"Come, Carley, let's rustle out of this stinkin' mess," cried Flo.
Indeed, Carley needed Flo's assistance in clambering down out of the
choking smoke and horrid odor.
"Adios, pretty eyes," called the big man from the pen.
"Well," ejaculated Flo, when they got out, "I'll bet I call Glenn good
and hard for letting you go down there."
"It was--my--fault," panted Carley. "I said I'd stand it."
"Oh, you're game, all right. I didn't mean the dip.... That
sheep-slinger is Haze Ruff, the toughest hombre on this range. Shore,
now, wouldn't I like to take a shot at him?... I'm going to tell dad and
Glenn."
"Please don't," returned Carley, appealingly.
"I shore am. Dad needs hands these days. That's why he's lenient. But
Glenn will cowhide Ruff and I want to see him do it."
In Flo Hutter then Carley saw another and a different spirit of the
West, a violence unrestrained and fierce that showed in the girl's even
voice and in the piercing light of her eyes.
They went back to the horses, got their lunches from the saddlebags,
and, finding comfortable seats in a sunny, protected place, they ate
and talked. Carley had to force herself to swallow. It seemed that the
horrid odor of dip and sheep had permeated everything. Glenn had known
her better than she had known herself, and he had wished to spare her an
unnecessary and disgusting experience. Yet so stubborn was Carley that
she did not regret going through with it.
"Carley, I don't mind telling you that you've stuck it out better than
any tenderfoot we ever had here," said Flo.
"Thank you. That from a Western girl is a compliment I'll not soon
forget," replied Carley.
"I shore mean it. We've had rotten weather. And to end the little trip
at this sheep-dip hole! Why, Glenn certainly wanted you to stack up
against the real thing!"
"Flo, he did not want me to come on the trip, and especially here,"
protested Carley.
"Shore I know. But he let you."
"Neither Glenn nor any other man could prevent me from doing what I
wanted to do."
"Well, if you'll excuse me," drawled Flo, "I'll differ with you. I
reckon Glenn Kilbourne is not the man you knew before the war."
"No, he is not. But that does not alter the case."
"Carley, we're not well acquainted," went on Flo, more carefully feeling
her way, "and I'm not your kind. I don't know your Eastern ways. But I
know what the West does to a man. The war ruined your friend--both his
body and mind.... How sorry mother and I were for Glenn, those days
when it looked he'd sure 'go west,' for good!... Did you know he'd been
gassed and that he had five hemorrhages?"