The Call of the Canyon (Chapter 3, page 1 of 20)

Previous Page
Next Page

Chapter 3

Carley was awakened by rattling sounds in her room. The raising of
sleepy eyelids disclosed Flo on her knees before the little stove, in
the act of lighting a fire.

"Mawnin', Carley," she drawled. "It's shore cold. Reckon it'll snow
today, worse luck, just because you're here. Take my hunch and stay in
bed till the fire burns up."

"I shall do no such thing," declared Carley, heroically.

"We're afraid you'll take cold," said Flo. "This is desert country with
high altitude. Spring is here when the sun shines. But it's only shinin'
in streaks these days. That means winter, really. Please be good."

"Well, it doesn't require much self-denial to stay here awhile longer,"
replied Carley, lazily.

Flo left with a parting admonition not to let the stove get red-hot. And
Carley lay snuggled in the warm blankets, dreading the ordeal of getting
out into that cold bare room. Her nose was cold. When her nose grew
cold, it being a faithful barometer as to temperature, Carley knew there
was frost in the air. She preferred summer. Steam-heated rooms with
hothouse flowers lending their perfume had certainly not trained Carley
for primitive conditions. She had a spirit, however, that was waxing
a little rebellious to all this intimation as to her susceptibility to
colds and her probable weakness under privation. Carley got up. Her
bare feet landed upon the board floor instead of the Navajo rug, and
she thought she had encountered cold stone. Stove and hot water
notwithstanding, by the time she was half dressed she was also half
frozen. "Some actor fellow once said w-when you w-went West you were
c-camping out," chattered Carley. "Believe me, he said something."

Previous Page
Next Page

Rate This Book

Current Rating: 2.5/5 (199 votes cast)

Review This Book or Post a Comment