The Call of the Canyon. Zane Grey
Читать онлайн книгу.
smoke curled lazily upward from a stone chimney. On one of the porch posts hung a sign with rude lettering: “Lolomi Lodge.”
“Hey, Josh, did you fetch the flour?” called a woman's voice from inside.
“Hullo I Reckon I didn't forgit nothin',” replied the man, as he got down. “An' say, Mrs. Hutter, hyar's a young lady from Noo Yorrk.”
That latter speech of the driver's brought Mrs. Hutter out on the porch. “Flo, come here,” she called to some one evidently near at hand. And then she smilingly greeted Carley.
“Get down an' come in, miss,” she said. “I'm sure glad to see you.”
Carley, being stiff and cold, did not very gracefully disengage herself from the high muddy wheel and step. When she mounted to the porch she saw that Mrs. Hutter was a woman of middle age, rather stout, with strong face full of fine wavy lines, and kind dark eyes.
“I'm Miss Burch,” said Carley.
“You're the girl whose picture Glenn Kilbourne has over his fireplace,” declared the woman, heartily. “I'm sure glad to meet you, an' my daughter Flo will be, too.”
That about her picture pleased and warmed Carley. “Yes, I'm Glenn Kilbourne's fiancee. I've come West to surprise him. Is he here. … Is—is he well?”
“Fine. I saw him yesterday. He's changed a great deal from what he was at first. Most all the last few months. I reckon you won't know him. … But you're wet an' cold an' you look fagged. Come right in to the fire.”
“Thank you; I'm all right,” returned Carley.
At the doorway they encountered a girl of lithe and robust figure, quick in her movements. Carley was swift to see the youth and grace of her; and then a face that struck Carley as neither pretty nor beautiful, but still wonderfully attractive.
“Flo, here's Miss Burch,” burst out Mrs. Hutter, with cheerful importance. “Glenn Kilbourne's girl come all the way from New York to surprise him!”
“Oh, Carley, I'm shore happy to meet you!” said the girl, in a voice of slow drawling richness. “I know you. Glenn has told me all about you.”
If this greeting, sweet and warm as it seemed, was a shock to Carley, she gave no sign. But as she murmured something in reply she looked with all a woman's keenness into the face before her. Flo Hutter had a fair skin generously freckled; a mouth and chin too firmly cut to suggest a softer feminine beauty; and eyes of clear light hazel, penetrating, frank, fearless. Her hair was very abundant, almost silver-gold in color, and it was either rebellious or showed lack of care. Carley liked the girl's looks and liked the sincerity of her greeting; but instinctively she reacted antagonistically because of the frank suggestion of intimacy with Glenn.
But for that she would have been spontaneous and friendly rather than restrained.
They ushered Carley into a big living room and up to a fire of blazing logs, where they helped divest her of the wet wraps. And all the time they talked in the solicitous way natural to women who were kind and unused to many visitors. Then Mrs. Hutter bustled off to make a cup of hot coffee while Flo talked.
“We'll shore give you the nicest room—with a sleeping porch right under the cliff where the water falls. It'll sing you to sleep. Of course you needn't use the bed outdoors until it's warmer. Spring is late here, you know, and we'll have nasty weather yet. You really happened on Oak Creek at its least attractive season. But then it's always—well, just Oak Creek. You'll come to know.”
“I dare say I'll remember my first sight of it and the ride down that cliff road,” said Carley, with a wan smile.
“Oh, that's nothing to what you'll see and do,” returned Flo, knowingly. “We've had Eastern tenderfeet here before. And never was there a one of them who didn't come to love Arizona.”
“Tenderfoot! It hadn't occurred to me. But of course—” murmured Carley.
Then Mrs. Hutter returned, carrying a tray, which she set upon a chair, and drew to Carley's side. “Eat an' drink,” she said, as if these actions were the cardinally important ones of life. “Flo, you carry her bags up to that west room we always give to some particular person we want to love Lolomi.” Next she threw sticks of wood upon the fire, making it crackle and blaze, then seated herself near Carley and beamed upon her.
“You'll not mind if we call you Carley?” she asked, eagerly.
“Oh, indeed no! I—I'd like it,” returned Carley, made to feel friendly and at home in spite of herself.
“You see it's not as if you were just a stranger,” went on Mrs. Hutter. “Tom—that's Flo's father—took a likin' to Glenn Kilbourne when he first came to Oak Creek over a year ago. I wonder if you all know how sick that soldier boy was. … Well, he lay on his back for two solid weeks—in the room we're givin' you. An' I for one didn't think he'd ever get up. But he did. An' he got better. An' after a while he went to work for Tom. Then six months an' more ago he invested in the sheep business with Tom. He lived with us until he built his cabin up West Fork. He an' Flo have run together a good deal, an' naturally he told her about you. So you see you're not a stranger. An' we want you to feel you're with friends.”
“I thank you, Mrs. Hutter,” replied Carley, feelingly. “I never could thank you enough for being good to Glenn. I did not know he was so—so sick. At first he wrote but seldom.”
“Reckon he never wrote you or told you what he did in the war,” declared Mrs. Hutter.
“Indeed he never did!”
“Well, I'll tell you some day. For Tom found out all about him. Got some of it from a soldier who came to Flagstaff for lung trouble. He'd been in the same company with Glenn. We didn't know this boy's name while he was in Flagstaff. But later Tom found out. John Henderson. He was only twenty-two, a fine lad. An' he died in Phoenix. We tried to get him out here. But the boy wouldn't live on charity. He was always expectin' money—a war bonus, whatever that was. It didn't come. He was a clerk at the El Tovar for a while. Then he came to Flagstaff. But it was too cold an' he stayed there too long.”
“Too bad,” rejoined Carley, thoughtfully. This information as to the suffering of American soldiers had augmented during the last few months, and seemed to possess strange, poignant power to depress Carley. Always she had turned away from the unpleasant. And the misery of unfortunates was as disturbing almost as direct contact with disease and squalor. But it had begun to dawn upon Carley that there might occur circumstances of life, in every way affronting her comfort and happiness, which it would be impossible to turn her back upon.
At this juncture Flo returned to the room, and again Carley was struck with the girl's singular freedom of movement and the sense of sure poise and joy that seemed to emanate from her presence.
“I've made a fire in your little stove,” she said. “There's water heating. Now won't you come up and change those traveling clothes. You'll want to fix up for Glenn, won't you?”
Carley had to smile at that. This girl indeed was frank and unsophisticated, and somehow refreshing. Carley rose.
“You are both very good to receive me as a friend,” she said. “I hope I shall not disappoint you. … Yes, I do want to improve my appearance before Glenn sees me. … Is there any way I can send word to him—by someone who has not seen me?”
“There shore is. I'll send Charley, one of our hired boys.”
“Thank you. Then tell him to say there is a lady here from New York to see him, and it is very important.”
Flo Hutter clapped her hands and laughed with glee. Her gladness gave Carley a little twinge of conscience. Jealously was an unjust and stifling thing.
Carley was conducted up a broad stairway and along a boarded hallway to a room that opened out on the porch. A steady low murmur of falling water assailed her ears. Through the open door she saw across the porch to a white tumbling