Carley gazed around her.  Only one of the cabins was in sight from this position.  Evidently it was a home for some of these men.  On one side the peaked rough roof had been built out beyond the wall, evidently to serve as a kind of porch.  On that wall hung the motliest assortment of things Carley had ever seen—­utensils, sheep and cow hides, saddles, harness, leather clothes, ropes, old sombreros, shovels, stove pipe, and many other articles for which she could find no name.  The most striking characteristic manifest in this collection was that of service.  How they had been used!  They had enabled people to live under primitive conditions.  Somehow this fact inhibited Carley’s sense of repulsion at their rude and uncouth appearance.  Had any of her forefathers ever been pioneers?  Carley did not know, but the thought was disturbing.  It was thought-provoking.  Many times at home, when she was dressing for dinner, she had gazed into the mirror at the graceful lines of her throat and arms, at the proud poise of her head, at the alabaster whiteness of her skin, and wonderingly she had asked of her image:  “Can it be possible that I am a descendant of cavemen?” She had never been able to realize it, yet she knew it was true.  Perhaps somewhere not far back along her line there had been a great-great-grandmother who had lived some kind of a primitive life, using such implements and necessaries as hung on this cabin wall, and thereby helped some man to conquer the wilderness, to live in it, and reproduce his kind.  Like flashes Glenn’s words came back to Carley—­“Work and children!”

Some interpretation of his meaning and how it related to this hour held aloof from Carley.  If she would ever be big enough to understand it and broad enough to accept it the time was far distant.  Just now she was sore and sick physically, and therefore certainly not in a receptive state of mind.  Yet how could she have keener impressions than these she was receiving?  It was all a problem.  She grew tired of thinking.  But even then her mind pondered on, a stream of consciousness over which she had no control.  This dreary woods was deserted.  No birds, no squirrels, no creatures such as fancy anticipated!  In another direction, across the canyon, she saw cattle, gaunt, ragged, lumbering, and stolid.  And on the moment the scent of sheep came on the breeze.  Time seemed to stand still here, and what Carley wanted most was for the hours and days to fly, so that she would be home again.

At last Flo returned with the men.  One quick glance at Glenn convinced Carley that Flo had not yet told him about the sheep dipper, Haze Ruff.

“Carley, you’re a real sport,” declared Glenn, with the rare smile she loved.  “It’s a dreadful mess.  And to think you stood it! . . .  Why, old Fifth Avenue, if you needed to make another hit with me you’ve done it!”

His warmth amazed and pleased Carley.  She could not quite understand why it would have made any difference to him whether she had stood the ordeal or not.  But then every day she seemed to drift a little farther from a real understanding of her lover.  His praise gladdened her, and fortified her to face the rest of this ride back to Oak Creek.