His bulky figure darkened the doorway, passed out, and the light of the
sky streamed into the cabin again. Carley sat staring. She heard Ruff's
spurs tinkle, then the ring of steel on stirrup, a sodden leathery sound
as he mounted, and after that a rapid pound of hoofs, quickly dying
away.
He was gone. She had escaped something raw and violent. Dazedly she
realized it, with unutterable relief. And she sat there slowly gathering
the nervous force that had been shattered. Every word that he had
uttered was stamped in startling characters upon her consciousness.
But she was still under the deadening influence of shock. This raw
experience was the worst the West had yet dealt her. It brought back
former states of revulsion and formed them in one whole irrefutable and
damning judgment that seemed to blot out the vaguely dawning and growing
happy susceptibilities. It was, perhaps, just as well to have her mind
reverted to realistic fact. The presence of Haze Ruff, the astounding
truth of the contact with his huge sheep-defiled hands, had been
profanation and degradation under which she sickened with fear and
shame. Yet hovering back of her shame and rising anger seemed to be a
pale, monstrous, and indefinable thought, insistent and accusing, with
which she must sooner or later reckon. It might have been the voice of
the new side of her nature, but at that moment of outraged womanhood,
and of revolt against the West, she would not listen. It might, too,
have been the still small voice of conscience. But decision of mind
and energy coming to her then, she threw off the burden of emotion and
perplexity, and forced herself into composure before the arrival of
Glenn.
The dust had ceased to blow, although the wind had by no means died
away. Sunset marked the west in old rose and gold, a vast flare. Carley
espied a horseman far down the road, and presently recognized both rider
and steed. He was coming fast. She went out and, mounting her mustang,
she rode out to meet Glenn. It did not appeal to her to wait for him
at the cabin; besides hoof tracks other than those made by her mustang
might have been noticed by Glenn. Presently he came up to her and pulled
his loping horse.
"Hello! I sure was worried," was his greeting, as his gloved hand went
out to her. "Did you run into that sandstorm?"
"It ran into me, Glenn, and buried me," she laughed.
His fine eyes lingered on her face with glad and warm glance, and the
keen, apprehensive penetration of a lover.