The trail led along the creek, threading a maze of bowlders, passing into
the shade of cottonwoods, and crossing sun-flecked patches of sand.
Carley's every step seemed to become slower. Regrets were assailing her.
Long indeed had she overstayed her visit to the West. She must not linger
there indefinitely. And mingled with misgiving was a surprise that she had
not tired of Oak Creek. In spite of all, and of the dislike she vaunted to
herself, the truth stared at her--she was not tired.
The long-delayed visit to see Glenn working on his own farm must result in
her talking to him about his work; and in a way not quite clear she
regretted the necessity for it. To disapprove of Glenn! She received faint
intimations of wavering, of uncertainty, of vague doubt. But these were
cried down by the dominant and habitable voice of her personality.
Presently through the shaded and shadowed breadth of the belt of forest she
saw gleams of a sunlit clearing. And crossing this space to the border of
trees she peered forth, hoping to espy Glenn at his labors. She saw an old
shack, and irregular lines of rude fence built of poles of all sizes and
shapes, and several plots of bare yellow ground, leading up toward the west
side of the canyon wall.
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