“In summer it might be good to spend a couple of weeks here,” soliloquized Carley. “But to live here? Heavens! A person might as well be buried.”
Heavy footsteps upon the porch below accompanied by a man’s voice quickened Carley’s pulse. Did they belong to Glenn? After a strained second she decided not. Nevertheless, the acceleration of her blood and an unwonted glow of excitement, long a stranger to her, persisted as she left the porch and entered the boarded hall. How gray and barn-like this upper part of the house! From the head of the stairway, however, the big living room presented a cheerful contrast. There were warm colors, some comfortable rockers, a lamp that shed a bright light, and an open fire which alone would have dispelled the raw gloom of the day.
A large man in corduroys and top boots advanced to meet Carley. He had a clean-shaven face that might have been hard and stern but for his smile, and one look into his eyes revealed their resemblance to Flo’s.
“I’m Tom Hutter, an’ I’m shore glad to welcome you to Lolomi, Miss Carley,” he said. His voice was deep and slow. There were ease and force in his presence, and the grip he gave Carley’s hand was that of a man who made no distinction in hand-shaking. Carley, quick in her perceptions, instantly liked him and sensed in him a strong personality. She greeted him in turn and expressed her thanks for his goodness to Glenn. Naturally Carley expected him to say something about her fiance, but he did not.
“Well, Miss Carley, if you don’t mind, I’ll say you’re prettier than your picture,” said Hutter. “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!