The Call Of The Canyon - Zane Grey (easy readers TXT) 📗

Chapter 6 Pg 101

The Great Sky-High Pall Of Yellow Had Moved On To The North. Puffs Of Dust

Were Whipping Along The Road,  But No Longer In One Continuous Cloud. In The

West,  Low Down The Sun Was Sinking,  A Dull Magenta In Hue,  Quite Weird And

Remarkable.

 

"I Knew I'd Get The Jolt All Right," Soliloquized Carley,  Wearily,  As She

Walked To A Rude Couch Of Poles And Sat Down Upon It. She Had Begun To Cool

Off. And There,  Feeling Dirty And Tired,  And Slowly Wearing To The Old

Depression,  She Composed Herself To Wait.

 

Suddenly She Heard The Clip-Clop Of Hoofs. "There! That's Glenn," She

Cried,  Gladly,  And Rising,  She Ran To The Door.

 

She Saw A Big Bay Horse Bearing A Burly Rider. He Discovered Her At The

Same Instant,  And Pulled His Horse.

 

"Ho! Ho! If It Ain't Pretty Eyes!" He Called Out,  In Gay,  Coarse Voice.

 

Carley Recognized The Voice,  And Then The Epithet,  Before Her Sight

Established The Man As Haze Ruff. A Singular Stultifying Shock Passed Over

Her.

 

"Wal,  By All Thet's Lucky!" He Said,  Dismounting. "I Knowed We'd Meet Some

Day. I Can't Say I Just Laid Fer You,  But I Kept My Eyes Open."

 

Manifestly He Knew She Was Alone,  For He Did Not Glance Into The Cabin.

 

"I'm Waiting For--Glenn," She Said,  With Lips She Tried To Make Stiff.

 

"Shore I Reckoned Thet," He Replied,  Genially. "But He Won't Be Along Yet

Awhile."

 

He Spoke With A Cheerful Inflection Of Tone,  As If The Fact Designated Was

One That Would Please Her; And His Swarthy,  Seamy Face Expanded Into A

Good-Humored,  Meaning Smile. Then Without Any Particular Rudeness He Pushed

Her Back From The Door,  Into The Cabin,  And Stepped Across The Threshold.

 

"How Dare--You!" Cried Carley. A Hot Anger That Stirred In Her Seemed To Be

Beaten Down And Smothered By A Cold Shaking Internal Commotion,  Threatening

Collapse. This Man Loomed Over Her,  Huge,  Somehow Monstrous In His Brawny

Chapter 6 Pg 102

Uncouth Presence. And His Knowing Smile,  And The Hard,  Glinting Twinkle Of

His Light Eyes,  Devilishly Intelligent And Keen,  In No Wise Lessened The

Sheer Brutal Force Of Him Physically. Sight Of His Bulk Was Enough To

Terrorize Carley.

 

"Me! Aw,  I'm A Darin' Hombre An' A Devil With The Wimmin," He Said,  With A

Guffaw.

 

Carley Could Not Collect Her Wits. The Instant Of His Pushing Her Back Into

The Cabin And Following Her Had Shocked Her And Almost Paralyzed Her Will.

If She Saw Him Now Any The Less Fearful She Could Not So Quickly Rally Her

Reason To Any Advantage.

 

"Let Me Out Of Here," She Demanded.

 

"Nope. I'm A-Goin' To Make A Little Love To You," He Said,  And He Reached

For Her With Great Hairy Hands.

 

Carley Saw In Them The Strength That Had So Easily Swung The Sheep. She

Saw,  Too,  That They Were Dirty,  Greasy Hands. And They Made Her Flesh

Creep.

 

"Glenn Will Kill--You," She Panted.

 

"What Fer?" He Queried,  In Real Or Pretended Surprise. "Aw,  I Know Wimmin.

You'll Never Tell Him."

 

"Yes,  I Will."

 

"Wal,  Mebbe. I Reckon You're Lyin',  Pretty Eyes," He Replied,  With A Grin.

"Anyhow,  I'll Take A Chance."

 

"I Tell You--He'll Kill You," Repeated Carley,  Backing Away Until Her Weak

Knees Came Against The Couch.

 

"What Fer,  I Ask You?" He Demanded.

 

"For This--This Insult."

 

"Huh! I'd Like To Know Who's Insulted You. Can't A Man Take An Invitation

To Kiss An' Hug A Girl--Without Insultin' Her?"

 

"Invitation! . . . Are You Crazy?" Queried Carley,  Bewildered.

 

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White Shimmy Dress You Wore The Night Of Flo's Party. Thet's My Invitation

To Get A Little Fresh With You,  Pretty Eyes!"

 

Carley Could Only Stare At Him. His Words Seemed To Have Some Peculiar,

Unanswerable Power.

 

"Wal,  If It Wasn't An Invitation,  What Was It?" He Asked,  With Another Step

That Brought Him Within Reach Of Her. He Waited For Her Answer,  Which Was

Not Forthcoming.

 

"Wal,  You're Gettin' Kinda Pale Around The Gills," He Went On,  Derisively.

"I Reckoned You Was A Real Sport. . . . Come Here."

 

He Fastened One Of His Great Hands In The Front Of Her Coat And Gave Her A

Pull. So Powerful Was It That Carley Came Hard Against Him,  Almost Knocking

Her Breathless. There He Held Her A Moment And Then Put His Other Arm Round

Her. It Seemed To Crush Both Breath And Sense Out Of Her. Suddenly Limp,

She Sank Strengthless. She Seemed Reeling In Darkness. Then She Felt Herself

Thrust Away From Him With Violence. She Sank On The Couch And Her Head And

Shoulders Struck The Wall.

 

"Say,  If You're A-Goin' To Keel Over Like Thet I Pass," Declared Ruff,  In

Disgust. "Can't You Eastern Wimmin Stand Nothin?"

 

Carley's Eyes Opened And Beheld This Man In An Attitude Of Supremely

Derisive Protest.

 

"You Look Like A Sick Kitten," He Added. "When I Get Me A Sweetheart Or

Wife I Want Her To Be A Wild Cat."

 

His Scorn And Repudiation Of Her Gave Carley Intense Relief. She Sat Up And

Endeavored To Collect Her Shattered Nerves. Ruff Gazed Down At Her With

Great Disapproval And Even Disappointment.

 

"Say,  Did You Have Some Fool Idee I Was A-Goin' To Kill You?" He Queried,

Gruffly.

 

"I'm Afraid--I Did," Faltered Carley. Her Relief Was A Release; It Was So

Strange That It Was Gratefulness.

 

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"Wal,  I Reckon I Wouldn't Have Hurt You. None Of These Flop-Over Janes For

Me! . . . An' I'll Give You A Hunch,  Pretty Eyes. You Might Have Run Acrost

A Fellar Thet Was No Gentleman!"

 

Of All The Amazing Statements That Had Ever Been Made To Carley,  This One

Seemed The Most Remarkable.

 

"What'd You Wear Thet Onnatural White Dress Fer?" He Demanded,  As If He

Had A Right To Be Her Judge.

 

"Unnatural?" Echoed Carley.

 

"Shore. Thet's What I Said. Any Woman's Dress Without Top Or Bottom Is

Onnatural. It's Not Right. Why,  You Looked Like--Like"--Here He Floundered

For Adequate Expression--"Like One Of The Devil's Angels. An' I Want To

Hear Why You Wore It."

 

"For The Same Reason I'd Wear Any Dress," She Felt Forced To Reply.

 

"Pretty Eyes,  Thet's A Lie. An' You Know It's A Lie. You Wore Thet White

Dress To Knock The Daylights Out Of Men. Only You Ain't Honest Enough To

Say So . . . . Even Me Or My Kind! Even Us,  Who're Dirt Under Your Little

Feet. But All The Same We're Men,  An' Mebbe Better Men Than You Think. If

You Had To Put That Dress On,  Why Didn't You Stay In Your Room? Naw,  You

Had To Come Down An' Strut Around An' Show Off Your Beauty. An' I Ask You--

If You're A Nice Girl Like Flo Hutter--What'd You Wear It Fer?"

 

Carley Not Only Was Mute; She Felt Rise And Burn In Her A Singular Shame

And Surprise.

 

"I'm Only A Sheep Dipper," Went On Ruff,  "But I Ain't No Fool. A Fellar

Doesn't Have To Live East An' Wear Swell Clothes To Have Sense. Mebbe

You'll Learn Thet The West Is Bigger'n You Think. A Man's A Man East Or

West. But If Your Eastern Men Stand For Such Dresses As Thet White One

They'd Do Well To Come Out West Awhile,  Like Your Lover,  Glenn Kilbourne.

I've Been Rustlin' Round Here Ten Years,  An' I Never Before Seen A Dress

Like Yours--An' I Never Heerd Of A Girl Bein' Insulted,  Either. Mebbe You

Think I Insulted You. Wal,  I Didn't. Fer I Reckon Nothin' Could Insult You

In Thet Dress. . . . An' My Last Hunch Is This,  Pretty Eyes. You're Not

What A Hombre Like Me Calls Either Square Or Game. Adios."

 

His Bulky Figure Darkened The Doorway,  Passed Out,  And The Light Of The Sky

Chapter 6 Pg 105

Streamed Into The Cabin Again. Carley Sat Staring. She Heard Ruff's Spurs

Tinkle,  Then The Ring Of Steel On Stirrup,  A Sodden Leathery Sound As He

Mounted,  And After That A Rapid Pound Of Hoofs,  Quickly Dying Away.

 

He Was Gone. She Had Escaped Something Raw And Violent. Dazedly She

Realized It,  With Unutterable Relief. And She Sat There Slowly Gathering

The Nervous Force That Had Been Shattered. Every Word That He Had Uttered

Was Stamped In Startling Characters Upon Her Consciousness. But She Was

Still Under The Deadening Influence Of Shock. This Raw Experience Was The

Worst The West Had Yet Dealt Her. It Brought Back Former States Of

Revulsion And Formed Them In One Whole Irrefutable And Damning Judgment

That Seemed To Blot Out The Vaguely Dawning And Growing Happy

Susceptibilities. It Was,  Perhaps,  Just As Well To Have Her Mind Reverted

To Realistic Fact. The Presence Of Haze Ruff,  The Astounding Truth Of The

Contact With His Huge Sheep-Defiled Hands,  Had Been Profanation And

Degradation Under Which She Sickened With Fear And Shame. Yet Hovering Back

Of Her Shame And Rising Anger Seemed To Be A Pale,  Monstrous,  And

Indefinable Thought,  Insistent And Accusing,  With Which She Must Sooner Or

Later Reckon. It Might Have Been The Voice Of The New Side Of