It took less than an hour to have her trunks stored in one of the spare tents, and to unpack clothes and necessaries for immediate use.  Carley donned the comfortable and somewhat shabby outdoor garb she had worn at Oak Creek the year before; and it seemed to be the last thing needed to make her fully realize the glorious truth of the present.

“I’m here,” she said to her pale, yet happy face in the mirror.  “The impossible has happened.  I have accepted Glenn’s life.  I have answered that strange call out of the West.”

She wanted to throw herself on the sunlit woolly blankets of her bed and hug them, to think and think of the bewildering present happiness, to dream of the future, but she could not lie or sit still, nor keep her mind from grasping at actualities and possibilities of this place, nor her hands from itching to do things.

It developed, presently, that she could not have idled away the time even if she had wanted to, for the Mexican woman came for her, with smiling gesticulation and jabber that manifestly meant dinner.  Carley could not understand many Mexican words, and herein she saw another task.  This swarthy woman and her sloe-eyed husband favorably impressed Carley.

Next to claim her was Hoyle, the superintendent.  “Miss Burch,” he said, “in the early days we could run up a log cabin in a jiffy.  Axes, horses, strong arms, and a few pegs—­that was all we needed.  But this house you’ve planned is different.  It’s good you’ve come to take the responsibility.”

Carley had chosen the site for her home on top of the knoll where Glenn had taken her to show her the magnificent view of mountains and desert.  Carley climbed it now with beating heart and mingled emotions.  A thousand times already that day, it seemed, she had turned to gaze up at the noble white-clad peaks.  They were closer now, apparently looming over her, and she felt a great sense of peace and protection in the thought that they would always be there.  But she had not yet seen the desert that had haunted her for a year.  When she reached the summit of the knoll and gazed out across the open space it seemed that she must stand spellbound.  How green the cedared foreground—­how gray and barren the downward slope—­how wonderful the painted steppes!  The vision that had lived in her memory shrank to nothingness.  The reality was immense, more than beautiful, appalling in its isolation, beyond comprehension with its lure and strength to uplift.

But the superintendent drew her attention to the business at hand.

Carley had planned an L-shaped house of one story.  Some of her ideas appeared to be impractical, and these she abandoned.  The framework was up and half a dozen carpenters were lustily at work with saw and hammer.

“We’d made better progress if this house was in an ordinary place,” explained Hoyle.  “But you see the wind blows here, so the framework had to be made as solid and strong as possible.  In fact, it’s bolted to the sills.”