speak, not particularly low: "I thought people traveled west to see the
country." And a man replied, rather dryly. "Wal, not always." His companion
went on: "If that girl was mine I'd let down her skirt." The man laughed
and replied: "Martha, you're shore behind the times. Look at the pictures
in the magazines."

Such remarks amused Carley, and later she took advantage of an opportunity
to notice her neighbors. They appeared a rather quaint old couple,
reminding her of the natives of country towns in the Adirondacks. She was
not amused, however, when another of her woman neighbors, speaking low,
referred to her as a "lunger." Carley appreciated the fact that she was
pale, but she assured herself that there ended any possible resemblance she
might have to a consumptive. And she was somewhat pleased to hear this
woman's male companion forcibly voice her own convictions. In fact, he was
nothing if not admiring.

Kansas was interminably long to Carley, and she went to sleep before riding
out of it. Next morning she found herself looking out at the rough gray and
black land of New Mexico. She searched the horizon for mountains, but there
did not appear to be any. She received a vague, slow-dawning impression
that was hard to define. She did not like the country, though that was not
the impression which eluded her. Bare gray flats, low scrub-fringed hills,
bleak cliffs, jumble after jumble of rocks, and occasionally a long vista
down a valley, somehow compelling--these passed before her gaze until she
tired of them. Where was the West Glenn had written about? One thing seemed
sure, and it was that every mile of this crude country brought her nearer
to him. This recurring thought gave Carley all the pleasure she had felt so
far in this endless ride. It struck her that England or France could be
dropped down into New Mexico and scarcely noticed.