the call of the canyon-第1章

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The　Call　of　the　Canyon

by　Zane　Grey





CHAPTER　I

What　subtle　strange　message　had　come　to　her　out　of　the　West？　Carley　Burch　laid　the　letter　in　her　lap　and　gazed　dreamily　through　the　window。

It　was　a　day　typical　of　early　April　in　New　York；　rather　cold　and　gray；　with　steely　sunlight。　Spring　breathed　in　the　air；　but　the　women　passing　along　Fifty…seventh　Street　wore　furs　and　wraps。　She　heard　the　distant　clatter　of　an　L　train　and　then　the　hum　of　a　motor　car。　A　hurdy…gurdy　jarred　into　the　interval　of　quiet。

〃Glenn　has　been　gone　over　a　year；〃　she　mused；　〃three　months　over　a　year　and　of　all　his　strange　letters　this　seems　the　strangest　yet。〃

She　lived　again；　for　the　thousandth　time；　the　last　moments　she　had　spent　with　him。　It　had　been　on　New…Year's　Eve；　1918。　They　had　called　upon　friends　who　were　staying　at　the　McAlpin；　in　a　suite　on　the　twenty…first　floor　overlooking　Broadway。　And　when　the　last　quarter　hour　of　that　eventful　and　tragic　year　began　slowly　to　pass　with　the　low　swell　of　whistles　and　bells；　Carley's　friends　had　discreetly　left　her　alone　with　her　lover；　at　the　open　window；　to　watch　and　hear　the　old　year　out；　the　new　year　in。　Glenn　Kilbourne　had　returned　from　France　early　that　fall；　shell…shocked　and　gassed；　and　otherwise　incapacitated　for　service　in　the　armya　wreck　of　his　former　sterling　self　and　in　many　unaccountable　ways　a　stranger　to　her。　Cold；　silent；　haunted　by　something；　he　had　made　her　miserable　with　his　aloofness。　But　as　the　bells　began　to　ring　out　the　year　that　had　been　his　ruin　Glenn　had　drawn　her　close；　tenderly；　passionately；　and　yet　strangely；　too。

〃Carley；　look　and　listen！〃　he　had　whispered。

Under　them　stretched　the　great　long　white　flare　of　Broadway；　with　its　snow…covered　length　glittering　under　a　myriad　of　electric　lights。　Sixth　Avenue　swerved　away　to　the　right；　a　less　brilliant　lane　of　blanched　snow。　The　L　trains　crept　along　like　huge　fire…eyed　serpents。　The　hum　of　the　ceaseless　moving　line　of　motor　cars　drifted　upward　faintly；　almost　drowned　in　the　rising　clamor　of　the　street。　Broadway's　gay　and　thoughtless　crowds　surged　to　and　fro；　from　that　height　merely　a　thick　stream　of　black　figures；　like　contending　columns　of　ants　on　the　march。　And　everywhere　the　monstrous　electric　signs　flared　up　vivid　in　white　and　red　and　green；　and　dimmed　and　paled；　only　to　flash　up　again。

Ring　out　the　Old！　Ring　in　the　New！　Carley　had　poignantly　felt　the　sadness　of　the　one；　the　promise　of　the　other。　As　one　by　one　the　siren　factory　whistles　opened　up　with　deep；　hoarse　bellow；　the　clamor　of　the　street　and　the　ringing　of　the　bells　were　lost　in　a　volume　of　continuous　sound　that　swelled　on　high　into　a　magnificent　roar。　It　was　the　voice　of　a　cityof　a　nation。　It　was　the　voice　of　a　people　crying　out　the　strife　and　the　agony　of　the　yearpealing　forth　a　prayer　for　the　future。

Glenn　had　put　his　lips　to　her　ear：　〃It's　like　the　voice　in　my　soul！〃　Never　would　she　forget　the　shock　of　that。　And　how　she　had　stood　spellbound；　enveloped　in　the　mighty　volume　of　sound　no　longer　discordant；　but　full　of　great；　pregnant　melody；　until　the　white　ball　burst　upon　the　tower　of　the　Times　Building；　showing　the　bright　figures　1919。

The　new　year　had　not　been　many　minutes　old　when　Glenn　Kilbourne　had　told　her　he　was　going　West　to　try　to　recover　his　health。

Carley　roused　out　of　her　memories　to　take　up　the　letter　that　had　so　perplexed　her。　It　bore　the　postmark；　Flagstaff；　Arizona。　She　reread　it　with　slow　pondering　thoughtfulness。


WEST　FORK；　March　25。

DEAR　CARLEY：

It　does　seem　my　neglect　in　writing　you　is　unpardonable。　I　used　to　be　a　pretty　fair　correspondent；　but　in　that　as　in　other　things　I　have　changed。

One　reason　I　have　not　answered　sooner　is　because　your　letter　was　so　sweet　and　loving　that　it　made　me　feel　an　ungrateful　and　unappreciative　wretch。　Another　is　that　this　life　I　now　lead　does　not　induce　writing。　I　am　outdoors　all　day；　and　when　I　get　back　to　this　cabin　at　night　I　am　too　tired　for　anything　but　bed。

Your　imperious　questions　I　must　answerand　that　must；　of　course；　is　a　third　reason　why　I　have　delayed　my　reply。　First；　you　ask；　〃Don't　you　love　me　any　more　as　you　used　to？〃　。　。　。　Frankly；　I　do　not。　I　am　sure　my　old　love　for　you；　before　I　went　to　France；　was　selfish；　thoughtless；　sentimental；　and　boyish。　I　am　a　man　now。　And　my　love　for　you　is　different。　Let　me　assure　you　that　it　has　been　about　all　left　to　me　of　what　is　noble　and　beautiful。　Whatever　the　changes　in　me　for　the　worse；　my　love　for　you；　at　least；　has　grown　better；　finer；　purer。

And　now　for　your　second　question；　〃Are　you　coming　home　as　soon　as　you　are　well　again？〃　。　。　。　Carley；　I　am　well。　I　have　delayed　telling　you　this　because　I　knew　you　would　expect　me　to　rush　back　East　with　the　telling。　But…　…the　fact　is；　Carley；　I　am　not　comingjust　yet。　I　wish　it　were　possible　for　me　to　make　you　understand。　For　a　long　time　I　seem　to　have　been　frozen　within。　You　know　when　I　came　back　from　France　I　couldn't　talk。　It's　almost　as　bad　as　that　now。　Yet　all　that　I　was　then　seems　to　have　changed　again。　It　is　only　fair　to　you　to　tell　you　that；　as　I　feel　now；　I　hate　the　city；　I　hate　people；　and　particularly　I　hate　that　dancing；　drinking；　lounging　set　you　chase　with。　I　don't　want　to　come　East　until　I　am　over　that；　you　know。　。　　。　Suppose　I　never　get　over　it？　Well；　Carley；　you　can　free　yourself　from　me　by　one　word　that　I　could　never　utter。　I　could　never　break　our　engagement。　During　the　hell　I　went　through　in　the　war　my　attachment　to　you　saved　me　from　moral　ruin；　if　it　did　not　from　perfect　honor　and　fidelity。　This　is　another　thing　I　despair　of　making　you　understand。　And　in　the　chaos　I've　wandered　through　since　the　war　my　love　for　you　was　my　only　anchor。　You　never　guessed；　did　you；　that　I　lived　on　your　letters　until　I　got　well。　And　now　the　fact　that　I　might　get　along　without　them　is　no　discredit　to　their　charm　or　to　you。

It　is　all　so　hard　to　put　in　words；　Carley。　To　lie　down　with　death　and　get　up　with　death　was　nothing。　To　face　one's　degradation　was　nothing。　But　to　come　home　an　incomprehensibly　changed　manand　to　see　my　old　life　as　strange　as　if　it　were　the　new　life　of　another　planetto　try　to　slip　into　the　old　groovewell；　no　words　of　mine　can　tell　you　how　utterly　impossible　it　was。

My　old　job　was　not　open　to　me；　even　if　I　had　been　able　to　work。　The　government　that　I　fought　for　left　me　to　starve；　or　to　die　of　my　maladies　like　a　dog；　for　all　it　cared。

I　could　not　live　on　your　money；　Carley。　My　people　are　poor；　as　you　know。　So　there　was　nothing　for　me　to　do　but　to　borrow　a　little　money　from　my　friends　and　to　come　West。　I'm　glad　I　had　the　courage　to　come。　What　this　West　is　I'll　never　try　to　tell　you；　because；　loving　the　luxury　and　excitement　and　glitter　of　the　city　as　you　do；　you'd　think　I　was　crazy。

Getting　on　here；　in　my　condition；　was　as　hard　as　trench　life。　But　now；　Carleysomething　has　come　to　me　out　of　the　West。　That；　too；　I　am　unable　to　put　into　words。　Maybe　I　can　give　you　an　inkling　of　it。　I'm　strong　enough　to　chop　wood　all　day。　No　man　or　woman　passes　my　cabin　in　a　month。　But　I　am　never　lonely。　I　love　these　vast　red　canyon　walls　towering　above　me。　And　the　silence　is　so　sweet。　Think　of　the　hellish　din　that　filled　my　ears。　Even　nowsometimes；　the　brook　here　changes　its　babbling　murmur　to　the　roar　of　war。　I　never　understood　anything　of　the　meaning　of　nature　until　I　lived　under　these　looming　stone　walls　and　whispering　pines。

So；　Carley；　try　to　understand　me；　or　at　least　be　kind。　You　know　they　came　very　near　writing；　〃Gone　west！〃　after　my　name；　and　considering　that；　this　〃Out　West〃　signifies　for　me　a　very　fortunate　difference。　A　tremendous　difference！　For　the　present　I'll　let　well　enough　alone。

Adios。　Write　soon。　Love　from

GLEN


Carley's　second　reaction　to　the　letter　was　a　sudden　upflashing　desire　to　see　her　loverto　go　out　West　and　find　him。　Impulses　with　her　were　rather　rare　and　inhibited；　but　this　one　made　her　tremble。　If　Glenn　was　well　again　he　must　have　vastly　changed　from　the　moody；　stone…faced；　and　haunted…eyed　man　who　had　so　worried　and　distressed　her。　He　had　embarrassed　her；　too；　for　sometimes；　in　her　home；　meeting　young　men　there　who　had　not　gone　into　the　service；　he　had　seemed　to　retreat　into　himself；　singularly　aloof；　as　if　his　world　was　not