The Call of the Canyon by Zane Grey


Main
- books.jibble.org



My Books
- IRC Hacks

Misc. Articles
- Meaning of Jibble
- M4 Su Doku
- Computer Scrapbooking
- Setting up Java
- Bootable Java
- Cookies in Java
- Dynamic Graphs
- Social Shakespeare

External Links
- Paul Mutton
- Jibble Photo Gallery
- Jibble Forums
- Google Landmarks
- Jibble Shop
- Free Books
- Intershot Ltd

books.jibble.org

Previous Page | Next Page

Page 29

The afternoon grew far advanced and the sunset was hazily shrouded in gray.
Hutter did not like the looks of those clouds. "Reckon we're in for
weather," he said. Carley did not care what happened. Weather or anything
else that might make it possible to get off her horse! Glenn rode beside
her, inquiring solicitously as to her pleasure. "Ride of my life!" she lied
heroically. And it helped some to see that she both fooled and pleased him.

Beyond the canyon the cedared desert heaved higher and changed its aspect.
The trees grew larger, bushier, greener, and closer together, with patches
of bleached grass between, and russet-lichened rocks everywhere. Small
cactus plants bristled sparsely in open places; and here and there bright
red flowers--Indian paintbrush, Flo called them--added a touch of color to
the gray. Glenn pointed to where dark banks of cloud had massed around the
mountain peaks. The scene to the west was somber and compelling.

At last the men and the pack-horses ahead came to a halt in a level green
forestland with no high trees. Far ahead a chain of soft gray round hills
led up to the dark heaved mass of mountains. Carley saw the gleam of water
through the trees. Probably her mustang saw or scented it, because he
started to trot. Carley had reached a limit of strength, endurance, and
patience. She hauled him up short. When Spillbeans evinced a stubborn
intention to go on Carley gave him a kick. Then it happened.

She felt the reins jerked out of her hands and the saddle propel her
upward. When she descended it was to meet that before-experienced jolt.

"Look!" cried Flo. "That bronc is going to pitch."

"Hold on, Carley!" yelled Glenn.

Desperately Carley essayed to do just that. But Spillbeans jolted her out
of the saddle. She came down on his rump and began to slide back and down.
Frightened and furious, Carley tried to hang to the saddle with her hands
and to squeeze the mustang with her knees. But another jolt broke her hold,
and then, helpless and bewildered, with her heart in her throat and a
terrible sensation of weakness, she slid back at each upheave of the
muscular rump until she slid off and to the ground in a heap. Whereupon
Spillbeans trotted off toward the water.

Carley sat up before Glenn and Flo reached her. Manifestly they were
concerned about her, but both were ready to burst with laughter. Carley
knew she was not hurt and she was so glad to be off the mustang that, on
the moment, she could almost have laughed herself.

"That beast is well named," she said. "He spilled me, all right. And I
presume I resembled a sack of beans."

"Carley--you're--not hurt?" asked Glenn, choking, as he helped her up.

"Not physically. But my feelings are."

Then Glenn let out a hearty howl of mirth, which was seconded by a loud
guffaw from Hutter. Flo, however, appeared to be able to restrain whatever
she felt. To Carley she looked queer.

"Pitch! You called it that," said Carley.

"Oh, he didn't really pitch. He just humped up a few times," replied Flo,
and then when she saw how Carley was going to take it she burst into a
merry peal of laughter. Charley, the sheep herder was grinning, and some of
the other men turned away with shaking shoulders.

"Laugh, you wild and woolly Westerners!" ejaculated Carley. "It must have
been funny. I hope I can be a good sport. . . . But I bet you I ride him
tomorrow."

"Shore you will," replied Flo.

Evidently the little incident drew the party closer together. Carley felt a
warmth of good nature that overcame her first feeling of humiliation. They
expected such things from her, and she should expect them, too, and take
them, if not fearlessly or painlessly, at least without resentment.

Carley walked about to ease her swollen and sore joints, and while doing so
she took stock of the camp ground and what was going on. At second glance
the place had a certain attraction difficult for her to define. She could
see far, and the view north toward those strange gray-colored symmetrical
hills was one that fascinated while it repelled her. Near at hand the
ground sloped down to a large rock-bound lake, perhaps a mile in
circumference. In the distance, along the shore she saw a white conical
tent, and blue smoke, and moving gray objects she took for sheep.

Previous Page | Next Page


Books | Photos | Paul Mutton | Sun 12th Jan 2025, 7:46