The Call Of The Canyon, Zane Grey [good non fiction books to read txt] 📗

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Carley's Second Reaction To The Letter Was A Sudden Upflashing Desire To

See Her Lover--To Go Out West And Find Him. Impulses With Her Were Rather

Rare And Inhibited,  But This One Made Her Tremble. If Glenn Was Well Again

He Must Have Vastly Changed From The Moody,  Stone-Faced,  And Haunted-Eyed

Man Who Had So Worried And Distressed Her. He Had Embarrassed Her,  Too,  For

Sometimes,  In Her Home,  Meeting Young Men There Who Had Not Gone Into The

Service,  He Had Seemed To Retreat Into Himself,  Singularly Aloof,  As If His

World Was Not Theirs.

 

Again,  With Eager Eyes And Quivering Lips,  She Read The Letter. It

Contained Words That Lifted Her Heart. Her Starved Love Greedily Absorbed

Them. In Them She Had Excuse For Any Resolve That Might Bring Glenn Closer

To Her. And She Pondered Over This Longing To Go To Him.

 

Carley Had The Means To Come And Go And Live As She Liked. She Did Not

Remember Her Father,  Who Had Died When She Was A Child. Her Mother Had Left

Her In The Care Of A Sister,  And Before The War They Had Divided Their Time

Between New York And Europe,  The Adirondacks And Florida,  Carley Had Gone

In For Red Cross And Relief Work With More Of Sincerity Than Most Of Her

Set. But She Was Really Not Used To Making Any Decision As Definite And

Important As That Of Going Out West Alone. She Had Never Been Farther West

Than Jersey City; And Her Conception Of The West Was A Hazy One Of Vast

Plains And Rough Mountains,  Squalid Towns,  Cattle Herds,  And Uncouth

Ill-Clad Men.

 

So She Carried The Letter To Her Aunt,  A Rather Slight Woman With A Kindly

Face And Shrewd Eyes,  And Who Appeared Somewhat Given To Old-Fashioned

Garments.

 

"Aunt Mary,  Here's A Letter From Glenn," Said Carley. "It's More Of A

Stumper Than Usual. Please Read It."

 

"Dear Me! You Look Upset," Replied The Aunt,  Mildly,  And,  Adjusting Her

Spectacles,  She Took The Letter.

 

Carley Waited Impatiently For The Perusal,  Conscious Of Inward Forces

Coming More And More To The Aid Of Her Impulse To Go West. Her Aunt Paused

Once To Murmur How Glad She Was That Glenn Had Gotten Well. Then She Read

On To The Close.

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"Carley,  That's A Fine Letter," She Said,  Fervently. "Do You See Through

It?"

 

"No,  I Don't," Replied Carley. "That's Why I Asked You To Read It."

 

"Do You Still Love Glenn As You Used To Before--"

 

"Why,  Aunt Mary!" Exclaimed Carley,  In Surprise.

 

"Excuse Me,  Carley,  If I'm Blunt. But The Fact Is Young Women Of Modern

Times Are Very Different From My Kind When I Was A Girl. You Haven't Acted

As Though You Pined For Glenn. You Gad Around Almost The Same As Ever."

 

"What's A Girl To Do?" Protested Carley.

 

"You Are Twenty-Six Years Old,  Carley," Retorted Aunt Mary.

 

"Suppose I Am. I'm As Young--As I Ever Was."

 

"Well,  Let's Not Argue About Modern Girls And Modern Times. We Never Get

Anywhere," Returned Her Aunt,  Kindly. "But I Can Tell You Something Of What

Glenn Kilbourne Means In That Letter--If You Want To Hear It."

 

"I Do--Indeed."

 

"The War Did Something Horrible To Glenn Aside From Wrecking His Health.

Shell-Shock,  They Said! I Don't Understand That. Out Of His Mind,  They

Said! But That Never Was True. Glenn Was As Sane As I Am,  And,  My Dear,

That's Pretty Sane,  I'll Have You Remember. But He Must Have Suffered Some

Terrible Blight To His Spirit--Some Blunting Of His Soul. For Months After

He Returned He Walked As One In A Trance. Then Came A Change. He Grew

Restless. Perhaps That Change Was For The Better. At Least It Showed He'd

Roused. Glenn Saw You And Your Friends And The Life You Lead,  And All The

Present,  With Eyes From Which The Scales Had Dropped. He Saw What Was

Wrong. He Never Said So To Me,  But I Knew It. It Wasn't Only To Get Well

That He Went West. It Was To Get Away. . . . And,  Carley Burch,  If Your

Happiness Depends On Him You Had Better Be Up And Doing--Or You'll Lose

Him!"

 

"Aunt Mary!" Gasped Carley.

 

"I Mean It. That Letter Shows How Near He Came To The Valley Of The

Shadow--And How He Has Become A Man. . . . If I Were You I'd Go Out West.

Surely There Must Be A Place Where It Would Be All Right For You To Stay."

 

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"Oh,  Yes," Replied Carley,  Eagerly. "Glenn Wrote Me There Was A Lodge Where

People Went In Nice Weather--Right Down In The Canyon Not Far From His

Place. Then,  Of Course,  The Town--Flagstaff--Isn't Far. . . . Aunt Mary,  I

Think I'll Go."

 

"I Would. You're Certainly Wasting Your Time Here."

 

"But I Could Only Go For A Visit," Rejoined Carley,  Thoughtfully. "A Month,

Perhaps Six Weeks,  If I Could Stand It."

 

"Seems To Me If You Can Stand New York You Could Stand That Place," Said

Aunt Mary,  Dryly.

 

"The Idea Of Staying Away From New York Any Length Of Time--Why,  I Couldn't

Do It I . . . But I Can Stay Out There Long Enough To Bring Glenn Back With

Me."

 

"That May Take You Longer Than You Think," Replied Her Aunt,  With A Gleam

In Her Shrewd Eyes. "If You Want My Advice You Will Surprise Glenn. Don't

Write Him--Don't Give Him A Chance To--Well To Suggest Courteously That

You'd Better Not Come Just Yet. I Don't Like His Words 'Just Yet.'"

 

"Auntie,  You're--Rather--More Than Blunt," Said Carley,  Divided Between

Resentment And Amaze. "Glenn Would Be Simply Wild To Have Me Come."

 

"Maybe He Would. Has He Ever Asked You?"

 

"No-O--Come To Think Of It,  He Hasn't," Replied Carley,  Reluctantly. "Aunt

Mary,  You Hurt My Feelings."

 

"Well,  Child,  I'm Glad To Learn Your Feelings Are Hurt," Returned The Aunt.

"I'm Sure,  Carley,  That Underneath All This--This Blase Ultra Something

You've Acquired,  There's A Real Heart. Only You Must Hurry And Listen To

It--Or--"

 

"Or What?" Queried Carley.

 

Aunt Mary Shook Her Gray Head Sagely. "Never Mind What. Carley,  I'd Like

Your Idea Of The Most Significant Thing In Glenn's Letter."

 

"Why,  His Love For Me,  Of Course!" Replied Carley.

 

"Naturally You Think That. But I Don't. What Struck Me Most Were His Words,

'Out Of The West.' Carley,  You'd Do Well To Ponder Over Them."

 

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"I Will," Rejoined Carley,  Positively. "I'll Do More. I'll Go Out To His

Wonderful West And See What He Meant By Them."

 

Carley Burch Possessed In Full Degree The Prevailing Modern Craze For

Speed. She Loved A Motor-Car Ride At Sixty Miles An Hour Along A Smooth,

Straight Road,  Or,  Better,  On The Level Seashore Of Ormond,  Where On

Moonlight Nights The White Blanched Sand Seemed To Flash Toward Her.

Therefore Quite To Her Taste Was The Twentieth Century Limited Which Was

Hurtling Her On The Way To Chicago. The Unceasingly Smooth And Even Rush Of

The Train Satisfied Something In Her. An Old Lady Sitting In An Adjoining

Seat With A Companion Amused Carley By The Remark: "I Wish We Didn't Go So

Fast. People Nowadays Haven't Time To Draw A Comfortable Breath. Suppose We

Should Run Off The Track!"

 

Carley Had No Fear Of Express Trains,  Or Motor Cars,  Or Transatlantic

Liners; In Fact,  She Prided Herself In Not Being Afraid Of Anything. But

She Wondered If This Was Not The False Courage Of Association With A Crowd.

Before This Enterprise At Hand She Could Not Remember Anything She Had

Undertaken Alone. Her Thrills Seemed To Be In Abeyance To The End Of Her

Journey. That Night Her Sleep Was Permeated With The Steady Low Whirring Of

The Wheels. Once,  Roused By A Jerk,  She Lay Awake In The Darkness While The

Thought Came To Her That She And All Her Fellow Passengers Were Really At

The Mercy Of The Engineer. Who Was He,  And Did He Stand At His Throttle

Keen And Vigilant,  Thinking Of The Lives Intrusted To Him? Such Thoughts

Vaguely Annoyed Carley,  And She Dismissed Them.

 

A Long Half-Day Wait In Chicago Was A Tedious Preliminary To The Second

Part Of Her Journey. But At Last She Found Herself Aboard The California

Limited,  And Went To Bed With A Relief Quite A Stranger To Her. The Glare

Of The Sun Under The Curtain Awakened Her. Propped Up On Her Pillows,  She

Looked Out At Apparently Endless Green Fields Or Pastures,  Dotted Now And

Then With Little Farmhouses And Tree-Skirted Villages. This Country,  She

Thought,  Must Be The Prairie Land She Remembered Lay West Of The

Mississippi.

 

Later,  In The Dining Car,  The Steward Smilingly Answered Her Question:

"This Is Kansas,  And Those Green Fields Out There Are The Wheat That Feeds

The Nation."

 

Carley Was Not Impressed. The Color Of The Short Wheat Appeared Soft And

Rich,  And The Boundless Fields Stretched Away Monotonously. She Had Not

Known There Was So Much Flat Land In The World,  And She Imagined It Might

Be A Fine Country For Automobile Roads. When She Got Back To Her Seat She

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