Hutter. Carley had her doubts. When she was thoroughly
thawed out she discovered an appetite quite unusual for her, and she
enjoyed her breakfast. Then it was time to sally forth to meet Glenn.
"It's pretty sharp this mawnin'," said Flo. "You'll need gloves and
sweater."
Having fortified herself with these, Carley asked how to find West Fork
Canyon.
"It's down the road a little way," replied Flo. "A great narrow canyon
opening on the right side. You can't miss it."
Flo accompanied her as far as the porch steps. A queer-looking individual
was slouching along with ax over his shoulder.
"There's Charley," said Flo. "He'll show you." Then she whispered: "He's
sort of dotty sometimes. A horse kicked him once. But mostly he's
sensible."
At Flo's call the fellow halted with a grin. He was long, lean, loose
jointed, dressed in blue overalls stuck into the tops of muddy boots, and
his face was clear olive without beard or line. His brow bulged a little,
and from under it peered out a pair of wistful brown eyes that reminded
Carley of those of a dog she had once owned.
"Wal, it ain't a-goin' to be a nice day," remarked Charley, as he tried to
accommodate his strides to Carley's steps.
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