not　endure　it。　She　could　not　live　under　it。
  She　lay　there　until　energy　supplanted　shock。　Then　she　rose　to　rush　into　the　darkest　shadows　of　the　cedars；　to　grope　here　and　there；　hanging　her　head；　wringing　her　hands；　beating　her　breast。　〃It　can't　be　true；〃　she　cried。　〃Not　after　my　strugglemy　victorynot　now！〃　But　there　had　been　no　victory。　And　now　it　was　too　late。　She　was　betrayed；　ruined；　lost。　That　wonderful　love　had　wrought　transformation　in　herand　now　havoc。　Once　she　fell　against　the　branches　of　a　thick　cedar　that　upheld　her。　The　fragrance　which　had　been　sweet　was　now　bitter。　Life　that　had　been　bliss　was　now　hateful！　She　could　not　keep　still　for　a　single　moment。
  Black　night；　cedars；　brush；　rocks；　washes；　seemed　not　to　obstruct　her。　In　a　frenzy　she　rushed　on；　tearing　her　dress；　her　hands；　her　hair。　Violence　of　some　kind　was　imperative。　All　at　once　a　pale　gleaming　open　space；　shimmering　under　the　stars；　lay　before　her。　It　was　water。　Deep　Lake！　And　instantly　a　hideous　terrible　longing　to　destroy　herself　obsessed　her。　She　had　no　fear。　She　could　have　welcomed　the　cold；　slimy　depths　that　meant　oblivion。　But　could　they　really　bring　oblivion？　A　year　ago　she　would　have　believed　so；　and　would　no　longer　have　endured　such　agony。　She　had　changed。　A　cursed　strength　had　come　to　her；　and　it　was　this　strength　that　now　augmented　her　torture。　She　flung　wide　her　arms　to　the　pitiless　white　stars　and　looked　up　at　them。　〃My　hope；　my　faith；　my　love　have　failed　me；〃　she　whispered。　〃They　have　been　a　lie。　I　went　through　hell　for　them。　And　now　I've　nothing　to　live　for。。。。　Oh；　let　me　end　it　all！〃
  If　she　prayed　to　the　stars　for　mercy；　it　was　denied　her。　Passionlessly　they　blazed　on。　But　she　could　not　kill　herself。　In　that　hour　death　would　have　been　the　only　relief　and　peace　left　to　her。　Stricken　by　the　cruelty　of　her　fate；　she　fell　back　against　the　stones　and　gave　up　to　grief。　Nothing　was　left　but　fierce　pain。　The　youth　and　vitality　and　intensity　of　her　then　locked　arms　with　anguish　and　torment　and　a　cheated；　unsatisfied　love。　Strength　of　mind　and　body　involuntarily　resisted　the　ravages　of　this　catastrophe。　Will　power　seemed　nothing；　but　the　flesh　of　her；　that　medium　of　exquisite　sensation；　so　full　of　life；　so　prone　to　joy；　refused　to　surrender。　The　part　of　her　that　felt　fought　terribly　for　its　heritage。
  All　night　long　Carley　lay　there。　The　crescent　moon　went　down；　the　stars　moved　on　their　course；　the　coyotes　ceased　to　wail；　the　wind　died　away；　the　lapping　of　the　waves　along　the　lake　shore　wore　to　gentle　splash；　the　whispering　of　the　insects　stopped　as　the　cold　of　dawn　approached。　The　darkest　hour　fellhour　of　silence；　solitude；　and　melancholy；　when　the　desert　lay　tranced；　cold；　waiting；　mournful　without　light　of　moon　or　stars　or　sun。
  In　the　gray　dawn　Carley　dragged　her　bruised　and　aching　body　back　to　her　tent；　and；　fastening　the　door；　she　threw　off　wet　clothes　and　boots　and　fell　upon　her　bed。　Slumber　of　exhaustion　came　to　her。
  When　she　awoke　the　tent　was　light　and　the　moving　shadows　of　cedar　boughs　on　the　white　canvas　told　that　the　sun　was　straight　above。　Carley　ached　as　never　before。　A　deep　pang　seemed　invested　in　every　bone。　Her　heart　felt　swollen　out　of　proportion　to　its　space　in　her　breast。　Her　breathing　came　slow　and　it　hurt。　Her　blood　was　sluggish。　Suddenly　she　shut　her　eyes。　She　loathed　the　light　of　day。　What　was　it　that　had　happened？
  Then　the　brutal　truth　flashed　over　her　again；　in　aspect　new；　with　all　the　old　bitterness。　For　an　instant　she　experienced　a　suffocating　sensation　as　if　the　canvas　had　sagged　under　the　burden　of　heavy　air　and　was　crushing　her　breast　and　heart。　Then　wave　after　wave　of　emotion　swept　over　her。　The　storm　winds　of　grief　and　passion　were　loosened　again。　And　she　writhed　in　her　misery。
  Some　one　knocked　on　her　door。　The　Mexican　woman　called　anxiously。　Carley　awoke　to　the　fact　that　her　presence　was　not　solitary　on　the　physical　earth；　even　if　her　soul　seemed　stricken　to　eternal　loneliness。　Even　in　the　desert　there　was　a　world　to　consider。　Vanity　that　had　bled　to　death；　pride　that　had　been　crushed；　availed　her　not　here。　But　something　else　came　to　her　support。　The　lesson　of　the　West　had　been　to　endure；　not　to　shirkto　face　an　issue；　not　to　hide。　Carley　got　up；　bathed；　dressed；　brushed　and　arranged　her　dishevelled　hair。　The　face　she　saw　in　the　mirror　excited　her　amaze　and　pity。　Then　she　went　out　in　answer　to　the　call　for　dinner。　But　she　could　not　eat。　The　ordinary　functions　of　life　appeared　to　be　deadened。。
  The　day　happened　to　be　Sunday；　and　therefore　the　workmen　were　absent。　Carley　had　the　place　to　herself。　How　the　half…completed　house　mocked　her　I　She　could　not　bear　to　look　at　it。　What　use　could　she　make　of　it　now？　Flo　Hutter　had　become　the　working　comrade　of　Glenn　Kilbourne；　the　mistress　of　his　cabin。　She　was　his　wife　and　she　would　be　the　mother　of　his　children。
  That　thought　gave　birth　to　the　darkest　hour　of　Carley　Burch's　life。　She　became　possessed　as　by　a　thousand　devils。　She　became　merely　a　female　robbed　of　her　mate。　Reason　was　not　in　her；　nor　charity；　nor　justice。　All　that　was　abnormal　in　human　nature　seemed　coalesced　in　her；　dominant；　passionate；　savage；　terrible。　She　hated　with　an　incredible　and　insane　ferocity。　In　the　seclusion　of　her　tent；　crouched　on　her　bed；　silent；　locked；　motionless；　she　yet　was　the　embodiment　of　all　terrible　strife　and　storm　in　nature。　Her　heart　was　a　maelstrom　and　would　have　whirled　and　sucked　down　to　hell　all　the　beings　that　were　men。　Her　soul　was　a　bottomless　gulf；　filled　with　the　gales　and　the　fires　of　jealousy；　superhuman　to　destroy。
  That　fury　consumed　all　her　remaining　strength；　and　from　the　relapse　she　sank　to　sleep。
  Morning　brought　the　inevitable　reaction。　However　long　her　other　struggles；　this　monumental　and　final　one　would　be　brief。　She　realized　that；　yet　was　unable　to　understand　how　it　could　be　possible；　unless　shock　or　death　or　mental　aberration　ended　the　fight。　An　eternity　of　emotion　lay　back　between　this　awakening　of　intelligence　and　the　hour　of　her　fall　into　the　clutches　of　primitive　passion。
  That　morning　she　faced　herself　in　the　mirror　and　asked；　〃Nowwhat　do　I　owe　you？〃　It　was　not　her　voice　that　answered。　It　was　beyond　her。　But　it　said：　〃Go　on！　You　are　cut　adrift。　You　are　alone。　You　owe　none　but　yourself！　。　。　。　Go　on！　Not　backwardnot　to　the　depthsbut　upupward！〃
  She　shuddered　at　such　a　decree。　How　impossible　for　her！　All　animal；　all　woman；　all　emotion；　how　could　she　live　on　the　cold；　pure　heights？　Yet　she　owed　something　intangible　and　inscrutable　to　herself。　Was　it　the　thing　that　woman　lacked　physically；　yet　contained　hidden　in　her　soul？　An　element　of　eternal　spirit　to　rise！　Because　of　heartbreak　and　ruin　and　irreparable　loss　must　she　fall？　Was　loss　of　love　and　husband　and　children　only　a　test？　The　present　hour　would　be　swallowed　in　the　sum　of　life's　trials。　She　could　not　go　back。　She　would　not　go　down。　There　was　wrenched　from　her　tried　and　sore　heart　an　unalterable　and　unquenchable　decisionto　make　her　own　soul　prove　the　evolution　of　woman。　Vessel　of　blood　and　flesh　she　might　be；　doomed　by　nature　to　the　reproduction　of　her　kind；　but　she　had　in　her　the　supreme　spirit　and　power　to　carry　on　the　progress　of　the　agesthe　climb　of　woman　out　of　the　darkness。
  Carley　went　out　to　the　workmen。　The　house　should　be　completed　and　she　would　live　in　it。　Always　there　was　the　stretching　and　illimitable　desert　to　look　at；　and　the　grand　heave　upward　of　the　mountains。　Hoyle　was　full　of　zest　for　the　practical　details　of　the　building。　He　saw　nothing　of　the　havoc　wrought　in　her。　Nor　did　the　other　workmen　glance　more　than　casually　at　her。　In　this　Carley　lost　something　of　a　shirking　fear　that　her　loss　and　grief　were　patent　to　all　eyes。
  That　afternoon　she　mounted　the　most　spirited　of　the　mustangs　she　had　purchased　from　the　Indians。　To　govern　him　and　stick　on　him　required　all　her　energy。　And　she　rode　him　hard　and　far；　out　across　the　desert；　across　mile　after　mile　of　cedar　forest；　clear　to　the　foothills。　She　rested　there；　absorbed　in　gazing　desertward；　and　upon　turning　back　again；　she　ran　him　over　the　level　stretches。　Wind　and　branch　threshed　her　seemingly　to　ribbons。　Violence　seemed　good　for　her。　A　fall　had　no　fear　for　her　now。　She　reached　camp　at　dusk；　hot　as　fire；　breathless　and　strengthless。　But　she　had　earned　something。　Such　action　required　constant　use　of　muscle　and　mind。　If　need　be　she　could　drive　both　to　the　very　furthermost　limit。　She　could　ride　and　rideuntil　the　future；　like　the　immensity　of　the　desert　there；　might　swallow　her。　She　changed　her　clothes　and　rested　a　while。　The　call　to　supper　found　her　hungry。　In　this　fact　she　discovered　mockery　of　her　grief。　Love　was　not　the　food　of　life。　Exhausted　nature's　need　of　rest　and　sleep　was　no　respecter　of　a　woman's　emotion。
  Next　day　Carley　rode　northward；　wildly　and　fearlessly；　as　if　this　conscious　activity　was　the　initiative　of　an　endless　number　of　rides　that　were　to　save　her。　As　before　the　foothills　called　her；　and　she　went　on　until　she　came　to　a　very　high　one。
  Carley　dismounted　from　her　panting　horse；　answering　the　familiar　impulse　to　attain　heights　by　her　own　effort。
  〃Am　I　only　a　weakling？〃　she　asked　herself。　〃Only　a　creature　mined　by　the　fever　of　the　soul！　。　。　。　Thrown　from　one　emotion　to　another？　Never　the　same。　Yea