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with earnest, glad light. "I hoped I'd surprise you. I've found out here that
I want to do things well. The West stirs something in a man. It must be an
unwritten law. You stand or fall by your own hands. Back East you know meals
are just occasions to hurry through to dress for to meet somebody to eat
because you have to eat. But out here they are different. I don't know how. In
the city, producers, merchants, waiters serve you for money. The meal is a
transaction. It has no significance. It is money that keeps you from
starvation. But in the West money doesn't mean much. You must work to live."
Carley leaned her elbows on the table and gazed at him curiously and
admiringly. "Old fellow, you're a wonder. I can't tell you how proud I am of
you. That you could come West weak and sick, and fight your way to health, and
learn to be self-sufficient! It is a splendid achievement. It amazes me. I
don't grasp it. I want to think. Nevertheless I "
"What?" he queried, as she hesitated.
"Oh, never mind now," she replied, hastily, averting her eyes.
The day was far spent when Carley returned to the Lodge-and in spite of the
discomfort of cold and sleet, and the bitter wind that beat in her face as she
struggled up the trail it was a day never to be forgotten. Nothing had been
wanting in Glenn's attention or affection. He had been comrade, lover, all she
craved for. And but for his few singular words about work and children there
had been no serious talk. Only a play day in his canyon and his cabin! Yet had
she appeared at her best? Something vague and perplexing knocked at the gate
of her consciousness.
Chapter IV
Two warm sunny days in early May inclined Mr. Hutter to the opinion that
pleasant spring weather was at hand and that it would be a propitious time to
climb up on the desert to look after his sheep interests. Glenn, of course,
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would accompany him.
"Carley and I will go too," asserted Flo.
"Reckon that'll be good," said Hutter, with approving nod.
His wife also agreed that it would be fine for Carley to see the beautiful
desert country round Sunset Peak. But Glenn looked dubious.
"Carley, it'll be rather hard," he said. "You're soft, and riding and lying
out will stove you up. You ought to break in gradually."
"I rode ten miles today," rejoined Carley. "And didn't mind it much." This
was a little deviation from stern veracity.
"Shore Carley's well and strong," protested Flo. "She'll get sore, but that
won't kill her."
Glenn eyed Flo with rather penetrating glance. "I might drive Carley round
about in the car," he said.
"But you can't drive over those lava flats, or go round, either. We'd have
to send horses in some cases miles to meet you. It's horseback if you go at
all."
"Shore we'll go horseback," spoke up Flo. "Carley has got it all over that
Spencer girl who was here last summer."
"I think so, too. I am sure I hope so. Because you remember what the ride to
Long Valley did to Miss Spencer," rejoined Glenn.
"What?" inquired Carley.
"Bad cold, peeled nose, skinned shin, saddle sores. She was in bed two days.
She didn't show much pep the rest of her stay here, and she never got on
another horse."
"Oh, is that all, Glenn?" returned Carley, in feigned surprise. "Why, I
imagined from your tone that Miss Spencer's ride must have occasioned her
discomfort... . See here, Glenn. I may be a tenderfoot, but I'm no
mollycoddle."
"My dear, I surrender," replied Glenn, with a laugh. "Really, I'm delighted.
But if anything happens don't you blame me. I'm quite sure that a long
horseback ride, in spring, on the desert, will show you a good many things
about yourself."
That was how Carley came to find herself, the afternoon of the next day,
astride a self-willed and unmanageable little mustang, riding in the rear of
her friends, on the way through a cedar forest toward a place called Deep
Lake.
Carley had not been able yet, during the several hours of their journey, to
take any pleasure in the scenery or in her mount. For in the first place there
was nothing to see but scrubby little gnarled cedars and drab-looking rocks;
and in the second this Indian pony she rode had discovered she was not an
adept horsewoman and had proceeded to take advantage of the fact. It did not
help Carley's predicament to remember that Glenn had decidedly advised her
against riding this particular mustang. To be sure, Flo had approved of
Carley's choice, and Mr. Hutter, with a hearty laugh, had fallen in line:
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"Shore. Let her ride one of the broncs, if she wants." So this animal she
bestrode must have been a bronc, for it did not take him long to elicit from
Carley a muttered, "I don't know what bronc means, but it sounds like this
pony acts."
Carley had inquired the animal's name from the young herder who had saddled
him for her.
"Wal, I reckon he ain't got much of a name," replied the lad, with a grin,
as he scratched his head. "For us boys always called him Spillbeans."
"Humph! What a beautiful cognomen!" ejaculated Carley, "But according to
Shakespeare any name will serve. I'll ride him or or "
So far there had not really been any necessity for the completion of that
sentence. But five miles of riding up into the cedar forest had convinced
Carley that she might not have much farther to go. Spillbeans had ambled along
well enough until he reached level ground where a long bleached grass waved in
the wind. Here he manifested hunger, then a contrary nature, next
insubordination, and finally direct hostility. Carley had urged, pulled, and
commanded in vain. Then when she gave Spillbeans a kick in the flank he jumped
stiff legged, propelling her up out of the saddle, and while she was
descending he made the queer jump again, coming up to meet her. The jolt she
got seemed to dislocate every bone in her body. Likewise it hurt. Moreover,
along with her idea of what a spectacle she must have presented, it quickly
decided Carley that Spillbeans was a horse that was not to be opposed.
Whenever he wanted a mouthful of grass he stopped to get it. Therefore Carley
was always in the rear, a fact which in itself did not displease her. Despite
his contrariness, however, Spillbeans had apparently no intention of allowing
the other horses to get completely out of sight.
Several times Flo waited for Carley to catch up. "He's loafing on you,
Carley. You ought to have on a spur. Break off a switch and beat him some."
Then she whipped the mustang across the flank with her bridle rein, which
punishment caused Spillbeans meekly to trot on with alacrity. Carley had a
positive belief that he would not do it for her. And after Flo's repeated
efforts, assisted by chastisement from Glenn, had kept Spillbeans in a trot
for a couple of miles Carley began to discover that the trotting of a horse
was the most uncomfortable motion possible to imagine. It grew worse. It
became painful. It gradually got unendurable. But pride made Carley endure it [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]