The Call Of The Canyon by Zane Grey (top 20 books to read .txt) 📖

Was Not Averse To Withholding Her Ignorance. She Watched Glenn With

Surpassing Curiosity And Interest. First He Threw A Quantity Of Wood Upon

The Smoldering Fire.

 

"I Have Ham And Mutton Of My Own Raising," Announced Glenn,  With

Importance. "Which Would You Prefer?"

 

"Of Your Own Raising. What Do You Mean?" Queried Carley.

 

"My Dear,  You've Been So Steeped In The Fog Of The Crowd That You Are Blind

To The Homely And Necessary Things Of Living. I Mean I Have Here Meat Of

Both Sheep And Hog That I Raised Myself. That Is To Say,  Mutton And Ham.

Which Do You Like?"

 

"Ham!" Cried Carley,  Incredulously.

 

Without More Ado Glenn Settled To Brisk Action,  Every Move Of Which Carley

Watched With Keen Eyes. The Usurping Of A Woman's Province By A Man Was

Always An Amusing Thing. But For Glenn Kilbourne--What More Would It Be? He

Evidently Knew What He Wanted,  For Every Movement Was Quick,  Decisive. One

After Another He Placed Bags,  Cans,  Sacks,  Pans,  Utensils On The Table.

Then He Kicked At The Roaring Fire,  Settling Some Of The Sticks. He Strode

Outside To Return With A Bucket Of Water,  A Basin,  Towel,  And Soap. Then He

Took Down Two Queer Little Iron Pots With Heavy Lids. To Each Pot Was

Attached A Wire Handle. He Removed The Lids,  Then Set Both The Pots Right

On The Fire Or In It. Pouring Water Into The Basin,  He Proceeded To Wash

His Hands. Next He Took A Large Pail,  And From A Sack He Filled It Half

Full Of Flour. To This He Added Baking Powder And Salt. It Was Instructive

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For Carley To See Him Run His Skillful Fingers All Through That Flour,  As

If Searching For Lumps. After This He Knelt Before The Fire And,  Lifting

Off One Of The Iron Pots With A Forked Stick,  He Proceeded To Wipe Out The

Inside Of The Pot And Grease It With A Piece Of Fat. His Next Move Was To

Rake Out A Pile Of The Red Coals,  A Feat He Performed With The Stick,  And

Upon These He Placed The Pot. Also He Removed The Other Pot From The Fire,

Leaving It,  However,  Quite Close.

 

"Well,  All Eyes?" He Bantered,  Suddenly Staring At Her. "Didn't I Say I'd

Surprise You?"

 

"Don't Mind Me. This Is About The Happiest And Most Bewildered Moment--Of

My Life," Replied Carley.

 

Returning To The Table,  Glenn Dug At Something In A Large Red Can. He

Paused A Moment To Eye Carley.

 

"Girl,  Do You Know How To Make Biscuits?" He Queried.

 

"I Might Have Known In My School Days,  But I've Forgotten," She Replied.

 

"Can You Make Apple Pie?" He Demanded,  Imperiously.

 

"No," Rejoined Carley.

 

"How Do You Expect To Please Your Husband?"

 

"Why--By Marrying Him,  I Suppose," Answered Carley,  As If Weighing A

Problem.

 

"That Has Been The Universal Feminine Point Of View For A Good Many Years,"

Replied Glenn,  Flourishing A Flour-Whitened Hand. "But It Never Served The

Women Of The Revolution Or The Pioneers. And They Were The Builders Of The

Nation. It Will Never Serve The Wives Of The Future,  If We Are To Survive."

 

"Glenn,  You Rave!" Ejaculated Carley,  Not Knowing Whether To Laugh Or Be

Grave. "You Were Talking Of Humble Housewifely Things."

 

"Precisely. The Humble Things That Were The Foundation Of The Great Nation

Of Americans. I Meant Work And Children."

 

Carley Could Only Stare At Him. The Look He Flashed At Her,  The Sudden

Intensity And Passion Of His Ringing Words,  Were As If He Gave Her A

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Glimpse Into The Very Depths Of Him. He Might Have Begun In Fun,  But He Had

Finished Otherwise. She Felt That She Really Did Not Know This Man. Had He

Arraigned Her In Judgment? A Flush,  Seemingly Hot And Cold,  Passed Over

Her. Then It Relieved Her To See That He Had Returned To His Task.

 

He Mixed The Shortening With The Flour,  And,  Adding Water,  He Began A

Thorough Kneading. When The Consistency Of The Mixture Appeared To Satisfy

Him He Took A Handful Of It,  Rolled It Into A Ball,  Patted And Flattened It

Into A Biscuit,  And Dropped It Into The Oven He Had Set Aside On The Hot

Coals. Swiftly He Shaped Eight Or Ten Other Biscuits And Dropped Them As

The First. Then He Put The Heavy Iron Lid On The Pot,  And With A Rude

Shovel,  Improvised From A Flattened Tin Can,  He Shoveled Red Coals Out Of

The Fire,  And Covered The Lid With Them. His Next Move Was To Pare And

Slice Potatoes,  Placing These Aside In A Pan. A Small Black Coffee-Pot Half

Full Of Water,  Was Set On A Glowing Part Of The Fire. Then He Brought Into

Use A Huge,  Heavy Knife,  A Murderous-Looking Implement It Appeared To

Carley,  With Which He Cut Slices Of Ham. These He Dropped Into The Second

Pot,  Which He Left Uncovered. Next He Removed The Flour Sack And Other

Inpedimenta From The Table,  And Proceeded To Set Places For Two--Blue-Enamel

Plate And Cup,  With Plain,  Substantial-Looking Knives,  Forks,  And Spoons.

He Went Outside,  To Return Presently Carrying A Small Crock Of Butter.

Evidently He Had Kept The Butter In Or Near The Spring. It Looked Dewy And

Cold And Hard. After That He Peeped Under The Lid Of The Pot Which

Contained The Biscuits. The Other Pot Was Sizzling And Smoking,  Giving

Forth A Delicious Savory Odor That Affected Carley Most Agreeably. The

Coffee-Pot Had Begun To Steam. With A Long Fork Glenn Turned The Slices Of

Ham And Stood A Moment Watching Them. Next He Placed Cans Of Three Sizes

Upon The Table; And These Carley Conjectured Contained Sugar,  Salt,  And

Pepper. Carley Might Not Have Been Present,  For All The Attention He Paid

To Her. Again He Peeped At The Biscuits. At The Edge Of The Hot Embers He

Placed A Tin Plate,  Upon Which He Carefully Deposited The Slices Of Ham.

Carley Had Not Needed Sight Of Them To Know She Was Hungry; They Made Her

Simply Ravenous. That Done,  He Poured The Pan Of Sliced Potatoes Into The

Pot. Carley Judged The Heat Of That Pot To Be Extreme. Next He Removed The

Lid From The Other Pot,  Exposing Biscuits Slightly Browned; And Evidently

Satisfied With These,  He Removed Them From The Coals. He Stirred The Slices

Of Potatoes Round And Round; He Emptied Two Heaping Tablespoonfuls Of

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Coffee Into The Coffee-Pot.

 

"Carley," He Said,  At Last Turning To Her With A Warm Smile,  "Out Here In

The West The Cook Usually Yells,  'Come And Get It.' Draw Up Your Stool."

 

And Presently Carley Found Herself Seated Across The Crude Table From

Glenn,  With The Background Of Chinked Logs In Her Sight,  And The Smart Of

Wood Smoke In Her Eyes. In Years Past She Had Sat With Him In The Soft,

Subdued,  Gold-Green Shadows Of The Astor,  Or In The Sumptuous Atmosphere Of

The St. Regis. But This Event Was So Different,  So Striking,  That She Felt

It Would Have Limitless Significance. For One Thing,  The Look Of Glenn!

When Had He Ever Seemed Like This,  Wonderfully Happy To Have Her There,

Consciously Proud Of This Dinner He Had Prepared In Half An Hour,  Strangely

Studying Her As One On Trial? This Might Have Had Its Effect Upon Carley's

Reaction To The Situation,  Making It Sweet,  Trenchant With Meaning,  But She

Was Hungry Enough And The Dinner Was Good Enough To Make This Hour

Memorable On That Score Alone. She Ate Until She Was Actually Ashamed Of

Herself. She Laughed Heartily,  She Talked,  She Made Love To Glenn. Then

Suddenly An Idea Flashed Into Her Quick Mind.

 

"Glenn,  Did This Girl Flo Teach You To Cook?" She Queried,  Sharply.

 

"No. I Always Was Handy In Camp. Then Out Here I Had The Luck To Fall In

With An Old Fellow Who Was A Wonderful Cook. He Lived With Me For A While.

. . . Why,  What Difference Would It Have Made--Had Flo Taught Me?"

 

Carley Felt The Heat Of Blood In Her Face. "I Don't Know That It Would Have

Made A Difference. Only--I'm Glad She Didn't Teach You. I'd Rather No Girl

Could Teach You What I Couldn't."

 

"You Think I'm A Pretty Good Cook,  Then?" He Asked.

 

"I've Enjoyed This Dinner More Than Any I've Ever Eaten."

 

"Thanks,  Carley. That'll Help A Lot," He Said,  Gayly,  But His Eyes Shone

With Earnest,  Glad Light. "I Hoped I'd Surprise You. I've Found Out Here

That I Want To Do Things Well. The West Stirs Something In A Man. It Must

Be An Unwritten Law. You Stand Or Fall By Your Own Hands. Back East You

Know Meals Are Just Occasions--To Hurry Through--To Dress For--To Meet

Somebody--To Eat Because You Have To Eat. But Out Here They Are Different.

I Don't Know How. In The City,  Producers,  Merchants,  Waiters Serve You For

Chapter 3 Pg 53

Money. The Meal Is A Transaction. It Has No Significance. It Is Money That

Keeps You From Starvation. But In The West Money Doesn't Mean Much. You

Must Work To Live."

 

Carley Leaned Her Elbows On The Table And Gazed At Him Curiously And

Admiringly. "Old Fellow,  You're A Wonder. I Can't Tell You How Proud I Am

Of You. That You Could Come West Weak And Sick,  And Fight Your Way To

Health,  And Learn To Be Self-Sufficient! It Is A Splendid Achievement. It

Amazes Me. I Don't Grasp It. I Want To Think. Nevertheless I--"

 

"What?" He Queried,  As She Hesitated.

 

"Oh,  Never Mind Now," She Replied,  Hastily,  Averting Her Eyes.

 

 

 

 

 

The Day Was Far Spent When Carley Returned To The Lodge--And In Spite Of The

Discomfort Of Cold