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Page 38
What was the meaning of the gratification in his voice? Did Westerners
court loneliness? Carley wrenched her gaze from the desert void to look at
her companions. Stanton's eyes were narrowed; his expression had changed;
lean and hard and still, his face resembled bronze. The careless humor was
gone, as was the heated flush of his quarrel with Flo. The girl, too, had
subtly changed, had responded to an influence that had subdued and softened
her. She was mute; her eyes held a light, comprehensive and all-embracing;
she was beautiful then. For Carley, quick to read emotion, caught a glimpse
of a strong, steadfast soul that spiritualized the brown freckled face.
Carley wheeled to gaze out and down into this incomprehensible abyss, and
on to the far up-flung heights, white and red and yellow, and so on to the
wonderful mystic haze of distance. The significance of Flo's designation of
miles could not be grasped by Carley. She could not estimate distance. But
she did not need that to realize her perceptions were swallowed up by
magnitude. Hitherto the power of her eyes had been unknown. How splendid to
see afar! She could see--yes--but what did she see? Space first,
annihilating space, dwarfing her preconceived images, and then wondrous
colors! What had she known of color? No wonder artists failed adequately
and truly to paint mountains, let alone the desert space. The toiling
millions of the crowded cities were ignorant of this terrible beauty and
sublimity. Would it have helped them to see? But just to breathe that
untainted air, just to see once the boundless open of colored sand and
rock--to realize what the freedom of eagles meant would not that have
helped anyone?
And with the thought there came to Carley's quickened and struggling mind a
conception of freedom. She had not yet watched eagles, but she now gazed
out into their domain. What then must be the effect of such environment on
people whom it encompassed? The idea stunned Carley. Would such people grow
in proportion to the nature with which they were in conflict? Hereditary
influence could not be comparable to such environment in the shaping of
character.
"Shore I could stand here all day," said Flo. "But it's beginning to cloud
over and this high wind is cold. So we'd better go, Carley."
"I don't know what I am, but it's not cold," replied Carley.
"Wal, Miss Carley, I reckon you'll have to come again an' again before you
get a comfortable feelin' here," said Stanton.
It surprised Carley to see that this young Westerner had hit upon the
truth. He understood her. Indeed she was uncomfortable. She was oppressed,
vaguely unhappy. But why? The thing there--the infinitude of open sand and
rock--was beautiful, wonderful, even glorious. She looked again.
Steep black-cindered slope, with its soft gray patches of grass, sheered
down and down, and out in rolling slope to merge upon a cedar-dotted level.
Nothing moved below, but a red-tailed hawk sailed across her vision. How
still--how gray the desert floor as it reached away, losing its black dots,
and gaining bronze spots of stone! By plain and prairie it fell away, each
inch of gray in her sight magnifying into its league-long roll. On and on,
and down across dark lines that were steppes, and at last blocked and
changed by the meandering green thread which was the verdure of a desert
river. Beyond stretched the white sand, where whirlwinds of dust sent aloft
their funnel-shaped spouts; and it led up to the horizon-wide ribs and
ridges of red and walls of yellow and mountains of black, to the dim mound
of purple so ethereal and mystic against the deep-blue cloud-curtained band
of sky.
And on the moment the sun was obscured and that world of colorful flame
went out, as if a blaze had died.
Deprived of its fire, the desert seemed to retreat, to fade coldly and
gloomily, to lose its great landmarks in dim obscurity. Closer, around to
the north, the canyon country yawned with innumerable gray jaws, ragged and
hard, and the riven earth took on a different character. It had no shadows.
It grew flat and, like the sea, seemed to mirror the vast gray cloud
expanse. The sublime vanished, but the desolate remained. No warmth--no
movement--no life! Dead stone it was, cut into a million ruts by ruthless
ages. Carley felt that she was gazing down into chaos.
At this moment, as before, a hawk had crossed her vision, so now a raven
sailed by, black as coal, uttering a hoarse croak.
"Quoth the raven--" murmured Carley, with a half-bitter laugh, as she
turned away shuddering in spite of an effort of self-control. "Maybe he
meant this wonderful and terrible West is never for such as I. . . . Come,
let us go."
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