Carley stared at it. Her heart gave a great leap. Her hand shook. She sat
down suddenly as if the strength of her legs was inadequate to uphold her.
"Glenn has--written me!" she whispered, in slow, halting realization. "For
what? Oh, why?"
The other letters fell off her lap, to lie unnoticed. This big thick
envelope fascinated her. It was one of the stamped envelopes she had seen
in his cabin. It contained a letter that had been written on his rude
table, before the open fire, in the light of the doorway, in that little
log-cabin under the spreading pines of West Ford Canyon. Dared she read it?
The shock to her heart passed; and with mounting swell, seemingly too full
for her breast, it began to beat and throb a wild gladness through all her
being. She tore the envelope apart and read:
DEAR CARLEY:
I'm surely glad for a good excuse to write you.
Once in a blue moon I get a letter, and today Hutter brought me one from a
soldier pard of mine who was with me in the Argonne. His name is Virgil
Rust--queer name, don't you think?--and he's from Wisconsin. Just a rough-
diamond sort of chap, but fairly well educated. He and I were in some
pretty hot places, and it was he who pulled me out of a shell crater.
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