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

He Worked Harder And Harder. . . . The West And His Work Saved

Him,  Body And Soul . . . . He Had Learned To Love Both The West And His

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Work. I Did Not Blame Him. But I Could Not Live Out There. He Needed Me.

But I Was Too Little--Too Selfish. I Could Not Marry Him. I Gave Him Up.

. . . I Left--Him--Alone!"

 

Carley Shrank Under The Scorn In Rust's Eyes.

 

"And There's Another Man," He Said,  "A Clean,  Straight,  Unscarred Fellow

Who Wouldn't Fight!"

 

"Oh,  No-I--I Swear There's Not," Whispered Carley.

 

"You,  Too," He Replied,  Thickly. Then Slowly He Turned That Worn Dark Face

To The Wall. His Frail Breast Heaved. And His Lean Hand Made Her A Slight

Gesture Of Dismissal,  Significant And Imperious.

 

Carley Fled. She Could Scarcely See To Find The Car. All Her Internal Being

Seemed Convulsed,  And A Deadly Faintness Made Her Sick And Cold.

 

 

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Carley's Edifice Of Hopes,  Dreams,  Aspirations,  And Struggles Fell In Ruins

About Her. It Had Been Built Upon False Sands. It Had No Ideal For

Foundation. It Had To Fall.

 

Something Inevitable Had Forced Her Confession To Rust. Dissimulation Had

Been A Habit Of Her Mind; It Was More A Habit Of Her Class Than Sincerity.

But She Had Reached A Point In Her Mental Strife Where She Could Not Stand

Before Rust And Let Him Believe She Was Noble And Faithful When She Knew

She Was Neither. Would Not The Next Step In This Painful Metamorphosis Of

Her Character Be A Fierce And Passionate Repudiation Of Herself And All She

Represented?

 

She Went Home And Locked Herself In Her Room,  Deaf To Telephone And

Servants. There She Gave Up To Her Shame. Scorned--Despised--Dismissed By

That Poor Crippled Flame-Spirited Virgil Rust! He Had Reverenced Her,  And

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The Truth Had Earned His Hate. Would She Ever Forget His Look--Incredulous--

Shocked--Bitter--And Blazing With Unutterable Contempt? Carley Burch Was

Only Another Nell--A Jilt--A Mocker Of The Manhood Of Soldiers! Would She

Ever Cease To Shudder At Memory Of Rust's Slight Movement Of Hand? Go! Get

Out Of My Sight! Leave Me To My Agony As You Left Glenn Kilbourne Alone To

Fight His! Men Such As I Am Do Not Want The Smile Of Your Face,  The Touch

Of Your Hand! We Gave For Womanhood! Pass On To Lesser Men Who Loved The

Fleshpots And Who Would Buy Your Charms! So Carley Interpreted That Slight

Gesture,  And Writhed In Her Abasement.

 

Rust Threw A White,  Illuminating Light Upon Her Desertion Of Glenn. She Had

Betrayed Him. She Had Left Him Alone. Dwarfed And Stunted Was Her Narrow

Soul! To A Man Who Had Given All For Her She Had Returned Nothing. Stone

For Bread! Betrayal For Love! Cowardice For Courage!

 

The Hours Of Contending Passions Gave Birth To Vague,  Slow-Forming Revolt.

 

She Became Haunted By Memory Pictures And Sounds And Smells Of Oak Creek

Canyon. As From Afar She Saw The Great Sculptured Rent In The Earth,  Green

And Red And Brown,  With Its Shining,  Flashing Ribbons Of Waterfalls And

Streams. The Mighty Pines Stood Up Magnificent And Stately. The Walls

Loomed High,  Shadowed Under The Shelves,  Gleaming In The Sunlight,  And They

Seemed Dreaming,  Waiting,  Watching. For What? For Her Return To Their

Serene Fastnesses--To The Little Gray Log Cabin. The Thought Stormed

Carley's Soul.

 

Vivid And Intense Shone The Images Before Her Shut Eyes. She Saw The

Winding Forest Floor,  Green With Grass And Fern,  Colorful With Flower And

Rock. A Thousand Aisles,  Glades,  Nooks,  And Caverns Called Her To Come.

Nature Was Every Woman's Mother. The Populated City Was A Delusion. Disease

And Death And Corruption Stalked In The Shadows Of The Streets. But Her

Canyon Promised Hard Work,  Playful Hours,  Dreaming Idleness,  Beauty,

Health,  Fragrance,  Loneliness,  Peace,  Wisdom,  Love,  Children,  And Long

Life. In The Hateful Shut-In Isolation Of Her Room Carley Stretched Forth

Her Arms As If To Embrace The Vision. Pale Close Walls,  Gleaming Placid

Stretches Of Brook,  Churning Amber And White Rapids,  Mossy Banks And

Pine-Matted Ledges,  The Towers And Turrets And Ramparts Where The Eagles

Wheeled--She Saw Them All As Beloved Images Lost To Her Save In Anguished

Memory.

 

She Heard The Murmur Of Flowing Water,  Soft,  Low,  Now Loud,  And Again

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Lulling,  Hollow And Eager,  Tinkling Over Rocks,  Bellowing Into The Deep

Pools,  Washing With Silky Seep Of Wind-Swept Waves The Hanging Willows.

Shrill And Piercing And Far-Aloft Pealed The Scream Of The Eagle. And She

Seemed To Listen To A Mocking Bird While He Mocked Her With His Melody Of

Many Birds. The Bees Hummed,  The Wind Moaned,  The Leaves Rustled,  The

Waterfall Murmured. Then Came The Sharp Rare Note Of A Canyon Swift,  Most

Mysterious Of Birds,  Significant Of The Heights.

 

A Breath Of Fragrance Seemed To Blow With Her Shifting Senses. The Dry,

Sweet,  Tangy Canyon Smells Returned To Her--Of Fresh-Cut Timber,  Of Wood

Smoke,  Of The Cabin Fire With Its Steaming Pots,  Of Flowers And Earth,  And

Of The Wet Stones,  Of The Redolent Pines And The Pungent Cedars.

 

And Suddenly,  Clearly,  Amazingly,  Carley Beheld In Her Mind's Sight The

Hard Features,  The Bold Eyes,  The Slight Smile,  The Coarse Face Of Haze

Ruff. She Had Forgotten Him. But He Now Returned. And With Memory Of Him

Flashed A Revelation As To His Meaning In Her Life. He Had Appeared Merely

A Clout,  A Ruffian,  An Animal With Man's Shape And Intelligence. But He Was

The Embodiment Of The Raw,  Crude Violence Of The West. He Was The Eyes Of

The Natural Primitive Man,  Believing What He Saw. He Had Seen In Carley

Burch The Paraded Charm,  The Unashamed And Serene Front,  The Woman Seeking

Man. Haze Ruff Had Been Neither Vile Nor Base Nor Unnatural. It Had Been

Her Subjection To The Decadence Of Feminine Dress That Had Been Unnatural.

But Ruff Had Found Her A Lie. She Invited What She Did Not Want. And His

Scorn Had Been Commensurate With The Falsehood Of Her. So Might Any Man

Have Been Justified In His Insult To Her,  In His Rejection Of Her. Haze

Ruff Had Found Her Unfit For His Idea Of Dalliance. Virgil Rust Had Found

Her False To The Ideals Of Womanhood For Which He Had Sacrificed All But

Life Itself. What Then Had Glenn Kilbourne Found Her? He Possessed The

Greatness Of Noble Love. He Had Loved Her Before The Dark And Changeful

Tide Of War Had Come Between Them. How Had He Judged Her? That Last Sight

Of Him Standing Alone,  Leaning With Head Bowed,  A Solitary Figure Trenchant

With Suggestion Of Tragic Resignation And Strength,  Returned To Flay

Carley. He Had Loved,  Trusted,  And Hoped. She Saw Now What His Hope Had

Been--That She Would Have Instilled Into Her Blood The Subtle,  Red,  And

Revivifying Essence Of Calling Life In The Open,  The Strength Of The Wives

Of Earlier Years,  An Emanation From Canyon,  Desert,  Mountain,  Forest,  Of

Health,  Of Spirit,  Of Forward-Gazing Natural Love,  Of The Mysterious Saving

Instinct He Had Gotten Out Of The West. And She Had Been Too Little Too

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Steeped In The Indulgence Of Luxurious Life Too Slight-Natured And

Pale-Blooded! And Suddenly There Pierced Into The Black Storm Of Carley's

Mind A Blazing,  White-Streaked Thought--She Had Left Glenn To The Western

Girl,  Flo Hutter. Humiliated,  And Abased In Her Own Sight,  Carley Fell Prey

To A Fury Of Jealousy.

 

She Went Back To The Old Life. But It Was In A Bitter,  Restless,  Critical

Spirit,  Conscious Of The Fact That She Could Derive Neither Forgetfulness

Nor Pleasure From It,  Nor See Any Release From The Habit Of Years.

 

One Afternoon,  Late In The Fall,  She Motored Out To A Long Island Club

Where The Last Of The Season's Golf Was Being Enjoyed By Some Of Her Most

Intimate Friends. Carley Did Not Play. Aimlessly She Walked Around The

Grounds,  Finding The Autumn Colors Subdued And Drab,  Like Her Mind. The Air

Held A Promise Of Early Winter. She Thought That She Would Go South Before

The Cold Came. Always Trying To Escape Anything Rigorous,  Hard,  Painful,  Or

Disagreeable! Later She Returned To The Clubhouse To Find Her Party Assembled

On An Inclosed Porch,  Chatting And Partaking Of Refreshment. Morrison

Was There. He Had Not Taken Kindly To Her Late Habit Of Denying Herself To

Him.

 

During A Lull In The Idle Conversation Morrison Addressed Carley Pointedly.

"Well,  Carley,  How's Your Arizona Hog-Raiser?" He Queried,  With A Little

Gleam In His Usually Lusterless Eyes.

 

"I Have Not Heard Lately," She Replied,  Coldly.

 

The Assembled Company Suddenly Quieted With A Portent Inimical To Their

Leisurely Content Of The Moment. Carley Felt Them All Looking At Her,  And

Underneath The Exterior She Preserved With Extreme Difficulty,  There Burned

So Fierce An Anger That She Seemed To Have Swelling Veins Of Fire.

 

"Queer How Kilbourne Went Into Raising Hogs," Observed Morrison. "Such A

Low-Down