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Page 36
It happened that the expected newcomer rode into camp before anyone left.
Before he dismounted he made a good impression on Carley, and as he stepped
down in lazy, graceful action, a tall lithe figure, she thought him
singularly handsome. He wore black sombrero, flannel shirt, blue jeans
stuffed into high boots, and long, big-roweled spurs.
"How are you-all?" was his greeting.
From the talk that ensued between him and the men, Carley concluded that he
must be overseer of the sheep hands. Carley knew that Hutter and Glenn were
not interested in cattle raising. And in fact they were, especially Hutter,
somewhat inimical to the dominance of the range land by cattle barons of
Flagstaff.
"When's Ryan goin' to dip?" asked Hutter.
"Today or tomorrow," replied Stanton.
"Reckon we ought to ride over," went on Hutter. "Say, Glenn, do you reckon
Miss Carley could stand a sheep-dip?"
This was spoken in a low tone, scarcely intended for Carley, but she had
keen ears and heard distinctly. Not improbably this sheep-dip was what Flo
meant as the worst to come. Carley adopted a listless posture to hide her
keen desire to hear what Glenn would reply to Hutter.
"I should say not!" whispered Glenn, fiercely.
"Cut out that talk. She'll hear you and want to go."
Whereupon Carley felt mount in her breast an intense and rebellious
determination to see a sheep-dip. She would astonish Glenn. What did he
want, anyway? Had she not withstood the torturing trot of the
hardest-gaited horse on the range? Carley realized she was going to place
considerable store upon that feat. It grew on her.
When the consultation of the men ended, Lee Stanton turned to Flo. And
Carley did not need to see the young man look twice to divine what ailed
him. He was caught in the toils of love. But seeing through Flo Hutter was
entirely another matter.
"Howdy, Lee!" she said, coolly, with her clear eyes on him. A tiny frown
knitted her brow. She did not, at the moment, entirely approve of him.
"Shore am glad to see you, Flo," he said, with rather a heavy expulsion of
breath. He wore a cheerful grin that in no wise deceived Flo, or Carley
either. The young man had a furtive expression of eye.
"Ahuh!" returned Flo.
"I was shore sorry about--about that--" he floundered, in low voice.
"About what?"
"Aw, you know, Flo."
Carley strolled out of hearing, sure of two things--that she felt rather
sorry for Stanton, and that his course of love did not augur well for
smooth running. What queer creatures were women! Carley had seen several
million coquettes, she believed; and assuredly Flo Hutter belonged to the
species.
Upon Carley's return to the cabin she found Stanton and Flo waiting for her
to accompany them on a ride up the foothill. She was so stiff and sore that
she could hardly mount into the saddle; and the first mile of riding was
something like a nightmare. She lagged behind Flo and Stanton, who
apparently forgot her in their quarrel.
The riders soon struck the base of a long incline of rocky ground that led
up to the slope of the foothill. Here rocks and gravel gave place to black
cinders out of which grew a scant bleached grass. This desert verdure was
what lent the soft gray shade to the foothill when seen from a distance.
The slope was gentle, so that the ascent did not entail any hardship.
Carley was amazed at the length of the slope, and also to see how high over
the desert she was getting. She felt lifted out of a monotonous level. A
green-gray league-long cedar forest extended down toward Oak Creek. Behind
her the magnificent bulk of the mountains reached up into the stormy
clouds, showing white slopes of snow under the gray pall.
The hoofs of the horses sank in the cinders. A fine choking dust assailed
Carley's nostrils. Presently, when there appeared at least a third of the
ascent still to be accomplished and Flo dismounted to walk, leading their
horses. Carley had no choice but to do likewise. At first walking was a
relief. Soon, however, the soft yielding cinders began to drag at her feet.
At every step she slipped back a few inches, a very annoying feature of
climbing. When her legs seemed to grow dead Carley paused for a little
rest. The last of the ascent, over a few hundred yards of looser cinders,
taxed her remaining strength to the limit. She grew hot and wet and out of
breath. Her heart labored. An unreasonable antipathy seemed to attend her
efforts. Only her ridiculous vanity held her to this task. She wanted to
please Glenn, but not so earnestly that she would have kept on plodding up
this ghastly bare mound of cinders. Carley did not mind being a tenderfoot,
but she hated the thought of these Westerners considering her a weakling.
So she bore the pain of raw blisters and the miserable sensation of
staggering on under a leaden weight.
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