rley sat on a cold rock, huddled up close to Glenn, and
wearing to a state she knew would be misery. Glenn not only seemed
content; he was happy. "This is great," he said. His coat was open, his
hands uncovered, and he watched the storm and listened with manifest
delight. Carley hated to betray what a weakling she was, so she resigned
herself to her fate, and imagined she felt her fingers numbing into ice,
and her sensitive nose slowly and painfully freezing.

The storm passed, however, before Carley sank into abject and open
wretchedness. She managed to keep pace with Glenn until exercise
warmed her blood. At every little ascent in the trail she found herself
laboring to get her breath. There was assuredly evidence of abundance
of air in this canyon, but somehow she could not get enough of it. Glenn
detected this and said it was owing to the altitude. When they reached
the cabin Carley was wet, stiff, cold, exhausted. How welcome the
shelter, the open fireplace! Seeing the cabin in new light, Carley had
the grace to acknowledge to herself that, after all, it was not so bad.

"Now for a good fire and then dinner," announced Glenn, with the air of
one who knew his ground.

"Can I help?" queried Carley.

"Not today. I do not want you to spring any domestic science on me now."
Carley was not averse to withholding her ignorance. She watched Glenn
with surpassing curiosity and interest. First he threw a quantity of
wood upon the smoldering fire.

"I have ham and mutton of my own raising," announced Glenn, with
importance. "Which would you prefer?"

"Of your own raising. What do you mean?" queried Carley.

"My dear, you've been so steeped in the fog of the crowd that you are
blind to the homely and necessary things of living. I mean I have here
meat of both sheep and hog that I raised myself. That is to say, mutton
and ham. Which do you like?"

"Ham!" cried Carley, incredulously.

Without more ado Glenn settled to brisk action, every move of which
Carley watched with keen eyes. The usurping of a woman's province by
a man was always an amusing thing. But for Glenn Kilbourne--what more
would it be? He evidently knew what he wanted, for every movement was
quick, decisive. One after another he placed bags, cans, sacks, pans,
utensils on the table. Then he kicked at the roaring fire, settling some
of the sticks. He strode outside to return with a bucket of water, a
basin, towel, and soap. Then he took down two queer litt