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Page 93
Carley turned from the mountain kingdom and faced her future with the
profound and sad and far-seeing look that had come with her lesson. She
knew what to give. Sometime and somewhere there would be recompense. She
would hide her wound in the faith that time would heal it. And the ordeal
she set herself, to prove her sincerity and strength, was to ride down to
Oak Creek Canyon.
Carley did not wait many days. Strange how the old vanity held her back
until something of the havoc in her face should be gone!
One morning she set out early, riding her best horse, and she took a sheep
trail across country. The distance by road was much farther. The June
morning was cool, sparkling, fragrant. Mocking birds sang from the topmost
twig of cedars; doves cooed in the pines; sparrow hawks sailed low over the
open grassy patches. Desert primroses showed their rounded pink clusters in
sunny places, and here and there burned the carmine of Indian paint-brush.
Jack rabbits and cotton-tails bounded and scampered away through the sage.
The desert had life and color and movement this June day. And as always
there was the dry fragrance on the air.
Her mustang had been inured to long and consistent travel over the desert.
Her weight was nothing to him and he kept to the swinging lope for miles.
As she approached Oak Creek Canyon, however, she drew him to a trot, and
then a walk. Sight of the deep red-walled and green-floored canyon was a
shock to her.
The trail came out on the road that led to Ryan's sheep camp, at a point
several miles west of the cabin where Carley had encountered Haze Ruff. She
remembered the curves and stretches, and especially the steep jump-off
where the road led down off the rim into the canyon. Here she dismounted
and walked. From the foot of this descent she knew every rod of the way
would be familiar to her, and, womanlike, she wanted to turn away and fly
from them. But she kept on and mounted again at level ground.
The murmur of the creek suddenly assailed her ears--sweet, sad, memorable,
strangely powerful to hurt. Yet the sound seemed of long ago. Down here
summer had advanced. Rich thick foliage overspread the winding road of
sand. Then out of the shade she passed into the sunnier regions of isolated
pines. Along here she had raced Calico with Glenn's bay; and here she had
caught him, and there was the place she had fallen. She halted a moment
under the pine tree where Glenn had held her in his arms. Tears dimmed her
eyes. If only she had known then the truth, the reality! But regrets were
useless.
By and by a craggy red wall loomed above the trees, and its pipe-organ
conformation was familiar to Carley. She left the road and turned to go
down to the creek. Sycamores and maples and great bowlders, and mossy
ledges overhanging the water, and a huge sentinel pine marked the spot
where she and Glenn had eaten their lunch that last day. Her mustang
splashed into the clear water and halted to drink. Beyond, through the
trees, Carley saw the sunny red-earthed clearing that was Glenn's farm. She
looked, and fought herself, and bit her quivering lip until she tasted
blood. Then she rode out into the open.
The whole west side of the canyon had been cleared and cultivated and
plowed. But she gazed no farther. She did not want to see the spot where
she had given Glenn his ring and had parted from him. She rode on. If she
could pass West Fork she believed her courage would rise to the completion
of this ordeal. Places were what she feared. Places that she had loved
while blindly believing she hated! There the narrow gap of green and blue
split the looming red wall. She was looking into West Fork. Up there stood
the cabin. How fierce a pang rent her breast! She faltered at the crossing
of the branch stream, and almost surrendered. The water murmured, the
leaves rustled, the bees hummed, the birds sang--all with some sad
sweetness that seemed of the past.
Then the trail leading up West Fork was like a barrier. She saw horse
tracks in it. Next she descried boot tracks the shape of which was so
well-remembered that it shook her heart. There were fresh tracks in the
sand, pointing in the direction of the Lodge. Ah! that was where Glenn
lived now. Carley strained at her will to keep it fighting her memory. The
glory and the dream were gone!
A touch of spur urged her mustang into a gallop. The splashing ford of the
creek--the still, eddying pool beyond--the green orchards--the white lacy
waterfall--and Lolomi Lodge!
Nothing had altered. But Carley seemed returning after many years. Slowly
she dismounted--slowly she climbed the porch steps. Was there no one at
home? Yet the vacant doorway, the silence--something attested to the
knowledge of Carley's presence. Then suddenly Mrs. Hutter fluttered out
with Flo behind her.
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