It certainly
appeared to loosen his tongue. But Carley knew she was farther from
normal than ever before in her life, and that the subtle, inscrutable
woman's intuition of her presaged another shock. Just as she had seemed
to change, so had the aspects of the canyon undergone some illusive
transformation. The beauty of green foliage and amber stream and brown
tree trunks and gray rocks and red walls was there; and the summer
drowsiness and languor lay as deep; and the loneliness and solitude
brooded with its same eternal significance. But some nameless
enchantment, perhaps of hope, seemed no longer to encompass her. A blow
had fallen upon her, the nature of which only time could divulge.

Glenn led her around the clearing and up to the base of the west wall,
where against a shelving portion of the cliff had been constructed a
rude fence of poles. It formed three sides of a pen, and the fourth side
was solid rock. A bushy cedar tree stood in the center. Water flowed
from under the cliff, which accounted for the boggy condition of the red
earth. This pen was occupied by a huge sow and a litter of pigs.

Carley climbed on the fence and sat there while Glenn leaned over the
top pole and began to wax eloquent on a subject evidently dear to his
heart. Today of all days Carley made an inspiring listener. Even the
shiny, muddy, suspicious old sow in no wise daunted her fictitious
courage. That filthy pen of mud a foot deep, and of odor rancid, had
no terrors for her. With an arm round Glenn's shoulder she watched the
rooting and squealing little pigs, and was amused and interested, as if
they were far removed from the vital issue of the hour. But all the time
as she looked and laughed, and encouraged Glenn to talk, there seemed to
be a strange, solemn, oppressive knocking at her heart. Was it only the
beat-beat-beat of blood?

"There were twelve pigs in that litter," Glenn was saying, "and now
you see there are only nine. I've lost three. Mountain lions, bears,
coyotes, wild cats are all likely to steal a pig. And at first I was
sure one of these varmints had been robbing me. But as I could not find
any tracks, I knew I had to lay the blame on something else. So I kept
watch pretty closely in daytime, and at night I shut the pigs up in
the corner there, where you see I've built a pen. Yesterday I heard
squealing--and, by George! I saw an eagle flying off with one of my
pigs. Say, I was mad. A great old bald-headed eagle--the