ld read the
signs of the times, realize the crisis, and meet it in an American way.
Otherwise we are done as a race. Money is God in the older countries.
But it should never become God in America. If it does we will make the
fall of Rome pale into insignificance."

"Glenn, let's put off the argument," appealed Carley. "I'm not--just up
to fighting you today. Oh--you needn't smile. I'm not showing a yellow
streak, as Flo puts it. I'll fight you some other time."

"You're right, Carley," he assented. "Here we are loafing six or seven
miles from home. Let's rustle along."

Riding fast with Glenn was something Carley had only of late added to
her achievements. She had greatest pride in it. So she urged her mustang
to keep pace with Glenn's horse and gave herself up to the thrill of the
motion and feel of wind and sense of flying along. At a good swinging
lope Calico covered ground swiftly and did not tire. Carley rode the two
miles to the rim of the canyon, keeping alongside of Glenn all the way.
Indeed, for one long level stretch she and Glenn held hands. When they
arrived at the descent, which necessitated slow and careful riding,
she was hot and tingling and breathless, worked by the action into an
exuberance of pleasure. Glenn complimented her riding as well as her
rosy cheeks. There was indeed a sweetness in working at a task as she
had worked to learn to ride in Western fashion. Every turn of her mind
seemed to confront her with sobering antitheses of thought. Why had she
come to love to ride down a lonely desert road, through ragged cedars
where the wind whipped her face with fragrant wild breath, if at the
same time she hated the West? Could she hate a country, however barren
and rough, if it had saved the health and happiness of her future
husband? Verily there were problems for Carley to solve.

Early twilight purple lay low in the hollows and clefts of the canyon.
Over the western rim a pale ghost of the evening star seemed to smile
at Carley, to bid her look and look. Like a strain of distant music, the
dreamy hum of falling water, the murmur and melody of the stream, came
again to Carley's sensitive ear.

"Do you love this?" asked Glenn, when they reached the green-forested
canyon floor, with the yellow road winding away into the purple shadows.

"Yes, both the ride--and you," flashed Carley, contrarily. She knew he
had meant the deep-walled canyon with its brooding solitude.

"But I want you to love Ari