Her eyes had
not been used to such black shadow along the ground. She had, too,
squeamish feminine fears of hydrophobia skunks, and nameless animals or
reptiles that were imagined denizens of the darkness. She gained her tent
and entered. The Mexican, Gino, as he called himself, had lighted her lamp
and fire. Carley was chilled through, and the tent felt so warm and cozy
that she could scarcely believe it. She fastened the screen door, laced the
flaps across it, except at the top, and then gave herself up to the lulling
and comforting heat.
There were plans to perfect; innumerable things to remember; a car and
accessories, horses, saddles, outfits to buy. Carley knew she should sit
down at her table and write and figure, but she could not do it then.
For a long time she sat over the little stove, toasting her knees and
hands, adding some chips now and then to the red coals. And her mind seemed
a kaleidoscope of changing visions, thoughts, feelings. At last she
undressed and blew out the lamp and went to bed.
Instantly a thick blackness seemed to enfold her and silence as of a dead
world settled down upon her. Drowsy as she was, she could not close her
eyes nor refrain from listening.
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