The Call of the Canyon by Zane Grey (best 7 inch ereader TXT) 📗

But I'd like her better if she was dressed decent.” And a gaunt range rider, who stood with others at the porch door, looking on, asked a comrade: “Do you reckon that's style back East?” To which the other replied: “Mebbe, but I'd gamble they're short on silk back East an' likewise sheriffs.”

Carley received some meed of gratification out of the sensation she created, but she did not carry her craving for it to the point of overshadowing Flo. On the contrary, she contrived to have Flo share the attention she received. She taught Flo to dance the fox-trot and got Glenn to dance with her. Then she taught it to Lee Stanton. And when Lee danced with Flo, to the infinite wonder and delight of the onlookers, Carley experienced her first sincere enjoyment of the evening.

Her moment came when she danced with Glenn. It reminded her of days long past and which she wanted to return again. Despite war tramping and Western labors Glenn retained something of his old grace and lightness. But just to dance with him was enough to swell her heart, and for once she grew oblivious to the spectators.

“Glenn, would you like to go to the Plaza with me again, and dance between dinner courses, as we used to?” she whispered up to him.

“Sure I would—unless Morrison knew you were to be there,” he replied.

“Glenn!... I would not even see him.”

“Any old time you wouldn't see Morrison!” he exclaimed, half mockingly.

His doubt, his tone grated upon her. Pressing closer to him, she said, “Come back and I'll prove it.”

But he laughed and had no answer for her. At her own daring words Carley's heart had leaped to her lips. If he had responded, even teasingly, she could have burst out with her longing to take him back. But silence inhibited her, and the moment passed.

At the end of that dance Hutter claimed Glenn in the interest of neighboring sheep men. And Carley, crossing the big living room alone, passed close to one of the porch doors. Some one, indistinct in the shadow, spoke to her in low voice: “Hello, pretty eyes!”

Carley felt a little cold shock go tingling through her. But she gave no sign that she had heard. She recognized the voice and also the epithet. Passing to the other side of the room and joining the company there, Carley presently took a casual glance at the door. Several men were lounging there. One of them was the sheep dipper, Haze Ruff. His bold eyes were on her now, and his coarse face wore a slight, meaning smile, as if he understood something about her that was a secret to others. Carley dropped her eyes. But she could not shake off the feeling that wherever she moved this man's gaze followed her. The unpleasantness of this incident would have been nothing to Carley had she at once forgotten it. Most unaccountably, however, she could not make herself unaware of this ruffian's attention. It did no good for her to argue that she was merely the cynosure of all eyes. This Ruff's tone and look possessed something heretofore unknown to Carley. Once she was tempted to tell Glenn. But that would only cause a fight, so she kept her counsel. She danced again, and helped Flo entertain her guests, and passed that door often; and once stood before it, deliberately, with all the strange and contrary impulse so inscrutable in a woman, and never for a moment wholly lost the sense of the man's boldness. It dawned upon her, at length, that the singular thing about this boldness was its difference from any, which had ever before affronted her. The fool's smile meant that he thought she saw his attention, and, understanding it perfectly, had secret delight in it. Many and various had been the masculine egotisms which had come under her observation. But quite beyond Carley was this brawny sheep dipper, Haze Ruff. Once the party broke up and the guests had departed, she instantly forgot both man and incident.

Next day, late in the afternoon, when Carley came out on the porch, she was hailed by Flo, who had just ridden in from down the canyon.

“Hey Carley, come down. I shore have something to tell you,” she called.

Carley did not use any time pattering down that rude porch stairway. Flo was dusty and hot, and her chaps carried the unmistakable scent of sheep-dip.

“Been over to Ryan's camp an' shore rode hard to beat Glenn home,” drawled Flo.

“Why?” queried Carley, eagerly.

“Reckon I wanted to tell you something Glenn swore he wouldn't let me tell. ... He makes me tired. He thinks you can't stand things.”

“Oh! Has he been—hurt?”

“He's skinned an' bruised up some, but I reckon he's not hurt.”

“Flo—what happened?” demanded Carley, anxiously.

“Carley, do you know Glenn can fight like the devil?” asked Flo.

“No, I don't. But I remember he used to be athletic. Flo, you make me nervous. Did Glenn fight?”

“I reckon he did,” drawled Flo.

“With whom?”

“Nobody else but that big hombre, Haze Ruff.”

“Oh!” gasped Carley, with a violent start. “That—that ruffian! Flo, did you see—were you there?”

“I shore was, an' next to a horse race I like a fight,” replied the Western girl. “Carley, why didn't you tell me Haze Ruff insulted you last night?”

“Why, Flo—he only said, 'Hello, pretty eyes,' and I let it pass!” said Carley, lamely.

“You never want to let anything pass, out West. Because next time you'll get worse. This turn your other cheek doesn't go in Arizona. But we shore thought Ruff said worse than that. Though from him that's aplenty.”

“How did you know?”

“Well, Charley told it. He was standing out here by the door last night an' he heard Ruff speak to you. Charley thinks a heap of you an' I reckon he hates Ruff. Besides, Charley stretches things. He shore riled Glenn, an' I want to say, my dear, you missed the best thing that's happened since you got here.”

“Hurry—tell me,” begged Carley, feeling the blood come to her face.

“I rode over to Ryan's place for dad, an' when I got there I knew nothing about what Ruff said to you,” began Flo, and she took hold of Carley's hand. “Neither did dad. You see, Glenn hadn't got there yet. Well, just as the men had finished dipping a bunch of sheep Glenn came riding down, lickety cut.”

“'Now what the hell's wrong with Glenn?' said dad, getting up from where we sat.

“Shore I knew Glenn was mad, though I never before saw him that way. He looked sort of grim an' black.... Well, he rode right down on us an' piled off. Dad yelled at him an' so did I. But Glenn made for the sheep pen. You know where we watched Haze Ruff an' Lorenzo slinging the sheep into the dip. Ruff was