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Page 25
The storm that had threatened blackened the sky, and gray scudding clouds
buried the canyon rims, and long veils of rain and sleet began to descend.
The wind roared through the pines, drowning the roar of the brook. Quite
suddenly the air grew piercingly cold. Carley had forgotten her gloves, and
her pockets had not been constructed to protect hands. Glenn drew her into
a sheltered nook where a rock jutted out from overhead and a thicket of
young pines helped break the onslaught of the wind. There Carley sat on a
cold rock, huddled up close to Glenn, and wearing to a state she knew would
be misery. Glenn not only seemed content; he was happy. "This is great," he
said. His coat was open, his hands uncovered, and he watched the storm and
listened with manifest delight. Carley hated to betray what a weakling she
was, so she resigned herself 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 open
wretchedness. She managed to keep pace with Glenn until exercise warmed her
blood. At every little ascent in the trail she found herself laboring to
get her breath. There was assuredly evidence of abundance of air in this
canyon, but somehow she could not get enough of it. Glenn detected this and
said it was owing to the altitude. When they reached the cabin Carley was
wet, stiff, cold, exhausted. How welcome the shelter, the open fireplace!
Seeing the cabin in new light, Carley had the 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 of one
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 Glenn with
surpassing curiosity and interest. First he threw a quantity of wood upon
the smoldering fire.
"I have ham and mutton of my own raising," announced Glenn, with
importance. "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 are blind
to the homely and necessary things of living. I mean I have here meat of
both sheep and hog that I raised myself. That is to say, mutton and ham.
Which do you like?"
"Ham!" cried Carley, incredulously.
Without more ado Glenn settled to brisk action, every move of which Carley
watched with keen eyes. The usurping of a woman's province by a man was
always an amusing thing. But for Glenn Kilbourne--what more would it be? He
evidently knew what he wanted, for every movement was quick, decisive. One
after another he placed bags, cans, sacks, pans, utensils on the table.
Then he kicked at the roaring fire, settling some of the sticks. He strode
outside to return with a bucket of water, a basin, towel, and soap. Then he
took down two queer little iron pots with heavy lids. To each pot was
attached a wire handle. He removed the lids, then set both the pots right
on the fire or in it. Pouring water into the basin, he proceeded to wash
his hands. Next he took a large pail, and from a sack he filled it half
full of flour. To this he added baking powder and salt. It was instructive
for Carley to see him run his skillful fingers all through that flour, as
if searching for lumps. After this he knelt before the fire and, lifting
off one of the iron pots with a forked stick, he proceeded to wipe out the
inside of the pot and grease it with a piece of fat. His next move was to
rake out a pile of the red coals, a feat he performed with the stick, and
upon these he placed 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 say I'd
surprise you?"
"Don't mind me. This is about the happiest and most bewildered moment--of
my life," replied Carley.
Returning to the table, Glenn dug at something in a large red can. He
paused 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.
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