A Corner In Horses
: ARIZONA NIGHTS: Arizona Nights
It was dark night. The stay-herd bellowed frantically from one of the
big corrals; the cow-and-calf-herd from a second. Already the remuda,
driven in from the open plains, scattered about the thousand acres of
pasture. Away from the conveniences of fence and corral, men would
have had to patrol all night. Now, however, everyone was gathered
about the camp fire.
Probably forty cowboys were in the group
old John, who had been in the business forty years, and had punched
from the Rio Grande to the Pacific, to the Kid, who would have given
his chance of salvation if he could have been taken for ten years older
than he was. At the moment Jed Parker was holding forth to his friend
Johnny Stone in reference to another old crony who had that evening
joined the round-up.
"Johnny," inquired Jed with elaborate gravity, and entirely ignoring
the presence of the subject of conversation, "what is that thing just
beyond the fire, and where did it come from?"
Johnny Stone squinted to make sure.
"That?" he replied. "Oh, this evenin' the dogs see something run down
a hole, and they dug it out, and that's what they got."
The newcomer grinned.
"The trouble with you fellows," he proffered "is that you're so plumb
alkalied you don't know the real thing when you see it."
"That's right," supplemented Windy Bill drily. "HE come from New York."
"No!" cried Jed. "You don't say so? Did he come in one box or in two?"
Under cover of the laugh, the newcomer made a raid on the dutch ovens
and pails. Having filled his plate, he squatted on his heels and fell
to his belated meal. He was a tall, slab-sided individual, with a
lean, leathery face, a sweeping white moustache, and a grave and
sardonic eye. His leather chaps were plain and worn, and his hat had
been fashioned by time and wear into much individuality. I was not
surprised to hear him nicknamed Sacatone Bill.
"Just ask him how he got that game foot," suggested Johnny Stone to me
in an undertone, so, of course, I did not.
Later someone told me that the lameness resulted from his refusal of an
urgent invitation to return across a river. Mr. Sacatone Bill happened
not to be riding his own horse at the time.
The Cattleman dropped down beside me a moment later.
"I wish," said he in a low voice, "we could get that fellow talking.
He is a queer one. Pretty well educated apparently. Claims to be
writing a book of memoirs. Sometimes he will open up in good shape,
and sometimes he will not. It does no good to ask him direct, and he
is as shy as an old crow when you try to lead him up to a subject. We
must just lie low and trust to Providence."
A man was playing on the mouth organ. He played excellently well, with
all sorts of variations and frills. We smoked in silence. The deep
rumble of the cattle filled the air with its diapason. Always the
shrill coyotes raved out in the mesquite. Sacatone Bill had finished
his meal, and had gone to sit by Jed Parker, his old friend. They
talked together low-voiced. The evening grew, and the eastern sky
silvered over the mountains in anticipation of the moon.
Sacatone Bill suddenly threw back his head and laughed.
"Reminds me of the time I went to Colorado!" he cried.
"He's off!" whispered the Cattleman.
A dead silence fell on the circle. Everybody shifted position the
better to listen to the story of Sacatone Bill.
About ten year ago I got plumb sick of punchin' cows around my part of
the country. She hadn't rained since Noah, and I'd forgot what water
outside a pail or a trough looked like. So I scouted around inside of
me to see what part of the world I'd jump to, and as I seemed to know
as little of Colorado and minin' as anything else, I made up the pint
of bean soup I call my brains to go there. So I catches me a buyer at
Henson and turns over my pore little bunch of cattle and prepared to
fly. The last day I hauled up about twenty good buckets of water and
threw her up against the cabin. My buyer was settin' his hoss waitin'
for me to get ready. He didn't say nothin' until we'd got down about
ten mile or so.
"Mr. Hicks," says he, hesitatin' like, "I find it a good rule in this
country not to overlook other folks' plays, but I'd take it mighty kind
if you'd explain those actions of yours with the pails of water."
"Mr. Jones," says I, "it's very simple. I built that shack five year
ago, and it's never rained since. I just wanted to settle in my mind
whether or not that damn roof leaked."
So I quit Arizona, and in about a week I see my reflection in the
winders of a little place called Cyanide in the Colorado mountains.
Fellows, she was a bird. They wasn't a pony in sight, nor a squar'
foot of land that wasn't either street or straight up. It made me
plumb lonesome for a country where you could see a long ways even if
you didn't see much. And this early in the evenin' they wasn't hardly
anybody in the streets at all.
I took a look at them dark, gloomy, old mountains, and a sniff at a
breeze that would have frozen the whiskers of hope, and I made a dive
for the nearest lit winder. They was a sign over it that just said:
THIS IS A SALOON
I was glad they labelled her. I'd never have known it. They had a
fifteen-year old kid tendin' bar, no games goin', and not a soul in the
place.
"Sorry to disturb your repose, bub," says I, "but see if you can sort
out any rye among them collections of sassapariller of yours."
I took a drink, and then another to keep it company--I was beginnin' to
sympathise with anythin' lonesome. Then I kind of sauntered out to the
back room where the hurdy-gurdy ought to be.
Sure enough, there was a girl settin' on the pianner stool, another in
a chair, and a nice shiny Jew drummer danglin' his feet from a table.
They looked up when they see me come in, and went right on talkin'.
"Hello, girls!" says I.
At that they stopped talkin' complete.
"How's tricks?" says I.
"Who's your woolly friend?" the shiny Jew asks of the girls.
I looked at him a minute, but I see he'd been raised a pet, and then,
too, I was so hungry for sassiety I was willin' to pass a bet or two.
"Don't you ADMIRE these cow gents?" snickers one of the girls.
"Play somethin', sister," says I to the one at the pianner.
She just grinned at me.
"Interdooce me," says the drummer in a kind of a way that made them all
laugh a heap.
"Give us a tune," I begs, tryin' to be jolly, too.
"She don't know any pieces," says the Jew.
"Don't you?" I asks pretty sharp.
"No," says she.
"Well, I do," says I.
I walked up to her, jerked out my guns, and reached around both sides
of her to the pianner. I run the muzzles up and down the keyboard two
or three times, and then shot out half a dozen keys.
"That's the piece I know," says I.
But the other girl and the Jew drummer had punched the breeze.
The girl at the pianner just grinned, and pointed to the winder where
they was some ragged glass hangin'. She was dead game.
"Say, Susie," says I, "you're all right, but your friends is tur'ble.
I may be rough, and I ain't never been curried below the knees, but I'm
better to tie to than them sons of guns."
"I believe it," says she.
So we had a drink at the bar, and started out to investigate the
wonders of Cyanide.
Say, that night was a wonder. Susie faded after about three drinks,
but I didn't seem to mind that. I hooked up to another saloon kept by
a thin Dutchman. A fat Dutchman is stupid, but a thin one is all right.
In ten minutes I had more friends in Cyanide than they is fiddlers in
hell. I begun to conclude Cyanide wasn't so lonesome. About four
o'clock in comes a little Irishman about four foot high, with more
upper lip than a muley cow, and enough red hair to make an artificial
aurorer borealis. He had big red hands with freckles pasted onto them,
and stiff red hairs standin' up separate and lonesome like signal
stations. Also his legs was bowed.
He gets a drink at the bar, and stands back and yells:
"God bless the Irish and let the Dutch rustle!"
Now, this was none of my town, so I just stepped back of the end of the
bar quick where I wouldn't stop no lead. The shootin' didn't begin.
"Probably Dutchy didn't take no note of what the locoed little dogie
DID say," thinks I to myself.
The Irishman bellied up to the bar again, and pounded on it with his
fist.
"Look here!" he yells. "Listen to what I'm tellin' ye! God bless the
Irish and let the Dutch rustle! Do ye hear me?"
"Sure, I hear ye," says Dutchy, and goes on swabbin' his bar with a
towel.
At that my soul just grew sick. I asked the man next to me why Dutchy
didn't kill the little fellow.
"Kill him!" says this man. "What for?"
"For insultin' of him, of course."
"Oh, he's drunk," says the man, as if that explained anythin'.
That settled it with me. I left that place, and went home, and it
wasn't more than four o'clock, neither. No, I don't call four o'clock
late. It may be a little late for night before last, but it's just the
shank of the evenin' for to-night.
Well, it took me six weeks and two days to go broke. I didn't know sic
em, about minin'; and before long I KNEW that I didn't 'know sic 'em.
Most all day I poked around them mountains---not like our'n--too much
timber to be comfortable. At night I got to droppin' in at Dutchy's.
He had a couple of quiet games goin', and they was one fellow among
that lot of grubbin' prairie dogs that had heerd tell that cows had
horns. He was the wisest of the bunch on the cattle business. So I
stowed away my consolation, and made out to forget comparing Colorado
with God's country.
About three times a week this Irishman I told you of--name
O'Toole--comes bulgin' in. When he was sober he talked minin' high,
wide, and handsome. When he was drunk he pounded both fists on the bar
and yelled for action, tryin' to get Dutchy on the peck.
"God bless the Irish and let the Dutch rustle!" he yells about six
times. "Say, do you hear?"
"Sure," says Dutchy, calm as a milk cow, "sure, I hears ye!"
I was plumb sorry for O'Toole. I'd like to have given him a run; but,
of course, I couldn't take it up without makin' myself out a friend of
this Dutchy party, and I couldn't stand for that. But I did tackle
Dutchy about it one night when they wasn't nobody else there.
"Dutchy," says I, "what makes you let that bow-legged cross between a
bulldog and a flamin' red sunset tromp on you so? It looks to me like
you're plumb spiritless."
Dutchy stopped wiping glasses for a minute.
"Just you hold on" says he. "I ain't ready yet. Bimeby I make him
sick; also those others who laugh with him."
He had a little grey flicker in his eye, and I thinks to myself that
maybe they'd get Dutchy on the peck yet.
As I said, I went broke in just six weeks and two days. And I was
broke a plenty. No hold-outs anywhere. It was a heap long ways to
cows; and I'd be teetotally chawed up and spit out if I was goin' to
join these minin' terrapins defacin' the bosom of nature. It sure
looked to me like hard work.
While I was figurin' what next, Dutchy came in. Which I was tur'ble
surprised at that, but I said good-mornin' and would he rest his poor
feet.
"You like to make some money?" he asks.
"That depends," says I, "on how easy it is."
"It is easy," says he. "I want you to buy hosses for me."
"Hosses! Sure!" I yells, jumpin' up. "You bet you! Why, hosses is
where I live! What hosses do you want?"
"All hosses," says he, calm as a faro dealer.
"What?" says I. "Elucidate, my bucko. I don't take no such blanket
order. Spread your cards."
"I mean just that," says he. "I want you to buy all the hosses in this
camp, and in the mountains. Every one."
"Whew!" I whistles. "That's a large order. But I'm your meat."
"Come with me, then," says he. I hadn't but just got up, but I went
with him to his little old poison factory. Of course, I hadn't had no
breakfast; but he staked me to a Kentucky breakfast. What's a Kentucky
breakfast? Why, a Kentucky breakfast is a three-pound steak, a bottle
of whisky, and a setter dog. What's the dog for? Why, to eat the
steak, of course.
We come to an agreement. I was to get two-fifty a head commission. So
I started out. There wasn't many hosses in that country, and what
there was the owners hadn't much use for unless it was to work a whim.
I picked up about a hundred head quick enough, and reported to Dutchy.
"How about burros and mules?" I asks Dutchy.
"They goes," says he. "Mules same as hosses; burros four bits a head to
you."
At the end of a week I had a remuda of probably two hundred animals.
We kept them over the hills in some "parks," as these sots call meadows
in that country. I rode into town and told Dutchy.
"Got them all?" he asks.
"All but a cross-eyed buckskin that's mean, and the bay mare that Noah
bred to."
"Get them," says he.
"The bandits want too much," I explains.
"Get them anyway," says he.
I went away and got them. It was scand'lous; such prices.
When I hit Cyanide again I ran into scenes of wild excitement. The
whole passel of them was on that one street of their'n, talkin' sixteen
ounces to the pound. In the middle was Dutchy, drunk as a soldier-just
plain foolish drunk.
"Good Lord!" thinks I to myself, "he ain't celebratin' gettin' that
bunch of buzzards, is he?"
But I found he wasn't that bad. When he caught sight of me, he fell on
me drivellin'.
"Look there!" he weeps, showin' me a letter.
I was the last to come in; so I kept that letter--here she is. I'll
read her.
Dear Dutchy:--I suppose you thought I'd flew the coop, but I haven't
and this is to prove it. Pack up your outfit and hit the trail. I've
made the biggest free gold strike you ever see. I'm sending you
specimens. There's tons just like it, tons and tons. I got all the
claims I can hold myself; but there's heaps more. I've writ to Johnny
and Ed at Denver to come on. Don't give this away. Make tracks. Come
in to Buck Canon in the Whetstones and oblige.
Yours truly,
Henry Smith
Somebody showed me a handful of white rock with yeller streaks in it.
His eyes was bulgin' until you could have hung your hat on them. That
O'Toole party was walkin' around, wettin' his lips with his tongue and
swearin' soft.
"God bless the Irish and let the Dutch rustle!" says he. "And the fool
had to get drunk and give it away!"
The excitement was just started, but it didn't last long. The crowd
got the same notion at the same time, and it just melted. Me and
Dutchy was left alone.
I went home. Pretty soon a fellow named Jimmy Tack come around a
little out of breath.
"Say, you know that buckskin you bought off'n me?" says he, "I want to
buy him back."
"Oh, you do," says I.
"Yes," says he. "I've got to leave town for a couple of days, and I
got to have somethin' to pack."
"Wait and I'll see," says I.
Outside the door I met another fellow.
"Look here," he stops me with. "How about that bay mare I sold you?
Can you call that sale off? I got to leave town for a day or two and--"
"Wait," says I. "I'll see."
By the gate was another hurryin' up.
"Oh, yes," says I when he opens his mouth. "I know all your troubles.
You have to leave town for a couple of days, and you want back that
lizard you sold me. Well, wait."
After that I had to quit the main street and dodge back of the hog
ranch. They was all headed my way. I was as popular as a snake in a
prohibition town.
I hit Dutchy's by the back door.
"Do you want to sell hosses?" I asks. "Everyone in town wants to buy."
Dutchy looked hurt.
"I wanted to keep them for the valley market," says he, "but--How much
did you give Jimmy Tack for his buckskin?"
"Twenty," says I.
"Well, let him have it for eighty," says Dutchy; "and the others in
proportion."
I lay back and breathed hard.
"Sell them all, but the one best hoss," says he--"no, the TWO best."
"Holy smoke!" says I, gettin' my breath. "If you mean that, Dutchy, you
lend me another gun and give me a drink."
He done so, and I went back home to where the whole camp of Cyanide was
waitin'.
I got up and made them a speech and told them I'd sell them hosses all
right, and to come back. Then I got an Injin boy to help, and we
rustled over the remuda and held them in a blind canon. Then I called
up these miners one at a time, and made bargains with them. Roar!
Well, you could hear them at Denver, they tell me, and the weather
reports said, "Thunder in the mountains." But it was cash on delivery,
and they all paid up. They had seen that white quartz with the gold
stickin' into it, and that's the same as a dose of loco to miner gents.
Why didn't I take a hoss and start first? I did think of it--for about
one second. I wouldn't stay in that country then for a million dollars
a minute. I was plumb sick and loathin' it, and just waitin' to make
high jumps back to Arizona. So I wasn't aimin' to join this stampede,
and didn't have no vivid emotions.
They got to fightin' on which should get the first hoss; so I bent my
gun on them and made them draw lots. They roared some more, but done
so; and as fast as each one handed over his dust or dinero he made a
rush for his cabin, piled on his saddle and pack, and pulled his
freight on a cloud of dust. It was sure a grand stampede, and I
enjoyed it no limit.
So by sundown I was alone with the Injin. Those two hundred head
brought in about twenty thousand dollars. It was heavy, but I could
carry it. I was about alone in the landscape; and there were the two
best hosses I had saved out for Dutchy. I was sure some tempted. But
I had enough to get home on anyway; and I never yet drank behind the
bar, even if I might hold up the saloon from the floor. So I grieved
some inside that I was so tur'ble conscientious, shouldered the sacks,
and went down to find Dutchy.
I met him headed his way, and carryin' of a sheet of paper.
"Here's your dinero," says I, dumpin' the four big sacks on the ground.
He stooped over and hefted them. Then he passed one over to me.
"What's that for?" I asks.
"For you," says he.
"My commission ain't that much," I objects.
"You've earned it," says he, "and you might have skipped with the whole
wad."
"How did you know I wouldn't?" I asks.
"Well," says he, and I noted that jag of his had flew. "You see, I was
behind that rock up there, and I had you covered."
I saw; and I began to feel better about bein' so tur'ble conscientious.
We walked a little ways without sayin' nothin'.
"But ain't you goin' to join the game?" I asks.
"Guess not," says he, jinglin' of his gold. "I'm satisfied."
"But if you don't get a wiggle on you, you are sure goin' to get left
on those gold claims," says I.
"There ain't no gold claims," says he.
"But Henry Smith--" I cries.
"There ain't no Henry Smith," says he.
I let that soak in about six inches.
"But there's a Buck Canon," I pleads. "Please say there's a Buck Canon."
"Oh, yes, there's a Buck Canon," he allows. "Nice limestone
formation--make good hard water."
"Well, you're a marvel," says I.
We walked together down to Dutchy's saloon.
We stopped outside.
"Now," says he, "I'm goin' to take one of those hosses and go
somewheres else. Maybe you'd better do likewise on the other."
"You bet I will," says I.
He turned around and taked up the paper he was carryin'. It was a
sign. It read:
THE DUTCH HAS RUSTLED
"Nice sentiment," says I. "It will be appreciated when the crowd comes
back from that little pasear into Buck Canon. But why not tack her up
where the trail hits the camp? Why on this particular door?"
"Well," said Dutchy, squintin' at the sign sideways, "you see I sold
this place day before yesterday--to Mike O'Toole."
More
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The Fight
At about the time that Chavis and Kester had discovered Ruth's pony and had clambered up the slope in search of the girl, the two figures on the timber-fringed level near the break in the canyon wall were making grotesque shadows as they danced ab... Hagar's Eyes
Randerson had been in no hurry to make an attempt to catch the rustlers whose depredations he had reported to Ruth. He had told the men to be doubly alert to their work, and he had hired two new men--from the Diamond H--to replace those who had le... One Too Many
To no man in the outfit did Randerson whisper a word concerning the result of his visit to the ranchhouse--that he would cease to be the Flying W range boss just as soon as Ruth Harkness could find a man to replace him. He went his way, thoughtful... The Rustlers
At about the time Randerson was crossing the river near the point where the path leading to Catherson's shack joined the Lazette trail, Ruth Harkness was loping her pony rapidly toward him. They passed each other within a mile, but both were uncon... The Target
Earlier in the morning, Ruth had watched Uncle Jepson and Aunt Martha ride away in the buckboard toward Lazette. She had stood on the porch, following them with her eyes until the buckboard had grown dim in her vision--a mere speck crawling over a... At The Flying W
It fell to Uncle Jepson to hitch the blacks to the buckboard--in a frigid silence Masten had found his trunk, opened it and drawn out some very necessary dry clothing; then marching behind a thick clump of alder, he proceeded to make the change. A... Love Vs Business
On Sunday afternoon Ruth, Masten, Aunt Martha, and Uncle Jepson were sitting on the front porch of the Flying W ranchhouse. Ruth was reading and thinking--thinking most of the time, the book lying open in her lap. Masten was smoking a cigar--one o... A Man And His Job
Just what Ruth's sensations were the next morning she could not have told. She could correctly analyze one emotion: it was eager anticipation. Also, she could account for it--she wanted to see Randerson. But her reason for wanting to see him was a... The Gunfighter
Red Owen, foreman of the Flying W in place of Tom Chavis, resigned, was stretched out on his blanket, his head propped up with an arm, looking at the lazy, licking flames of the campfire. He was whispering to Bud Taylor, named by Randerson to do d... A Man Is Born Again
The meeting between Catherson and Randerson had taken the edge off Catherson's frenzy, but it had not shaken his determination. He had been in the grip of an insane wrath when he had gone to see the Flying W range boss. His passions had ruled him,... Dave Porter's Past
"What do you think of that, fellows?" asked Roger, as he concluded the reading of the letter. "I am not surprised," answered Dave. "Now that Merwell finds he can't show himself where he is known, he must be very bitter in mind." "I thought he... The Bubble Dreams
Loping his pony through the golden haze of the afternoon, Randerson came over the plains toward the Flying W ranchhouse, tingling with anticipation. The still small voice to which he had listened in the days before Ruth's coming had not lied to hi... The Landslide Mine
"Roger, that sounds like a fairy tale--a real gold mine belonging to your mother lost through a landslide!" "So it does sound like a fairy tale, Dave; but it is absolutely true. The mine was owned by my uncle, Maurice Harrison, of Butte, Montana... 0n The Snow-trail
Aline had passed into the house, moved by an instinct which shrank from publicity in the inevitable personal meeting between her and her husband. Now, Harley, with the cavalier nod of dismissal, which only a multimillionaire can afford, followed her... A Band Of Guerrillas
Madeline bolted the door, and, flying into the kitchen, she told the scared servants to shut themselves in. Then she ran to her own rooms. It was only a matter of a few moments for her to close and bar the heavy shutters, yet even as she was fasteni... A Bargain
Melissy saw the two prisoners brought in, though she could not tell at that distance who they were. Her watch told her that it was four-thirty. She had slept scarcely at all during the night, but now she lay down on the bed in her clothes. The ... A Bargain With Peg-leg
"Hey, youse!" shouted the car-boy. He brought his trundling, jolting, loose-jointed car to a halt by the face of the drift. "Hey, youse!" he shouted again. Bunt shut off the Burly air-drill and nodded. "Chaw," he remarked to me. We clamber... A Bear Trap
The winding trail led up to the scrub pines and from there north into the hills. Curly had not traveled far when he heard the sound of a gun fired three times in quick succession. He stopped to listen. Presently there came a faint far call for hel... A Bit Of Paper
Good Indian came out upon the rim-rock, looked down upon the ranch beneath him, and knew, by various little movements about the place, that breakfast was not yet ready. Gene was carrying two pails of milk to the house, and Wally and Jack were wateri... A Blizzard
Moya found in Goldbanks much to interest her. Its helter-skelter streets following the line of least resistance, its slapdash buildings, the scarred hillsides dotted with red shaft-houses beneath which straggled slate-colored dumps like long beard... A Bluff Is Called
Torpid lay Aravaipa in a coma of sunheat. Its adobe-lined streets basked in the white glare of an Arizona spring at midday. One or two Papago Indians, with their pottery wares, squatted in the shade of the buildings, but otherwise the plaza was dese... A Bound Boy's Story
With the horses gone beyond recapture, Big Pete must needs depend on his own legs if he meant to escape. The constable's party could not be far behind, and with the boy, whose throat he clutched, to point the way in which he had gone, when the off... A Branch Road
I "Keep the main-travelled road till you come to a branch leading off-keep to the right." IN the windless September dawn a voice went singing, a man's voice, singing a cheap and common air. Yet something in the elan of it all told he was you... A Buckshot Greeting
"Oh, the cows stampede on the Rio Grande! The Rio! The sands do blow, and the winds do wail, But I want to be wheah the cactus stands! And the rattlah shakes his ornery tail!" Kid Wolf sang his favorite verse to his favorit... A Call For Help
That night the wire across the mountains to Prescott was long alive with news, and there was little rest for operator, adjutant, or commanding officer at Sandy. Colonel Byrne, it seems, had lost telegraphic touch with his chief, who, quitting Camp... A Capture
Flatray swung around Old Baldy through the sparse timber that edged its roots. He knew this country well; for he had run cattle here, and combed the draws and ridges on the annual spring and fall round-ups. There was no trail to follow. Often th... A Carpet Knight Indeed
The flag at Camp Sandy drooped from the peak. Except by order it never hung halfway. The flag at the agency fluttered no higher than the cross-trees, telling that Death had loved some shining mark and had not sued in vain. Under this symbol of mou... A Change Of Base
Stratton staggered back against the wall and leaned there, panting. All his strength had gone out in that last terrific blow, and for a space he seemed incapable of movement. At length, conscious of a warm, moist trickle on his chin, he raised one... A Clean Up
A slight accident occurred at the jail, one so unimportant that Scanlan the jailer did not think it worth reporting to his chief. Blackwell, while eating, knocked a glass from the table and broke it on the cement floor of his cell. There is a lege... A Clean White Man's Option
The light of a lantern coming down the steps blinded them for a moment. Behind the lantern peered the yellow face of the turnkey. "Ho, there, Americano! They want you up above," the man said. "The generals, and the colonels, and the captains want a ... A Compromise
Luck lay stretched full length on a bunk, his face, to the roof, a wreath of smoke from his cigar traveling slowly toward the ceiling into a filmy blue cloud which hung above him. He looked the personification of vigorous full-blooded manhood at e... A Concert In The Moonlight
Night fell on San Leon; and the searching party which had gone out in the morning, sure of prompt success, returned tired and dispirited. But their places were immediately taken by fresh recruits, Mr. Ford announcing that the matter would not be d... A Conspiracy
Tucked away in an obscure corner of the same issue of the papers which announced the resignation of Lyndon Hobart as manager of the Consolidated properties, and the appointment of James K. Mott as his temporary successor, were little one-stick parag... A Conversation
Not five minutes after Melissy had left the deputy sheriff, another rider galloped up the road. Jack, returning from his room, where he had left the box of gold locked up, waited on the porch to see who this might be. The horseman proved to be t... A Conversation
Bucky O'Connor and his prisoner swung down the street side by side and turned in at the headquarters of the rangers. The officer switched on the light, shut the door, and indicated a chair. From his desk he drew a box of cigars. He struck a match ... A Convert Of The Mission
The largest tent of the Tasajara camp meeting was crowded to its utmost extent. The excitement of that dense mass was at its highest pitch. The Reverend Stephen Masterton, the single erect, passionate figure of that confused medley of kneeling wor... A Corner In Horses
It was dark night. The stay-herd bellowed frantically from one of the big corrals; the cow-and-calf-herd from a second. Already the remuda, driven in from the open plains, scattered about the thousand acres of pasture. Away from the conveniences ... A Crossed Trail
The tenderfoot rose from the ledge upon which he had been lying and stretched himself stiffly. The chill of the long night had set him shivering. His bones ached from the pressure of his body upon the rock where he had slept and waked and dozed ag... A Crusader And A Sign
It was the 4th of August, 1854, off Cape Corrientes. Morning was breaking over a heavy sea, and the closely-reefed topsails of a barque that ran before it bearing down upon the faint outline of the Mexican coast. Already the white peak of Colima s... A Cup Of Cold Water
The pursuers caught up with the Utes the third day out from Bear Cat. It was in the morning, shortly after they had broken camp, that Houck and Big Bill while scouting in advance of the troop jumped up an Indian out of the sagebrush. He made ac... A Dastard's Blow
At about the time when Rexhill was freeing Moran from his bonds, Wade and Santry, with rifles slung across their backs were tramping the banks of Piah Creek. In the rocky canyon, which they finally reached, the placid little stream narrowed into a... A Day's Pleasure
"Mainly it is long and weariful, and has a home o' toil at one end and a dull little town at the other." WHEN Markham came in from shoveling his last wagon-load of corn into the crib, he found that his wife had put the children to bed, and was kn... A Dead Man Walks
Harlan had paid strict attention to Lane Morgan's words at Sentinel Rock, and he remembered that Morgan had told him that his son, whom he had called "Bill," had left the Rancho Seco on some mission for the governor. Evidently it had not occurred ... A Desert Meeting
An automobile shot out from a gash in the hills and slipped swiftly down to the butte. Here it came to a halt on the white, dusty road, while its occupant gazed with eager, unsated eyes on the great panorama that stretched before her. The earth roll... A Desert Rider
From out of the shimmering haze that veiled the mystic eastern space came a big black horse bearing a rider. Swinging wide, to avoid the feathery dust that lay at the base of a huge sand dune, the black horse loped, making no sound, and seeming to... A Dinner For Three
"I thought we bumped you off down at Epitaph," Leroy said. "Along with Scott? Well, no. You see, I'm a regular cat to kill, Mr. Leroy, and I couldn't conscientiously join the angels with so lame a story as a game laig to explain my coming," said C... A Dual Tragedy
Harlan and Morgan had made a thorough search of Haydon's desk in the latter's office in the ranchhouse, and they had found letters addressed to Haydon--received at various towns in the vicinity and proving Morgan's charges against him. And upon se... A Family Reunion
The hospitality of a trail wagon was aptly expressed in the invitation to enjoy ourselves. Some one had exercised good judgment in selecting a camp, for every convenience was at hand, including running water and ample shade from a clump of cottonwoo... A Fight With A Fury
The noonday sun was staring hotly down, an hour later, on a stirring picture of frontier warfare, with that clump of cottonwoods as the central feature. Well for Ray's half hundred, that brilliant autumn morning, that their leader had had so many ... A Find In The Sands
The late afternoon of an eventful day had come to camp Sandy--just such another day, from a meteorological viewpoint, as that on which this story opened nearly twenty-four hours earlier by the shadows on the eastward cliffs. At Tuesday's sunset th... A Friend In Need
Stevenson, having started the fire for breakfast, took a pail and departed towards the spring; but he got no farther than the corral gate, where he dropped the pail and stared. There was only one horse in the enclosure where the night before there h... A Game Of Poker
A whitened human skull, fastened to a post by a rusty tenpenny nail, served as a signboard and notified the passing traveler that he was about to enter the limits of Skull, New Mexico. "Oh, we're ridin' 'way from Texas, and the Rio, Comin' ... A Gathering Of Oak Hall Boys
"Well, they are gone, that's certain!" "Yes, and there is no telling where they went to." "Must have slipped out by a back way." "They sure are a slick pair." It was some time later, and Dave and the other boys stood on the broad piazza ... A Gentleman Of The Range
When Madeline Hammond stepped from the train at El Cajon, New Mexico, it was nearly midnight, and her first impression was of a huge dark space of cool, windy emptiness, strange and silent, stretching away under great blinking white stars. "Miss,... A Gift And A Purchase
For a week the scene of the round-up lay within riding-distance of the ranch-house, and Madeline passed most of this time in the saddle, watching the strenuous labors of the vaqueros and cowboys. She overestimated her strength, and more than once ha... A Girl Waits
Lamo, sprawling on a sun-baked plain perhaps a mile from the edge of the desert, was one of those towns which owed its existence to the instinct of men to foregather. It also was indebted for its existence to the greed of a certain swarthy-faced s... A Gleam Of Sunshine
While these various passions had been kindled by her compatriots in the peaceful ashes of Todos Santos, Eleanor Keene had moved among them indifferently and, at times, unconsciously. The stranding of her young life on that unknown shore had not dr... A Good Samaritan
Fendrick had told the exact truth. After leaving him Kate had ridden forward to the canyon and entered it. She did not mean to go much farther, but she took her time. More than once she slipped from under a fold of her waist a letter and reread se... A Good Samaritan
Yesler, still moving slowly with a walking stick by reason of his green wound, left the street-car and made his way up Forest Road to the house which bore the number 792. In the remote past there had been some spasmodic attempt to cultivate grass an... A Grave Discovery
Only an hour was the major away from his post. He came back in time for guard mounting and the reports of the officers-of-the-day. He had reason to be on the parade at the "assembly of the details," not so much to watch the work of the post adjuta... A Handsome Cowboy To The Rescue
Beatrice took immediate possession of the front seat, that she might comfort her heartbroken young nephew. "Never mind, honey. They'll bring the horses back in a minute, and we'll make them run every step. And when you get to Uncle Dick's ranch ... A Hero Is Embarrassed
Following the Ute War, as it came to be called, there was a period of readjustment on the Rio Blanco. The whites had driven off the horses and the stock of the Indians. Two half-grown boys appropriated a flock of several thousand sheep belonging t... A Highgrader In Principle
In spite of the warm defense she had made of Kilmeny, the heart of Moya was troubled. She knew him to be reckless. The boundaries of ethical conduct were not the same for him as for Lord Farquhar, for instance. He had told her as much in those sum... A Horseman Of The Hills
Patty Sinclair reined in her horse at the top of a low divide and gazed helplessly around her. The trail that had grown fainter and fainter with its ascent of the creek bed disappeared entirely at the slope of loose rock and bunch grass that slant... A Journey And A Dark Man
Alaire's preparations for the journey to La Feria were made with little delay. Owing to the condition of affairs across the border, Ellsworth had thought it well to provide her with letters from the most influential Mexicans in the neighborhood; w... A Judicial Puppet
Bowling along over the new tracks toward Manti in a special car secured at Dry Bottom by Corrigan, one compartment of which was packed closely with books, papers, ledger records, legal documents, blanks, and even office furniture, Judge Lindman wa... A Kinsman Of Red Cloud
I It was thirty minutes before a June sundown at the post, and the first call had sounded for parade. Over in the barracks the two companies and the single troop lounged a moment longer, then laid their police literature down, and lifted their ... A Leading Lady They Would Make Of Jean
Sometimes events follow docilely the plans that would lead them out of the future of possibilities and into the present of actualities, and sometimes they bring with them other events which no man may foresee unless he is indeed a prophet. You woul... A Letter With A Moral
The letter which the Virginian wrote to Molly Wood was, as has been stated, the first that he had ever addressed to her. I think, perhaps, he may have been a little shy as to his skill in the epistolary art, a little anxious lest any sustained pro... A Little Brother Of The Cows
Crosswater Gap, so named because the high pass over which the railroad finds its way is anything but a gap, and, save when the winter snows are melting, there is no water within a day's march, was in sight from the loopings of the eastern approach... A Little Enlightenment
Sometime in the night Jean awoke to hear footsteps in the corridor outside her room. She sat up with a start, and her right hand went groping for her gun. Just for the moment she thought that she was in her room at the Lazy A, and that the night-p... A Little Lunch At Aphonse's
It chanced that Ridgway, through the swinging door of a department store, caught a glimpse of Miss Balfour as he was striding along the street. He bethought him that it was the hour of luncheon, and that she was no end better company than the revamp...