The Call of the Canyon by Zane Grey


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Page 32

It developed, upon their return to the campfire circle, that everybody had
been in the joke; and they all derived hearty enjoyment from it.

"Reckon that makes you one of us," said Hutter, genially. "We've all had
our scares."

Carley wondered if she were not so constituted that such trickery alienated
her. Deep in her heart she resented being made to show her cowardice. But
then she realized that no one had really seen any evidence of her state. It
was fun to them.

Soon after this incident Hutter sounded what he called the roll-call for
bed. Following Flo's instructions, Carley sat on their bed, pulled off her
boots, folded coat and sweater at her head, and slid down under the
blankets. How strange and hard a bed! Yet Carley had the most delicious
sense of relief and rest she had ever experienced. She straightened out on
her back with a feeling that she had never before appreciated the luxury of
lying down.

Flo cuddled up to her in quite sisterly fashion, saying: "Now don't cover
your head. If it rains I'll wake and pull up the tarp. Good night, Carley."
And almost immediately she seemed to fall asleep.

For Carley, however, sleep did not soon come. She had too many aches; the
aftermath of her shock of fright abided with her; and the blackness of
night, the cold whip of wind over her face, and the unprotected
helplessness she felt in this novel bed, were too entirely new and
disturbing to be overcome at once. So she lay wide eyed, staring at the
dense gray shadow, at the flickering lights upon the cedar. At length her
mind formed a conclusion that this sort of thing might be worth the
hardship once in a lifetime, anyway. What a concession to Glenn's West! In
the secret seclusion of her mind she had to confess that if her vanity had
not been so assaulted and humiliated she might have enjoyed herself more.
It seemed impossible, however, to have thrills and pleasures and
exaltations in the face of discomfort, privation, and an uneasy
half-acknowledged fear. No woman could have either a good or a profitable
time when she was at her worst. Carley thought she would not be averse to
getting Flo Hutter to New York, into an atmosphere wholly strange and
difficult, and see how she met situation after situation unfamiliar to her.
And so Carley's mind drifted on until at last she succumbed to drowsiness.


A voice pierced her dreams of home, of warmth and comfort. Something sharp,
cold, and fragrant was scratching her eyes. She opened them. Glenn stood
over her, pushing a sprig of cedar into her face.

"Carley, the day is far spent," he said, gayly. "We want to roll up your
bedding. Will you get out of it?"

"Hello, Glenn! What time is it?" she replied.

"It's nearly six."

"What! . . . Do you expect me to get up at that ungodly hour?"

"We're all up. Flo's eating breakfast. It's going to be a bad day, I'm
afraid. And we want to get packed and moving before it starts to rain."

"Why do girls leave home?" she asked, tragically.

"To make poor devils happy, of course," he replied, smiling down upon her.

That smile made up to Carley for all the clamoring sensations of stiff,
sore muscles. It made her ashamed that she could not fling herself into
this adventure with all her heart. Carley essayed to sit up. "Oh, I'm
afraid my anatomy has become disconnected! . . . Glenn, do I look a
sight?" She never would have asked him that if she had not known she could
bear inspection at such an inopportune moment.

"You look great," he asserted, heartily. "You've got color. And as for your
hair--I like to see it mussed that way. You were always one to have it
dressed--just so. . . . Come, Carley, rustle now."

Thus adjured, Carley did her best under adverse circumstances. And she was
gritting her teeth and complimenting herself when she arrived at the task
of pulling on her boots. They were damp and her feet appeared to have
swollen. Moreover, her ankles were sore. But she accomplished getting into
them at the expense of much pain and sundry utterances more forcible than
elegant. Glenn brought her warm water, a mitigating circumstance. The
morning was cold and thought of that biting desert water had been trying.

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Books | Photos | Paul Mutton | Sun 12th Jan 2025, 19:04