- Libros en formato MOBI -
The
Man of The Forest
At sunset hour
the forest was still, lonely, sweet with tang of
fir and spruce, blazing in gold and red and
green; and the man who glided on under the great
trees seemed to blend with the colors and,
disappearing, to have become a part of the wild
woodland.
Old Baldy, highest of the White Mountains, stood
up round and bare, rimmed bright gold in the
last glow of the setting sun. Then, as the fire
dropped behind the domed peak, a change, a cold
and darkening blight, passed down the black
spear-pointed slopes over all that mountain
world.
It was a wild, richly timbered, and abundantly
watered region of dark forests and grassy parks,
ten thousand feet above sea-level, isolated on
all sides by the southern Arizona desert—the
virgin home of elk and deer, of bear and lion,
of wolf and fox, and the birthplace as well as
the hiding-place of the fierce Apache...
![](../../../imagenes/cuadernos2018/jul/callcanyon100.jpg) The
Call of The Canyon
What subtle strange message had come to
her out of the West? Carley Burch laid the
letter in her lap and gazed dreamily through the
window.
It was a day typical of early April in New York,
rather cold and gray, with steely sunlight.
Spring breathed in the air, but the women
passing along Fifty-seventh Street wore furs and
wraps. She heard the distant clatter of an L
train and then the hum of a motor car. A hurdy-gurdy
jarred into the interval of quiet.
“Glenn has been gone over a year,” she mused,
“three months over a year—and of all his strange
letters this seems the strangest yet.”
She lived again, for the thousandth time, the
last moments she had spent with him. It had been
on New-Year's Eve, 1918. They had called upon
friends who were staying at the McAlpin, in a
suite on the twenty-first floor overlooking
Broadway. And when the last quarter hour of that
eventful and tragic year began slowly to pass
with the low swell of whistles and bells,
Carley's friends had discreetly left her alone
with her lover, at the open window, to watch and
hear the old year out, the new year in. Glenn
Kilbourne had returned from France early that
fall, shell-shocked and gassed, and otherwise
incapacitated for service in the army—a wreck of
his former sterling self and in many
unaccountable ways a stranger to her. Cold,
silent, haunted by something, he had made her
miserable with his aloofness. But as the bells
began to ring out the year that had been his
ruin Glenn had drawn her close, tenderly,
passionately, and yet strangely, too...
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