Could this clearing be Glenn's farm? Surely she
had missed it or had not gone far enough. This was not a farm, but a slash
in the forested level of the canyon floor, bare and somehow hideous. Dead
trees were standing in the lots. They had been ringed deeply at the base by
an ax, to kill them, and so prevent their foliage from shading the soil.
Carley saw a long pile of rocks that evidently had been carried from the
plowed ground. There was no neatness, no regularity, although there was
abundant evidence of toil. To clear that rugged space, to fence it, and
plow it, appeared at once to Carley an extremely strenuous and useless
task. Carley persuaded herself that this must be the plot of ground belonging
to the herder Charley, and she was about to turn on down the creek when
far up under the bluff she espied a man. He was stalking along and bending
down, stalking along and bending down. She recognized Glenn. He was planting
something in the yellow soil.
Curiously Carley watched him, and did not allow her mind to become
concerned with a somewhat painful swell of her heart. What a stride he had!
How vigorous he looked, and earnest! He was as intent upon this job as if
he had been a rustic.
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