Carley was amused and interested. She could not say that Charley had shown
any indication of his mental peculiarity to her. It took considerable
restraint not to lead him to talk more about Flo and Glenn. Presently they
reached the turn in the road, opposite the cottage Carley had noticed
yesterday, and here her loquacious escort halted.

"You take the trail heah," he said, pointing it out, "an' foller it into
West Fork. So long, an' don't forget we're goin' huntin' turkeys."

Carley smiled her thanks, and, taking to the trail, she stepped out
briskly, now giving attention to her surroundings. The canyon had widened,
and the creek with its deep thicket of green and white had sheered to the
left. On her right the canyon wall appeared to be lifting higher--and
higher. She could not see it well, owing to intervening treetops. The trail
led her through a grove of maples and sycamores, out into an open park-like
bench that turned to the right toward the cliff. Suddenly Carley saw a
break in the red wall. It was the intersecting canyon, West Fork. What a
narrow red-walled gateway! Huge pine trees spread wide gnarled branches
over her head. The wind made soft rush in their tops, sending the brown
needles lightly on the air. Carley turned the bulging corner, to be halted
by a magnificent spectacle. It seemed a mountain wall loomed over her. It
was the western side of this canyon, so lofty that Carley had to tip back
her head to see the top. She swept her astonished gaze down the face of
this tremendous red mountain wall and then slowly swept it upward again.
This phenomenon of a cliff seemed beyond the comprehension of her sight. It
looked a mile high. The few trees along its bold rampart resembled short
spear-pointed bushes outlined against the steel gray of sky. Ledges, caves,
seams, cracks, fissures, beetling red brows, yellow crumbling crags,
benches of green growths and niches choked with brush, and bold points