She heard the murmur of flowing water, soft, low, now loud, and again
lulling, hollow and eager, tinkling over rocks, bellowing into the deep
pools, washing with silky seep of wind-swept waves the hanging willows.
Shrill and piercing and far-aloft pealed the scream of the eagle. And she
seemed to listen to a mocking bird while he mocked her with his melody of
many birds. The bees hummed, the wind moaned, the leaves rustled, the
waterfall murmured. Then came the sharp rare note of a canyon swift, most
mysterious of birds, significant of the heights.
A breath of fragrance seemed to blow with her shifting senses. The dry,
sweet, tangy canyon smells returned to her--of fresh-cut timber, of wood
smoke, of the cabin fire with its steaming pots, of flowers and earth, and
of the wet stones, of the redolent pines and the pungent cedars.
And suddenly, clearly, amazingly, Carley beheld in her mind's sight the
hard features, the bold eyes, the slight smile, the coarse face of Haze
Ruff. She had forgotten him. But he now returned. And with memory of him
flashed a revelation as to his meaning in her life. He had appeared merely
a clout, a ruffian, an animal with man's shape and intelligence.
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