r. "An' that is shore sayin' a lot. All the
sheep herders in the country have taken a peep at your picture. Without
permission, you understand."

"I'm greatly flattered," laughed Carley.

"We're glad you've come," replied Hutter, simply. "I just got back
from the East myself. Chicago an' Kansas City. I came to Arizona from
Illinois over thirty years ago. An' this was my first trip since. Reckon
I've not got back my breath yet. Times have changed, Miss Carley. Times
an' people!"

Mrs. Hutter bustled in from the kitchen, where manifestly she had been
importantly engaged. "For the land's sakes!" she exclaimed, fervently,
as she threw up her hands at sight of Carley. Her expression was indeed
a compliment, but there was a suggestion of shock in it. Then Flo came
in. She wore a simple gray gown that reached the top of her high shoes.

"Carley, don't mind mother," said Flo. "She means your dress is lovely.
Which is my say, too.... But, listen. I just saw Glenn comin' up the
road."

Carley ran to the open door with more haste than dignity. She saw a tall
man striding along. Something about him appeared familiar. It was his
walk--an erect swift carriage, with a swing of the march still visible.
She recognized Glenn. And all within her seemed to become unstable. She
watched him cross the road, face the house. How changed! No--this was
not Glenn Kilbourne. This was a bronzed man, wide of shoulder, roughly
garbed, heavy limbed, quite different from the Glenn she remembered. He
mounted the porch steps. And Carley, still unseen herself, saw his face.
Yes--Glenn! Hot blood seemed to be tingling liberated in her veins.
Wheeling away, she backed against the wall behind the door and held up
a warning finger to Flo, who stood nearest. Strange and disturbing then,
to see something in Flo Hutter's eyes that could be read by a woman in
only one way!

A tall form darkened the doorway. It strode in and halted.

"Flo!--who--where?" he began, breathlessly.

His voice, so well remembered, yet deeper, huskier, fell upon Carley's
ears as something unconsciously longed for. His frame had so filled
out that she did not recognize it. His face, too, had unbelievably
changed--not in the regularity of feature that had been its chief charm,
but in contour of cheek and vanishing of pallid hue and tragic line.
Carley's heart swelled with joy. Beyond all else she had hoped to see
the sad fixed hopelessness, the havoc, gone from his face. Therefore