all persuasion in her powertoward having him go back East with her, or at the latest some timethis year. But the rude log cabin had checked her impulse. She f
elt thathaste would be unwise.

  "Glenn Kilbourne, I told you why I came West to see you," she said,spiritedly. "Well, since you still swear allegiance to your girl fromthe East, you might entertain her a little bit before getting down tobusiness talk."

  "All right, Carley," he replied, laughing. "What do you want to do? Theday is at your disposal. I wish it were June. Then if you didn't fall inlove with West Fork you'd be no good."

  "Glenn, I love people, not places," she returned.

  "So I remember. And that's one thing I don't like. But let's notquarrel. What'll we do?"

  "Suppose you tramp with me all around, until I'm good and hungry. Thenwe'll come back here--and you can cook dinner for me."

  "Fine! Oh, I know you're just bursting with curiosity to see how I'll doit. Well, you may be surprised, miss."

  "Let's go," she urged.

  "Shall I take my gun or fishing rod?"

  "You shall take nothing but me," retorted Carley. "What chance has agirl with a man, if he can hunt or fish?"

  So they went out hand in hand. Half of the belt of sky above wasobscured by swiftly moving gray clouds. The other half was blue and wasbeing slowly encroached upon by the dark storm-like pall. How coldthe air! Carley had already learned that when the sun was hidden theatmosphere was cold. Glenn led her down a trail to the brook, wherehe calmly picked her up in his arms, quite easily, it appeared, andleisurely packed her across, kissing her half a dozen times before hedeposited her on her feet.

  "Glenn, you do this sort of thing so well that it makes me imagine youhave practice now and then," she said.

  "No. But you are pretty and sweet, and like the girl you were four yearsago. That takes me back to those days."

  "I thank you. That's dear of you. I think I am something of a cat....I'll be glad if this walk leads us often to the creek."

  Spring might have been fresh and keen in the air, but it had not yetbrought much green to the brown earth or to the trees. The cotton-woodsshowed a light feathery verdure. The long grass was a bleached white,and low down close to the sod fresh tiny green blades showed. The greatfern leaves were sear and ragged, and they rustled in the breeze. Smallgray sheath-barked trees with clumpy foliage and snags of dead branches,Glenn called cedars; and, grotesque as these were, Carley rather likedthem. They were approachable, not majestic and lofty like the pines, andthey smelled sweetly wild, and best of all they afforded some protectionfrom the bitter wind. Carley rested better than she walked. The hugesections of red rock that had tumbled from above also interested Carley,especially when the sun happened to come out for a few moments andbrought out their color. She enjoyed walking on the fallen pines, withGlenn below, keeping pace with her and holding her hand. Carley lookedin vain for flowers and birds. The only living things she saw wererainbow trout that Glenn pointed out to her in the beautiful clearpools. The way the great gray bowlders trooped down to the brook as ifthey were cattle going to drink; the dark caverns under the shelvingcliffs, where the water murmured with such hollow mockery; the lowspear-pointed gray plants, resembling century plants, and which Glenncalled mescal cactus, each with its single straight dead stalk standingon high with fluted head; the narrow gorges, perpendicularly walled inred, where the constricted brook plunged in amber and white cascadesover fall after fall, tumbling, rushing, singing its water melody--theseall held singular appeal for Carley as aspects of the wild land,fascinating for the moment, symbolic of the lonely red man and hisforbears, and by their raw contrast making more necessary and desirableand elevating the comforts and conventions of civilization. The cave mantheory interested Carley only as mythology.

  Lonelier, wilder, grander grew Glenn's canyon. Carley was finally forcedto shift her attention from the intimate objects of the canyon floorto the aloof and unattainable heights. Singular to feel the difference!That which she could see close at hand, touch if she willed, seemed to,become part of her knowledge, could be observed and so possessed andpassed by. But the gold-red ramparts against the sky, the cranniedcliffs, the crags of the eagles, the lofty, distant blank walls, wherethe winds of the gods had written their wars--these haunted becausethey could never be possessed. Carley had often gazed at the Alps as atcelebrated pictures. She admired, she appreciated--then she forgot.But the canyon heights did not affect her that way. They vaguelydissatisfied, and as she could not be sure of what they dissatisfied,she had to conclude that it was in herself. To see, to watch, to dream,to seek, to strive, to endure, to find! Was that what they meant? Theymight make her thoughtful of the vast earth, and its endless age, andits staggering mystery. But what more!

  The storm that had threatened blackened the sky, and gray scuddingclouds buried the canyon rims, and long veils of rain and sleet beganto descend. The wind roared through the pines, drowning the roar of thebrook. Quite suddenly the air grew piercingly cold. Carley had forgottenher gloves, and her pockets had not been constructed to protect hands.Glenn drew her into a sheltered nook where a rock jutted out fromoverhead and a thicket of young pines helped break the onslaught of thewind. There Carley sat on a cold rock, huddled up close to Glenn, andwearing to a state she knew would be misery. Glenn not only seemedcontent; he was happy. "This is great," he said. His coat was open, hishands uncovered, and he watched the storm and listened with manifestdelight. Carley hated to betray what a weakling she was, so she resignedherself to her fate, and imagined she felt her fingers numbing into ice,and her sensitive nose slowly and painfully freezing.

  The storm passed, however, before Carley sank into abject and openwretchedness. She managed to keep pace with Glenn until exercisewarmed her blood. At every little ascent in the trail she found herselflaboring to get her breath. There was assuredly evidence of abundanceof air in this canyon, but somehow she could not get enough of it. Glenndetected this and said it was owing to the altitude. When they reachedthe cabin Carley was wet, stiff, cold, exhausted. How welcome theshelter, the open fireplace! Seeing the cabin in new light, Carley hadthe grace to acknowledge to herself that, after all, it was not so bad.

  "Now for a good fire and then dinner," announced Glenn, with the air ofone who knew his ground.

  "Can I help?" queried Carley.

  "Not today. I do not want you to spring any domestic science on me now."Carley was not averse to withholding her ignorance. She watched Glennwith surpassing curiosity and interest. First he threw a quantity ofwood upon the smoldering fire.

  "I have ham and mutton of my own raising," announced Glenn, withimportance. "Which would you prefer?"

  "Of your own raising. What do you mean?" queried Carley.

  "My dear, you've been so steeped in the fog of the crowd that you areblind to the homely and necessary things of living. I mean I have heremeat of both sheep and hog that I raised myself. That is to say, muttonand ham. Which do you like?"

  "Ham!" cried Carley, incredulously.

  Without more ado Glenn settled to brisk action, every move of whichCarley watched with keen eyes. The usurping of a woman's province bya man was always an amusing thing. But for Glenn Kilbourne--what morewould it be? He evidently knew what he wanted, for every movement wasquick, decisive. One after another he placed bags, cans, sacks, pans,utensils on the table. Then he kicked at the roaring fire, settling someof the sticks. He strode outside to return with a bucket of water, abasin, towel, and soap. Then he took down two queer little iron potswith heavy lids. To each pot was attached a wire handle. He removed thelids, then set both the pots right on the fire or in it. Pouring waterinto the basin, he proceeded to wash his hands. Next he took a largepail, and from a sack he filled it half full of flour. To this he addedbaking powder and salt. It was instructive for Carley to see him runhis skillful fingers all through that flour, as if searching for lumps.After this he knelt before the fire and, lifting off one of the ironpots with a forked stick, he proceeded to wipe out the inside of the potand grease it with a piece of fat. His next move was to rake out a pileof the red coals, a feat he performed with the stick, and upon these heplaced the pot.
Also he removed the other pot from the fire, leaving it,however, quite close.

  "Well, all eyes?" he bantered, suddenly staring at her. "Didn't I sayI'd surprise you?"

  "Don't mind me. This is about the happiest and most bewilderedmoment--of my life," replied Carley.

  Returning to the table, Glenn dug at something in a large red can. Hepaused a moment to eye Carley.

  "Girl, do you know how to make biscuits?" he queried.

  "I might have known in my school days, but I've forgotten," she replied.

  "Can you make apple pie?" he demanded, imperiously.

  "No," rejoined Carley.

  "How do you expect to please your husband?"

  "Why--by marrying him, I suppose," answered Carley, as if weighing aproblem.

  "That has been the universal feminine point of view for a good manyyears," replied Glenn, flourishing a flour-whitened hand. "But it neverserved the women of the Revolution or the pioneers. And they were thebuilders of the nation. It will never serve the wives of the future, ifwe are to survive."

  "Glenn, you rave!" ejaculated Carley, not knowing whether to laugh or begrave. "You were talking of humble housewifely things."

  "Precisely. The humble things that were the foundation of the greatnation of Americans. I meant work and children."

  Carley could only stare at him. The look he flashed at her, the suddenintensity and passion of his ringing words, were as if he gave her aglimpse into the very depths of him. He might have begun in fun, but hehad finished otherwise. She felt that she really did not know thisman. Had he arraigned her in judgment? A flush, seemingly hot and cold,passed over her. Then it relieved her to see that he had returned to histask.

  He mixed the shortening with the flour, and, adding water, he begana thorough kneading. When the consistency of the mixture appeared tosatisfy him he took a handful of it, rolled it into a ball, patted andflattened it into a biscuit, and dropped it into the oven he had setaside on the hot coals. Swiftly he shaped eight or ten other biscuitsand dropped them as the first. Then he put the heavy iron lid on thepot, and with a rude shovel, improvised from a flattened tin can, heshoveled red coals out of the fire, and covered the lid with them. Hisnext move was to pare and slice potatoes, placing these aside in a pan.A small black coffee-pot half full of water, was set on a glowingpart of the fire. Then he brought into use a huge, heavy knife, amurderous-looking implement it appeared to Carley, with which he cutslices of ham. These he dropped into the second pot, which he leftuncovered. Next he removed the flour sack and other inpedimenta from thetable, and proceeded to set places for two--blue-enamel plate and cup,with plain, substantial-looking knives, forks, and spoons. He wentoutside, to return presently carrying a small crock of butter. Evidentlyhe had kept the butter in or near the spring. It looked dewy and coldand hard. After that he peeped under the lid of the pot which containedthe biscuits. The other pot was sizzling and smoking, giving fortha delicious savory odor that affected Carley most agreeably. Thecoffee-pot had begun to steam. With a long fork Glenn turned the slicesof ham and stood a moment watching them. Next he placed cans of threesizes upon the table; and these Carley conjectured contained sugar,salt, and pepper. Carley might not have been present, for all theattention he paid to her. Again he peeped at the biscuits. At theedge of the hot embers he placed a tin plate, upon which he carefullydeposited the slices of ham. Carley had not needed sight of them to knowshe was hungry; they made her simply ravenous. That done, he poured thepan of sliced potatoes into the pot. Carley judged the heat of thatpot to be extreme. Next he removed the lid from the other pot, exposingbiscuits slightly browned; and evidently satisfied with these, heremoved them from the coals. He stirred the slices of potatoes roundand round; he emptied two heaping tablespoonfuls of coffee into thecoffee-pot.

  "Carley," he said, at last turning to her with a warm smile, "out herein the West the cook usually yells, 'Come and get it.' Draw up yourstool."

  And presently Carley found herself seated across the crude table fromGlenn, with the background of chinked logs in her sight, and the smartof wood smoke in her eyes. In years past she had sat with him in thesoft, subdued, gold-green shadows of the Astor, or in the sumptuousatmosphere of the St. Regis. But this event was so different, sostriking, that she felt it would have limitless significance. For onething, the look of Glenn! When had he ever seemed like this, wonderfullyhappy to have her there, consciously proud of this dinner he hadprepared in half an hour, strangely studying her as one on trial? Thismight have had its effect upon Carley's reaction to the situation,making it sweet, trenchant with meaning, but she was hungry enough andthe dinner was good enough to make this hour memorable on that scorealone. She ate until she was actually ashamed of herself. She laughedheartily, she talked, she made love to Glenn. Then suddenly an ideaflashed into her quick mind.

  "Glenn, did this girl Flo teach you to cook?" she queried, sharply.

  "No. I always was handy in camp. Then out here I had the luck to fallin with an old fellow who was a wonderful cook. He lived with me for awhile. ... Why, what difference would it have made--had Flo taught me?"

  Carley felt the heat of blood in her face. "I don't know that it wouldhave made a difference. Only--I'm glad she didn't teach you. I'd ratherno girl could teach you what I couldn't."

  "You think I'm a pretty good cook, then?" he asked.

  "I've enjoyed this dinner more than any I've ever eaten."

  "Thanks, Carley. That'll help a lot," he said, gayly, but his eyes shonewith earnest, glad light. "I hoped I'd surprise you. I've found out herethat I want to do things well. The West stirs something in a man. Itmust be an unwritten law. You stand or fall by your own hands. Back Eastyou know meals are just occasions--to hurry through--to dress for--tomeet somebody--to eat because you have to eat. But out here they aredifferent. I don't know how. In the city, producers, merchants, waitersserve you for money. The meal is a transaction. It has no significance.It is money that keeps you from starvation. But in the West moneydoesn't mean much. You must work to live."

  Carley leaned her elbows on the table and gazed at him curiously andadmiringly. "Old fellow, you're a wonder. I can't tell you how proud Iam of you. That you could come West weak and sick, and fight your way tohealth, and learn to be self-sufficient! It is a splendid achievement.It amazes me. I don't grasp it. I want to think. Nevertheless I--"

  "What?" he queried, as she hesitated.

  "Oh, never mind now," she replied, hastily, averting her eyes.

  The day was far spent when Carley returned to the Lodge--and in spite ofthe discomfort of cold and sleet, and the bitter wind that beat in herface as she struggled up the trail--it was a day never to be forgotten.Nothing had been wanting in Glenn's attention or affection. He had beencomrade, lover, all she craved for. And but for his few singular wordsabout work and children there had been no serious talk. Only a play dayin his canyon and his cabin! Yet had she appeared at her best? Somethingvague and perplexing knocked at the gate of her consciousness.