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Page 41
Then Carley saw Glenn energetically plunge his hooked pole in and out and
around until he had located the submerged sheep. He lifted its head above
the dip. The sheep showed no sign of life. Down on his knees dropped Glenn,
to reach the sheep with strong brown hands, and to haul it up on the
ground, where it flopped inert. Glenn pummeled it and pressed it, and
worked on it much as Carley had seen a life-guard work over a half-drowned
man. But the sheep did not respond to Glenn's active administrations.
"No use, Glenn," yelled Hutter, hoarsely. "That one's a goner."
Carley did not fail to note the state of Glenn's hands and arms and
overalls when he returned to the ditch work. Then back and forth Carley's
gaze went from one end to the other of that scene. And suddenly it was
arrested and held by the huge fellow who handled the sheep so brutally.
Every time he dragged one and threw it into the pit he yelled: "Ho! Ho!"
Carley was impelled to look at his face, and she was amazed to meet the
rawest and boldest stare from evil eyes that had ever been her misfortune
to incite. She felt herself stiffen with a shock that was unfamiliar. This
man was scarcely many years older than Glenn, yet he had grizzled hair, a
seamed and scarred visage, coarse, thick lips, and beetling brows, from
under which peered gleaming light eyes. At every turn he flashed them upon
Carley's face, her neck, the swell of her bosom. It was instinct that
caused her hastily to close her riding coat. She felt as if her flesh had
been burned. Like a snake he fascinated her. The intelligence in his bold
gaze made the beastliness of it all the harder to endure, all the stronger
to arouse.
"Come, Carley, let's rustle out of this stinkin' mess," cried Flo.
Indeed, Carley needed Flo's assistance in clambering down out of the
choking smoke and horrid odor.
"Adios, pretty eyes," called the big man from the pen.
"Well," ejaculated Flo, when they got out, "I'll bet I call Glenn good and
hard for letting you go down there."
"It was--my--fault," panted Carley. "I said I'd stand it."
"Oh, you're game, all right. I didn't mean the dip. . . . That
sheep-slinger is Haze Ruff, the toughest hombre on this range. Shore, now,
wouldn't I like to take a shot at him? . . . I'm going to tell dad and
Glenn."
"Please don't," returned Carley, appealingly.
"I shore am. Dad needs hands these days. That's why he's lenient. But Glenn
will cowhide Ruff and I want to see him do it."
In Flo Hutter then Carley saw another and a different spirit of the West, a
violence unrestrained and fierce that showed in the girl's even voice and
in the piercing light of her eyes.
They went back to the horses, got their lunches from the saddlebags, and,
finding comfortable seats in a sunny, protected place, they ate and talked.
Carley had to force herself to swallow. It seemed that the horrid odor of
dip and sheep had permeated everything. Glenn had known her better than she
had known herself, and he had wished to spare her an unnecessary and
disgusting experience. Yet so stubborn was Carley that she did not regret
going through with it.
"Carley, I don't mind telling you that you've stuck it out better than any
tenderfoot we ever had here," said Flo.
"Thank you. That from a Western girl is a compliment I'll not soon forget,"
replied Carley.
"I shore mean it. We've had rotten weather. And to end the little trip at
this sheep-dip hole! Why, Glenn certainly wanted you to stack up against
the real thing!"
"Flo, he did not want me to come on the trip, and especially here,"
protested Carley.
"Shore I know. But he let you."
"Neither Glenn nor any other man could prevent me from doing what I wanted
to do."
"Well, if you'll excuse me," drawled Flo, "I'll differ with you. I reckon
Glenn Kilbourne is not the man you knew before the war."
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