Out of Context

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The Call of the Canyon
Zane Grey

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 her nature, but at that moment of outraged womanhood, and of
revolt against the West, she would not listen. It might, too, have been
the still small voice of conscience. But decision of mind and energy
coming to her then, she threw off the burden of emotion and
perplexity, and forced herself into composure before the arrival of
Glenn.

The dust had ceased to blow, although the wind had by no means
died away. Sunset marked the west in old rose and gold, a vast flare.
Carley espied a horseman far down the road, and presently
recognized both rider and steed. He was coming fast. She went out
and, mounting her mustang, she rode out to meet Glenn. It did not
appeal to her to wait for him at the cabin; besides hoof tracks other
than those made by her mustang might have been noticed by Glenn.
Presently he came up to her and pulled his loping horse.

“Hello! I sure was worried,” was his greeting, as his gloved hand
went out to her. “Did you run into that sandstorm?”

“It ran into me, Glenn, and buried me,” she laughed.

His fine eyes lingered on her face with glad and warm glance, and
the keen, apprehensive penetration of a lover.

“Well, under all that dust you look scared,” he said.

“Scared! I was worse than that. When I first ran into the flying dirt
I was only afraid I’d lose my way—and my complexion. But when
the worst of the storm hit me—then I feared I’d lose my breath.”

“Did you face that sand and ride through it all?” he queried.

“No, not all. But enough. I went through the worst of it before I
reached the cabin,” she replied.

“Wasn’t it great?”

“Yes—great bother and annoyance,” she said, laconically.

Whereupon he reached with long, arm and wrapped it round her as
they rocked side by side. Demonstrations of this nature were
infrequent with Glenn. Despite losing one foot out of a stirrup and
her seat in the saddle Carley rather encouraged it. He kissed her
dusty face, and then set her back.

“By George! Carley, sometimes I think you’ve changed since
you’ve been here,” he said, with warmth. “To go through that
sandstorm without one kick—one knock at my West!”

“Glenn, I always think of what Flo says—the worst is yet to
come,” replied Carley, trying to hide her unreasonable and
tumultuous pleasure at words of praise from him.

“Carley Burch, you don’t know yourself,” he declared,
enigmatically.

“What woman knows herself? But do you know me?”