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This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 219 pages of information about The Call of the Canyon.

At noon the cavalcade ahead halted near a cabin and corral, which turned out to be a sheep ranch belonging to Hutter.  Here Glenn was so busy that he had no time to devote to Carley.  And Flo, who was more at home on a horse than on the ground, rode around everywhere with the men.  Most assuredly Carley could not pass by the chance to get off Spillbeans and to walk a little.  She found, however, that what she wanted most was to rest.  The cabin was deserted, a dark, damp place with a rank odor.  She did not stay long inside.

Rain and snow began to fall, adding to what Carley felt to be a disagreeable prospect.  The immediate present, however, was cheered by a cup of hot soup and some bread and butter which the herder Charley brought her.  By and by Glenn and Hutter returned with Flo, and all partook of some lunch.

All too soon Carley found herself astride the mustang again.  Glenn helped her don the slicker, an abominable sticky rubber coat that bundled her up and tangled her feet round the stirrups.  She was glad to find, though, that it served well indeed to protect her from raw wind and rain.

“Where do we go from here?” Carley inquired, ironically.

Glenn laughed in a way which proved to Carley that he knew perfectly well how she felt.  Again his smile caused her self-reproach.  Plain indeed was it that he had really expected more of her in the way of complaint and less of fortitude.  Carley bit her lips.

Thus began the afternoon ride.  As it advanced the sky grew more threatening, the wind rawer, the cold keener, and the rain cut like little bits of sharp ice.  It blew in Carley’s face.  Enough snow fell to whiten the open patches of ground.  In an hour Carley realized that she had the hardest task of her life to ride to the end of the day’s journey.  No one could have guessed her plight.  Glenn complimented her upon her adaptation to such unpleasant conditions.  Flo evidently was on the lookout for the tenderfoot’s troubles.  But as Spillbeans, had taken to lagging at a walk, Carley was enabled to conceal all outward sign of her woes.  It rained, hailed, sleeted, snowed, and grew colder all the time.  Carley’s feet became lumps of ice.  Every step the mustang took sent acute pains ramifying from bruised and raw places all over her body.

Once, finding herself behind the others and out of sight in the cedars, she got off to walk awhile, leading the mustang.  This would not do, however, because she fell too far in the rear.  Mounting again, she rode on, beginning to feel that nothing mattered, that this trip would be the end of Carley Burch.  How she hated that dreary, cold, flat land the road bisected without end.  It felt as if she rode hours to cover a mile.  In open stretches she saw the whole party straggling along, separated from one another, and each for himself.  They certainly could not be enjoying themselves.  Carley shut her eyes, clutched the pommel of the saddle, trying

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