th of mind and body involuntarily resisted the ravages of this catastrophe。 Will power seemed nothing； but the flesh of her； that medium of exquisite sensation； so full of life； so prone to joy； refused to surrender。 The part of her that felt fought terribly for its heritage。
All night long Carley lay there。 The crescent moon went down； the stars moved on their course； the coyotes ceased to wail； the wind died away； the lapping of the waves along the lake shore wore to gentle splash； the whispering of the insects stopped as the cold of dawn approached。 The darkest hour fellhour of silence； solitude； and melancholy； when the desert lay tranced； cold； waiting； mournful without light of moon or stars or sun。
In the gray dawn Carley dragged her bruised and aching body back to her tent； and； fastening the door； she threw off wet clothes and boots and fell upon her bed。 Slumber of exhaustion came to her。
When she awoke the tent was light and the moving shadows of cedar boughs on the white canvas told that the sun was straight above。 Carley ached as never before。 A deep pang seemed invested in every bone。 Her heart felt swollen out of proportion to its space in her breast。 Her breathing came slow and it hurt。 Her blood was sluggish。 Suddenly she shut her eyes。 She loathed the light of day。 What was it that had happened？
Then the brutal truth flashed over her again； in aspect new； with all the old bitterness。 For an instant she experienced a suffocating sensation as if the canvas had sagged under the burden of heavy air and was crushing her breast and heart。 Then wave after wave of emotion swept over her。 The storm winds of grief and passion were loosened again。 And she writhed in her misery。
Some one knocked on her door。 The Mexican woman called anxiously。 Carley awoke to the fact that her presence was not solitary on the physical earth； even if her soul seemed stricken to eternal loneliness。 Even in the desert there was a world to consider。 Vanity that had bled to death； pride that had been crushed； availed her not here。 But something else came to her support。 The lesson of the West had been to endure； not to shirkto face an issue； not to hide。 Carley got up； bathed； dressed； brushed and arranged her dishevelled hair。 The face she saw in the mirror excited her amaze and pity。 Then she went out in answer to the call for dinner。 But she could not eat。 The ordinary functions of life appeared to be deadened。。
The day happened to be Sunday； and therefore the workmen were absent。 Carley had the place to herself。 How the half…completed house mocked her I She could not bear to look at it。 What use could she make of it now？ Flo Hutter had become the working comrade of Glenn Kilbourne； the mistress of his cabin。 She was his wife and she would be the mother of his children。
That thought gave birth to the darkest hour of Carley Burch's life。 She became possessed as by a thousand devils。 She became merely a female robbed of her mate。 Reason was not in her； nor charity； nor justice。 All that was abnormal in human nature seemed coalesced in her； dominant； passionate； savage； terrible。 She hated with an incredible and insane ferocity。 In the seclusion of her tent； crouched on her bed； silent； locked； motionless； she yet was the embodiment of all terrible strife and storm in nature。 Her heart was a maelstrom and would have whirled and sucked down to hell all the beings that were men。 Her soul was a bottomless gulf； filled with the gales and the fires of jealousy； superhuman to destroy。
That fury consumed all her remaining strength； and from the relapse she sank to sleep。
Morning brought the inevitable reaction。 However long her other struggles； this monumental and final one would be brief。 She realized that； yet was unable to understand how it could be possible； unless shock or death or mental aberration ended the fight。 An eternity of emotion lay back between this awakening of intelligence and the hour of her fall into the clutches of primitive passion。
That morning she faced herself in the mirror and asked； 〃Nowwhat do I owe you？〃 It was not her voice that answered。 It was beyond her。 But it said： 〃Go on！ You are cut adrift。 You are alone。 You owe none but yourself！ 。 。 。 Go on！ Not backwardnot to the depthsbut upupward！〃
She shuddered at such a decree。 How impossible for her！ All animal； all woman； all emotion； how could she live on the cold； pure heights？ Yet she owed something intangible and inscrutable to herself。 Was it the thing that woman lacked physically； yet contained hidden in her soul？ An element of eternal spirit to rise！ Because of heartbreak and ruin and irreparable loss must she fall？ Was loss of love and husband and children only a test？ The present hour would be swallowed in the sum of life's trials。 She could not go back。 She would not go down。 There was wrenched from her tried and sore heart an unalterable and unquenchable decisionto make her own soul prove the evolution of woman。 Vessel of blood and flesh she might be； doomed by nature to the reproduction of her kind； but she had in her the supreme spirit and power to carry on the progress of the agesthe climb of woman out of the darkness。
Carley went out to the workmen。 The house should be completed and she would live in it。 Always there was the stretching and illimitable desert to look at； and the grand heave upward of the mountains。 Hoyle was full of zest for the practical details of the building。 He saw nothing of the havoc wrought in her。 Nor did the other workmen glance more than casually at her。 In this Carley lost something of a shirking fear that her loss and grief were patent to all eyes。
That afternoon she mounted the most spirited of the mustangs she had purchased from the Indians。 To govern him and stick on him required all her energy。 And she rode him hard and far； out across the desert； across mile after mile of cedar forest； clear to the foothills。 She rested there； absorbed in gazing desertward； and upon turning back again； she ran him over the level stretches。 Wind and branch threshed her seemingly to ribbons。 Violence seemed good for her。 A fall had no fear for her now。 She reached camp at dusk； hot as fire； breathless and strengthless。 But she had earned something。 Such action required constant use of muscle and mind。 If need be she could drive both to the very furthermost limit。 She could ride and rideuntil the future； like the immensity of the desert there； might swallow her。 She changed her clothes and rested a while。 The call to supper found her hungry。 In this fact she discovered mockery of her grief。 Love was not the food of life。 Exhausted nature's need of rest and sleep was no respecter of a woman's emotion。
Next day Carley rode northward； wildly and fearlessly； as if this conscious activity was the initiative of an endless number of rides that were to save her。 As before the foothills called her； and she went on until she came to a very high one。
Carley dismounted from her panting horse； answering the familiar impulse to attain heights by her own effort。
〃Am I only a weakling？〃 she asked herself。 〃Only a creature mined by the fever of the soul！ 。 。 。 Thrown from one emotion to another？ Never the same。 Yearning； suffering； sacrificing； hoping； and changingforever the same！ What is it that drives me？ A great city with all its attractions has failed to help me realize my life。 So have friends failed。 So has the world。 What can solitude and grandeur do？ 。 。 。 All this obsession of mineall this strange feeling for simple elemental earthly things likewise will fail me。 Yet I am driven。 They would call me a mad woman。〃
It took Carley a full hour of slow body…bending labor to climb to the summit of that hill。 High； steep； and rugged； it resisted ascension。 But at last she surmounted it and sat alone on the heights； with naked eyes； and an unconscious prayer on her lips。
What was it that had happened？ Could there be here a different answer from that which always mocked her？
She had been a girl； not accountable for loss of mother； for choice of home and education。 She had belonged to a class。 She had grown to womanhood in it。 She had loved； and in loving had escaped the evil of her day； if not its taint。 She had lived only for herself。 Conscience had awakenedbut； alas！ too late。 She had overthrown the sordid； self…seeking habit of life； she had awakened to real womanhood； she had fought the insidious spell of modernity and she had defeated it； she had learned the thrill of taking root in new soil； the pain and joy of labor； the bliss of solitude； the promise of home and love and motherhood。 But she had gathered all these marvelous things to her soul too late for happiness。
〃Now it is answered；〃 she declared aloud。 〃That is what has happened？ 。 。 。 And all that is past。 。 。 。 Is there anything left？ If so what？〃
She flung her query out to the winds of the desert。 But the desert seemed too gray； too vast； too remote； too aloof； too measureless。 It was not concerned with her little life。 Then she turned to the mountain kingdom。
It seemed overpoweringly near at hand。 It loomed above her to pierce the fleecy clouds。 It was only a stupendous upheaval of earth…crust； grown over at the base by leagues and leagues of pine forest； belted along the middle by vast slanting zigzag slopes of aspen； rent and riven toward the heights into canyon and gorge； bared above to cliffs and corners of craggy rock； whitened at the sky…piercing peaks by snow。 Its beauty and sublimity were lost upon Carley now； she was concerned with its travail； its age； its endurance； its strength。 And she studied it with magnified sight。
What incomprehensible subterranean force had swelled those immense slopes and lifted the huge bulk aloft to the clouds？ Cataclysm of naturethe expanding or shrinking of the earth…vast volcanic action under the surface！ Whatever it had been； it had left its expression of the travail of the universe。 This mountain mass had been hot gas when flung from the parent sun； and now it was solid granite。 What had it endured in the making？ What indeed had been its dimensions before the millions of years of its struggle？
Eruption； earthquake； avalanche； the attrition of glacier； the erosion of water； the cracking of frost；