Beyond, through the
trees, Carley saw the sunny red-earthed clearing that was Glenn's farm. She
looked, and fought herself, and bit her quivering lip until she tasted
blood. Then she rode out into the open.
The whole west side of the canyon had been cleared and cultivated and
plowed. But she gazed no farther. She did not want to see the spot where
she had given Glenn his ring and had parted from him. She rode on. If she
could pass West Fork she believed her courage would rise to the completion
of this ordeal. Places were what she feared. Places that she had loved
while blindly believing she hated! There the narrow gap of green and blue
split the looming red wall. She was looking into West Fork. Up there stood
the cabin. How fierce a pang rent her breast! She faltered at the crossing
of the branch stream, and almost surrendered. The water murmured, the
leaves rustled, the bees hummed, the birds sang--all with some sad
sweetness that seemed of the past.
Then the trail leading up West Fork was like a barrier. She saw horse
tracks in it. Next she descried boot tracks the shape of which was so
well-remembered that it shook her heart. There were fresh tracks in the
sand, pointing in the direction of the Lodge.
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