est of several men, drove
her back to her own section. There she discovered that some one had
drawn up her window shades. Carley promptly pulled them down and settled
herself comfortably. Then she heard a woman 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.

By and by the sun grew hot, the train wound slowly and creakingly
upgrade, the car became full of dust, all of which was disagreeable to
Carley. She dozed on her pillow for hours, until she was stirred by a
passenger crying out, delightedly: "Look! Indians!"

Carley looked, not without interest. As a child she had read about
Indians, and memory returned images both colorful