The Call of the Canyon | Page 5

possible resemblance she might have to a consumptive. And
she was somewhat pleased to hear this woman's male companion
forcibly voice her own convictions. In fact, he was nothing if not
admiring.
Kansas was interminably long to Carley, and she went to sleep before
riding out of it. Next morning she found herself looking out at the
rough gray and black land of New Mexico. She searched the horizon
for mountains, but there did not appear to be any. She received a vague,
slow-dawning impression that was hard to define. She did not like the
country, though that was not the impression which eluded her. Bare
gray flats, low scrub-fringed hills, bleak cliffs, jumble after jumble of
rocks, and occasionally a long vista down a valley, somehow
compelling-these passed before her gaze until she tired of them. Where
was the West Glenn had written about? One thing seemed sure, and it
was that every mile of this crude country brought her nearer to him.
This recurring thought gave Carley all the pleasure she had felt so far in
this endless ride. It struck her that England or France could be dropped
down into New Mexico and scarcely noticed.
By and by the sun grew hot, the train wound slowly and creakingly
upgrade, the car became full of dust, all of which was disagreeable to
Carley. She dozed on her pillow for hours, until she was stirred by a
passenger crying out, delightedly: "Look! Indians!"
Carley looked, not without interest. As a child she had read about
Indians, and memory returned images both colorful and romantic. From
the car window she espied dusty flat barrens, low squat mud houses,

and queer-looking little people, children naked or extremely ragged and
dirty, women in loose garments with flares of red, and men in white
man's garb, slovenly and motley. All these strange individuals stared
apathetically as the train slowly passed.
"Indians," muttered Carley, incredulously. "Well, if they are the noble
red people, my illusions are dispelled." She did not look out of the
window again, not even when the brakeman called out the remarkable
name of Albuquerque.
Next day Carley's languid attention quickened to the name of Arizona,
and to the frowning red walls of rock, and to the vast rolling stretches
of cedar-dotted land. Nevertheless, it affronted her. This was no
country for people to live in, and so far as she could see it was indeed
uninhabited. Her sensations were not, however, limited to sight. She
became aware of unfamiliar disturbing little shocks or vibrations in her
ear drums, and after that a disagreeable bleeding of the nose. The porter
told her this was owing to the altitude. Thus, one thing and another kept
Carley most of the time away from the window, so that she really saw
very little of the country. From what she had seen she drew the
conviction that she had not missed much. At sunset she deliberately
gazed out to discover what an Arizona sunset was like just a pale
yellow flare! She had seen better than that above the Palisades. Not
until reaching Winslow did she realize how near she was to her
journey's end and that she would arrive at Flagstaff after dark. She
grew conscious of nervousness. Suppose Flagstaff were like these other
queer little towns!
Not only once, but several times before the train slowed down for her
destination did Carley wish she had sent Glenn word to meet her. And
when, presently, she found herself standing out in the dark, cold, windy
night before a dim-lit railroad station she more than regretted her
decision to surprise Glenn. But that was too late and she must make the
best of her poor judgment.
Men were passing to and fro on the platform, some of whom appeared
to be very dark of skin and eye, and were probably Mexicans. At length
an expressman approached Carley, soliciting patronage. He took her

bags and, depositing them in a wagon, he pointed up the wide street:
"One block up an' turn. Hotel Wetherford." Then he drove off. Carley
followed, carrying her small satchel. A cold wind, driving the dust,
stung her face as she crossed the street to a high sidewalk that extended
along the block. There were lights in the stores and on the corners, yet
she seemed impressed by a dark, cold, windy bigness. Many people,
mostly men, were passing up and down, and there were motor cars
everywhere. No one paid any attention to her. Gaining the corner of the
block, she turned, and was relieved to see the hotel sign. As she entered
the lobby a clicking of pool balls and the discordant rasp of a
phonograph assailed her ears. The expressman set down her bags and
left Carley standing there. The clerk or