Brown Of Calaveras
: Selected StoriesA subdued tone of conversation, and the absence of cigar smoke and boot
heels at the windows of the Wingdam stagecoach, made it evident that
one of the inside passengers was a woman. A disposition on the part
of loungers at the stations to congregate before the window, and some
concern in regard to the appearance of coats, hats, and collars, further
indicated that she was lovely. All of which Mr. Jack Hamlin, on the
bo
depreciated the sex, but that he recognized therein a deceitful element,
the pursuit of which sometimes drew mankind away from the equally
uncertain blandishments of poker--of which it may be remarked that Mr.
Hamlin was a professional exponent.
So that when he placed his narrow boot on the wheel and leaped down,
he did not even glance at the window from which a green veil was
fluttering, but lounged up and down with that listless and grave
indifference of his class, which was, perhaps, the next thing to good
breeding. With his closely buttoned figure and self-contained air he
was a marked contrast to the other passengers, with their feverish
restlessness and boisterous emotion; and even Bill Masters, a graduate
of Harvard, with his slovenly dress, his overflowing vitality, his
intense appreciation of lawlessness and barbarism, and his mouth filled
with crackers and cheese, I fear cut but an unromantic figure beside
this lonely calculator of chances, with his pale Greek face and Homeric
gravity.
The driver called "All aboard!" and Mr. Hamlin returned to the coach.
His foot was upon the wheel, and his face raised to the level of the
open window, when, at the same moment, what appeared to him to be the
finest eyes in the world suddenly met his. He quietly dropped down
again, addressed a few words to one of the inside passengers, effected
an exchange of seats, and as quietly took his place inside. Mr. Hamlin
never allowed his philosophy to interfere with decisive and prompt
action.
I fear that this irruption of Jack cast some restraint upon the other
passengers--particularly those who were making themselves most agreeable
to the lady. One of them leaned forward, and apparently conveyed to
her information regarding Mr. Hamlin's profession in a single epithet.
Whether Mr. Hamlin heard it, or whether he recognized in the informant
a distinguished jurist from whom, but a few evenings before, he had won
several thousand dollars, I cannot say. His colorless face betrayed no
sign; his black eyes, quietly observant, glanced indifferently past the
legal gentleman, and rested on the much more pleasing features of
his neighbor. An Indian stoicism--said to be an inheritance from his
maternal ancestor--stood him in good service, until the rolling wheels
rattled upon the river gravel at Scott's Ferry, and the stage drew up at
the International Hotel for dinner. The legal gentleman and a member of
Congress leaped out, and stood ready to assist the descending goddess,
while Colonel Starbottle, of Siskiyou, took charge of her parasol and
shawl. In this multiplicity of attention there was a momentary confusion
and delay. Jack Hamlin quietly opened the OPPOSITE door of the coach,
took the lady's hand--with that decision and positiveness which a
hesitating and undecided sex know how to admire--and in an instant had
dexterously and gracefully swung her to the ground, and again lifted her
to the platform. An audible chuckle on the box, I fear, came from
that other cynic, "Yuba Bill," the driver. "Look keerfully arter that
baggage, Kernel," said the expressman, with affected concern, as he
looked after Colonel Starbottle, gloomily bringing up the rear of the
triumphant procession to the waiting-room.
Mr. Hamlin did not stay for dinner. His horse was already saddled, and
awaiting him. He dashed over the ford, up the gravelly hill, and
out into the dusty perspective of the Wingdam road, like one leaving
pleasant fancy behind him. The inmates of dusty cabins by the roadside
shaded their eyes with their hands and looked after him, recognizing the
man by his horse, and speculating what "was up with Comanche Jack." Yet
much of this interest centered in the horse, in a community where
the time made by "French Pete's" mare in his run from the Sheriff of
Calaveras eclipsed all concern in the ultimate fate of that worthy.
The sweating flanks of his gray at length recalled him to himself. He
checked his speed, and, turning into a by-road, sometimes used as a
cutoff, trotted leisurely along, the reins hanging listlessly from
his fingers. As he rode on, the character of the landscape changed and
became more pastoral. Openings in groves of pine and sycamore disclosed
some rude attempts at cultivation--a flowering vine trailed over the
porch of one cabin, and a woman rocked her cradled babe under the roses
of another. A little farther on Mr. Hamlin came upon some barelegged
children wading in the willowy creek, and so wrought upon them with a
badinage peculiar to himself that they were emboldened to climb up
his horse's legs and over his saddle, until he was fain to develop an
exaggerated ferocity of demeanor, and to escape, leaving behind some
kisses and coin. And then, advancing deeper into the woods, where all
signs of habitation failed, he began to sing--uplifting a tenor so
singularly sweet, and shaded by a pathos so subduing and tender, that I
wot the robins and linnets stopped to listen. Mr. Hamlin's voice was not
cultivated; the subject of his song was some sentimental lunacy borrowed
from the Negro minstrels; but there thrilled through all some occult
quality of tone and expression that was unspeakably touching. Indeed, it
was a wonderful sight to see this sentimental blackleg, with a pack of
cards in his pocket and a revolver at his back, sending his voice before
him through the dim woods with a plaint about his "Nelly's grave" in a
way that overflowed the eyes of the listener. A sparrow hawk, fresh from
his sixth victim, possibly recognizing in Mr. Hamlin a kindred spirit,
stared at him in surprise, and was fain to confess the superiority of
man. With a superior predatory capacity, HE couldn't sing.
But Mr. Hamlin presently found himself again on the highroad, and at his
former pace. Ditches and banks of gravel, denuded hillsides, stumps,
and decayed trunks of trees, took the place of woodland and ravine, and
indicated his approach to civilization. Then a church steeple came in
sight, and he knew that he had reached home. In a few moments he was
clattering down the single narrow street that lost itself in a chaotic
ruin of races, ditches, and tailings at the foot of the hill, and
dismounted before the gilded windows of the "Magnolia" saloon. Passing
through the long barroom, he pushed open a green-baize door, entered a
dark passage, opened another door with a passkey, and found himself in
a dimly lighted room whose furniture, though elegant and costly for the
locality, showed signs of abuse. The inlaid center table was overlaid
with stained disks that were not contemplated in the original design.
The embroidered armchairs were discolored, and the green velvet lounge,
on which Mr. Hamlin threw himself, was soiled at the foot with the red
soil of Wingdam.
Mr. Hamlin did not sing in his cage. He lay still, looking at a highly
colored painting above him representing a young creature of opulent
charms. It occurred to him then, for the first time, that he had never
seen exactly that kind of a woman, and that if he should, he would not,
probably, fall in love with her. Perhaps he was thinking of another
style of beauty. But just then someone knocked at the door. Without
rising, he pulled a cord that apparently shot back a bolt, for the door
swung open, and a man entered.
The newcomer was broad-shouldered and robust--a vigor not borne out in
the face, which, though handsome, was singularly weak, and disfigured by
dissipation. He appeared to be also under the influence of liquor, for
he started on seeing Mr. Hamlin, and said, "I thought Kate was here,"
stammered, and seemed confused and embarrassed.
Mr. Hamlin smiled the smile which he had before worn on the Wingdam
coach, and sat up, quite refreshed and ready for business.
"You didn't come up on the stage," continued the newcomer, "did you?"
"No," replied Hamlin; "I left it at Scott's Ferry. It isn't due for half
an hour yet. But how's luck, Brown?"
"Damn bad," said Brown, his face suddenly assuming an expression of weak
despair; "I'm cleaned out again, Jack," he continued, in a whining tone
that formed a pitiable contrast to his bulky figure, "can't you help me
with a hundred till tomorrow's cleanup? You see I've got to send money
home to the old woman, and--you've won twenty times that amount from
me."
The conclusion was, perhaps, not entirely logical, but Jack overlooked
it, and handed the sum to his visitor. "The old-woman business is about
played out, Brown," he added, by way of commentary; "why don't you say
you want to buck agin' faro? You know you ain't married!"
"Fact, sir," said Brown, with a sudden gravity, as if the mere contact
of the gold with the palm of the hand had imparted some dignity to his
frame. "I've got a wife--a damned good one, too, if I do say it--in the
States. It's three year since I've seen her, and a year since I've writ
to her. When things is about straight, and we get down to the lead, I'm
going to send for her."
"And Kate?" queried Mr. Hamlin, with his previous smile.
Mr. Brown of Calaveras essayed an archness of glance, to cover his
confusion, which his weak face and whisky-muddled intellect but poorly
carried out, and said:
"Damn it, Jack, a man must have a little liberty, you know. But
come, what do you say to a little game? Give us a show to double this
hundred."
Jack Hamlin looked curiously at his fatuous friend. Perhaps he knew that
the man was predestined to lose the money, and preferred that it should
flow back into his own coffers rather than any other. He nodded his
head, and drew his chair toward the table. At the same moment there came
a rap upon the door.
"It's Kate," said Mr. Brown.
Mr. Hamlin shot back the bolt, and the door opened. But, for the
first time in his life, he staggered to his feet, utterly unnerved and
abashed, and for the first time in his life the hot blood crimsoned his
colorless cheeks to his forehead. For before him stood the lady he had
lifted from the Wingdam coach, whom Brown--dropping his cards with a
hysterical laugh--greeted as:
"My old woman, by thunder!"
They say that Mrs. Brown burst into tears, and reproaches of her
husband. I saw her, in 1857, at Marysville, and disbelieve the story.
And the WINGDAM CHRONICLE, of the next week, under the head of "Touching
Reunion," said: "One of those beautiful and touching incidents, peculiar
to California life, occurred last week in our city. The wife of one of
Wingdam's eminent pioneers, tired of the effete civilization of the East
and its inhospitable climate, resolved to join her noble husband
upon these golden shores. Without informing him of her intention,
she undertook the long journey, and arrived last week. The joy of the
husband may be easier imagined than described. The meeting is said
to have been indescribably affecting. We trust her example may be
followed."
Whether owing to Mrs. Brown's influence, or to some more successful
speculations, Mr. Brown's financial fortune from that day steadily
improved. He bought out his partners in the "Nip and Tuck" lead, with
money which was said to have been won at poker, a week or two after his
wife's arrival, but which rumor, adopting Mrs. Brown's theory that Brown
had forsworn the gaming-table, declared to have been furnished by Mr.
Jack Hamlin. He built and furnished the "Wingdam House," which pretty
Mrs. Brown's great popularity kept overflowing with guests. He was
elected to the Assembly, and gave largess to churches. A street in
Wingdam was named in his honor.
Yet it was noted that in proportion as he waxed wealthy and fortunate,
he grew pale, thin, and anxious. As his wife's popularity increased,
he became fretful and impatient. The most uxorious of husbands, he
was absurdly jealous. If he did not interfere with his wife's social
liberty, it was because it was maliciously whispered that his first and
only attempt was met by an outburst from Mrs. Brown that terrified him
into silence. Much of this kind of gossip came from those of her own sex
whom she had supplanted in the chivalrous attentions of Wingdam, which,
like most popular chivalry, was devoted to an admiration of power,
whether of masculine force or feminine beauty. It should be remembered,
too, in her extenuation that since her arrival, she had been the
unconscious priestess of a mythological worship, perhaps not more
ennobling to her womanhood than that which distinguished an older Greek
democracy. I think that Brown was dimly conscious of this. But his only
confidant was Jack Hamlin, whose INFELIX reputation naturally precluded
any open intimacy with the family, and whose visits were infrequent.
It was midsummer, and a moonlit night; and Mrs. Brown, very rosy,
large-eyed, and pretty, sat upon the piazza, enjoying the fresh incense
of the mountain breeze, and, it is to be feared, another incense
which was not so fresh, nor quite as innocent. Beside her sat Colonel
Starbottle and Judge Boompointer, and a later addition to her court in
the shape of a foreign tourist. She was in good spirits.
"What do you see down the road?" inquired the gallant Colonel, who had
been conscious, for the last few minutes, that Mrs. Brown's attention
was diverted.
"Dust," said Mrs. Brown, with a sigh. "Only Sister Anne's 'flock of
sheep.'"
The Colonel, whose literary recollections did not extend farther back
than last week's paper, took a more practical view. "It ain't sheep," he
continued; "it's a horseman. Judge, ain't that Jack Hamlin's gray?"
But the Judge didn't know; and as Mrs. Brown suggested the air was
growing too cold for further investigations, they retired to the parlor.
Mr. Brown was in the stable, where he generally retired after dinner.
Perhaps it was to show his contempt for his wife's companions; perhaps,
like other weak natures, he found pleasure in the exercise of absolute
power over inferior animals. He had a certain gratification in the
training of a chestnut mare, whom he could beat or caress as pleased
him, which he couldn't do with Mrs. Brown. It was here that he
recognized a certain gray horse which had just come in, and, looking
a little farther on, found his rider. Brown's greeting was cordial and
hearty, Mr. Hamlin's somewhat restrained. But at Brown's urgent request,
he followed him up the back stairs to a narrow corridor, and thence to
a small room looking out upon the stable yard. It was plainly furnished
with a bed, a table, a few chairs, and a rack for guns and whips.
"This yer's my home, Jack," said Brown, with a sigh, as he threw himself
upon the bed, and motioned his companion to a chair. "Her room's t'other
end of the hall. It's more'n six months since we've lived together, or
met, except at meals. It's mighty rough papers on the head of the house,
ain't it?" he said, with a forced laugh. "But I'm glad to see you,
Jack, damn glad," and he reached from the bed, and again shook the
unresponsive hand of Jack Hamlin.
"I brought ye up here, for I didn't want to talk in the stable; though,
for the matter of that, it's all round town. Don't strike a light. We
can talk here in the moonshine. Put up your feet on that winder, and sit
here beside me. Thar's whisky in that jug."
Mr. Hamlin did not avail himself of the information. Brown of Calaveras
turned his face to the wall and continued:
"If I didn't love the woman, Jack, I wouldn't mind. But it's loving her,
and seeing her, day arter day, goin' on at this rate, and no one to put
down the brake; that's what gits me! But I'm glad to see ye, Jack, damn
glad."
In the darkness he groped about until he had found and wrung his
companion's hand again. He would have detained it, but Jack slipped it
into the buttoned breast of his coat, and asked, listlessly, "How long
has this been going on?"
"Ever since she came here; ever since the day she walked into the
Magnolia. I was a fool then; Jack, I'm a fool now; but I didn't know how
much I loved her till then. And she hasn't been the same woman since.
"But that ain't all, Jack; and it's what I wanted to see you about, and
I'm glad you've come. It ain't that she doesn't love me any more; it
ain't that she fools with every chap that comes along, for, perhaps, I
staked her love and lost it, as I did everything else at the Magnolia;
and, perhaps, foolin' is nateral to some women, and thar ain't no great
harm done, 'cept to the fools. But, Jack, I think--I think she loves
somebody else. Don't move, Jack; don't move; if your pistol hurts ye,
take it off.
"It's been more'n six months now that she's seemed unhappy and lonesome,
and kinder nervous and scared-like. And sometimes I've ketched her
lookin' at me sort of timid and pitying. And she writes to somebody.
And for the last week she's been gathering her own things--trinkets,
and furbelows, and jew'lry--and, Jack, I think she's goin' off. I could
stand all but that. To have her steal away like a thief--" He put his
face downward to the pillow, and for a few moments there was no sound
but the ticking of a clock on the mantel. Mr. Hamlin lit a cigar, and
moved to the open window. The moon no longer shone into the room, and
the bed and its occupant were in shadow. "What shall I do, Jack?" said
the voice from the darkness.
The answer came promptly and clearly from the window-side: "Spot the
man, and kill him on sight."
"But, Jack?"
"He's took the risk!"
"But will that bring HER back?"
Jack did not reply, but moved from the window toward the door.
"Don't go yet, Jack; light the candle, and sit by the table. It's a
comfort to see ye, if nothin' else."
Jack hesitated, and then complied. He drew a pack of cards from his
pocket and shuffled them, glancing at the bed. But Brown's face was
turned to the wall. When Mr. Hamlin had shuffled the cards, he cut them,
and dealt one card on the opposite side of the table and toward the bed,
and another on his side of the table for himself. The first was a deuce,
his own card, a king. He then shuffled and cut again. This time "dummy"
had a queen, and himself a four-spot. Jack brightened up for the third
deal. It brought his adversary a deuce, and himself a king again. "Two
out of three," said Jack, audibly.
"What's that, Jack?" said Brown.
"Nothing."
Then Jack tried his hand with dice; but he always threw sixes, and his
imaginary opponent aces. The force of habit is sometimes confusing.
Meanwhile, some magnetic influence in Mr. Hamlin's presence, or the
anodyne of liquor, or both, brought surcease of sorrow, and Brown slept.
Mr. Hamlin moved his chair to the window, and looked out on the town
of Wingdam, now sleeping peacefully--its harsh outlines softened and
subdued, its glaring colors mellowed and sobered in the moonlight that
flowed over all. In the hush he could hear the gurgling of water in the
ditches, and the sighing of the pines beyond the hill. Then he looked
up at the firmament, and as he did so a star shot across the twinkling
field. Presently another, and then another. The phenomenon suggested to
Mr. Hamlin a fresh augury. If in another fifteen minutes another star
should fall--He sat there, watch in hand, for twice that time, but the
phenomenon was not repeated.
The clock struck two, and Brown still slept. Mr. Hamlin approached the
table and took from his pocket a letter, which he read by the flickering
candlelight. It contained only a single line, written in pencil, in a
woman's hand:
"Be at the corral, with the buggy, at three."
The sleeper moved uneasily, and then awoke. "Are you there Jack?"
"Yes."
"Don't go yet. I dreamed just now, Jack--dreamed of old times. I thought
that Sue and me was being married agin, and that the parson, Jack,
was--who do you think?--you!"
The gambler laughed, and seated himself on the bed--the paper still in
his hand.
"It's a good sign, ain't it?" queried Brown.
"I reckon. Say, old man, hadn't you better get up?"
The "old man," thus affectionately appealed to, rose, with the
assistance of Hamlin's outstretched hand.
"Smoke?"
Brown mechanically took the proffered cigar.
"Light?"
Jack had twisted the letter into a spiral, lit it, and held it for his
companion. He continued to hold it until it was consumed, and dropped
the fragment--a fiery star--from the open window. He watched it as it
fell, and then returned to his friend.
"Old man," he said, placing his hands upon Brown's shoulders, "in ten
minutes I'll be on the road, and gone like that spark. We won't see each
other agin; but, before I go, take a fool's advice: sell out all you've
got, take your wife with you, and quit the country. It ain't no place
for you, nor her. Tell her she must go; make her go, if she won't.
Don't whine because you can't be a saint, and she ain't an angel. Be a
man--and treat her like a woman. Don't be a damn fool. Good-by."
He tore himself from Brown's grasp, and leaped down the stairs like
a deer. At the stable door he collared the half-sleeping hostler and
backed him against the wall. "Saddle my horse in two minutes, or I'll--"
The ellipsis was frightfully suggestive.
"The missis said you was to have the buggy," stammered the man.
"Damn the buggy!"
The horse was saddled as fast as the nervous hands of the astounded
hostler could manipulate buckle and strap.
"Is anything up, Mr. Hamlin?" said the man, who, like all his class,
admired the elan of his fiery patron, and was really concerned in his
welfare.
"Stand aside!"
The man fell back. With an oath, a bound, and clatter, Jack was into the
road. In another moment, to the man's half-awakened eyes, he was but a
moving cloud of dust in the distance, toward which a star just loosed
from its brethren was trailing a stream of fire.
But early that morning the dwellers by the Wingdam turnpike, miles away,
heard a voice, pure as a skylark's, singing afield. They who were asleep
turned over on their rude couches to dream of youth and love and olden
days. Hard-faced men and anxious gold-seekers, already at work, ceased
their labors and leaned upon their picks, to listen to a romantic
vagabond ambling away against the rosy sunrise.
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Kid Wolf was so dazed for a time that he but dimly realized what was happening to him. Half stunned, he was carried, along with Dave Robbins, out of the arroyo. He was light-headed from the blows he had received. That torture was in store for t... Blood Will Tell
As Webb had predicted, even before nine o'clock, came prompt, spirited response from Laramie, where the colonel had ordered the four troops to prepare for instant march, and had bidden the infantry to be ready for any duty the general might order.... Bob Crawls His Hump Sudden
There was a game of stud after supper in the bunkhouse. Bob lay on his bed, a prey to wretched dread. He had made up his mind to have it out with Bandy, but his heart was pumping water instead of blood. When he looked at the squat puncher, thick-n... Bob Holds His Red Haid High
At the corner of the street Bob came upon Tom Reeves and an old Leadville miner in argument. Tom made the high sign to Dillon. "What's all the rumpus about?" he wanted to know. "Jake Houck was seen crossin' the park. He got into the sage." ... Bob Takes A Hand
Fendrick, riding on Mesa Verde, met Bob Cullison, and before he knew what had happened found a gun thrown on him. "Don't you move," the boy warned. "What does this tommyrot mean?" the sheepman demanded angrily. "It means that you are coming... Bonita
Florence's story of the lost mine fired Madeline's guests with the fever for gold-hunting. But after they had tried it a few times and the glamour of the thing wore off they gave up and remained in camp. Having exhausted all the resources of the mou... Brand Blotting
The tenderfoot, slithering down a hillside of shale, caught at a greasewood bush and waited. The sound of a rifle shot had drifted across the ridge to him. Friend or foe, it made no difference to him now. He had reached the end of his tether, must... Breaks One And Makes Another Engagement
Miss Balfour's glass made her irritably aware of cheeks unduly flushed and eyes unusually bright. Since she prided herself on being sufficient for the emergencies of life, she cast about in her mind to determine which of the interviews that lay befo... Brown Of Calaveras
A subdued tone of conversation, and the absence of cigar smoke and boot heels at the windows of the Wingdam stagecoach, made it evident that one of the inside passengers was a woman. A disposition on the part of loungers at the stations to congreg... Buck Finds Out Something
When the fact is chronicled that no less than three times in the succeeding eight days Buck Stratton was strongly tempted to put an end to the whole puzzling business by the simple expedient of declaring his identity and taking possession of the S... Buck Rides
Presently Mrs. Archer released her spasmodic grip on Stratton's flannel shirt and fumbled for her handkerchief. "I'm a fool to--to waste time like this," she faltered, dabbing her eyes with the crumpled square of cambric. "I think you're rath... Buck Takes A Hand
Cowan's saloon, club, and place of general assembly for the town of Buckskin and the nearby ranches, held a merry crowd, for it was pay-day on the range and laughter and liquor ran a close race. Buck Peters, his hands full of cigars, passed through ... Buckskin
The town lay sprawled over half a square mile of alkali plain, its main Street depressing in its width, for those who were responsible for its inception had worked with a generosity born of the knowledge that they had at their immediate and unchalle... Bucky Entertains
Bucky began at once to tap the underground wires his official position made accessible to him. These ran over Southern Arizona, Sonora, and Chihuahua. All the places to which criminals or frontiersmen with money were wont to resort were reported upo... Bucky Makes A Discovery
For a week Bucky had been in the little border town of Noches, called there by threats of a race war between the whites and the Mexicans. Having put the quietus on this, he was returning to Epitaph by way of the Huachuca Mountains. There are still p... Bucky's First-rate Reasons
How long Frances Mackenzie gave herself up to despair she never knew, but when at last she resolutely took herself in hand it seemed hours later. "Bucky told me to be brave, he told me not to lose my nerve," she repeated to herself over and over aga... Bud Cannot Perform Miracles
They went on and on, through the rain and the wind, sometimes through the mud as well, where the roads were not paved. Foster had almost pounced upon the newspaper when he discovered it in Bud's pocket as he climbed in, and Bud knew that the two read t... Bud Faces Facts
New Year came and passed and won nothing in the way of celebration from the three in Nelson's cabin. Bud's bones ached, his head ached, the flesh on his body ached. He could take no comfort anywhere, under any circumstances. He craved clean white beds ... Bud Flips A Coin With Fate
"I don't think it matters so much where we light, it's what we do when we get there," said Bud to Smoky, his horse, one day as they stopped where two roads forked at the base of a great, outstanding peak that was but the point of a mountain range. "... Bud Meets The Woman
A woman was stooping at the woodpile, filling her arms with crooked sticks of rough-barked sage. From the color of her hair Bud knew that she was not Honey, and that she was therefore a stranger to him. But he swung off the path and went over to her... Bud Rides Through Catrock And Loses Marian
"You'll have to show me the trail, pardner," said Bud when they were making their way cautiously out of town by way of the tin can suburbs. "I could figure out the direction all right, and make it by morning; but seeing you grew up here, I'll let yo... Bud Takes To The Hills
In a little village which he had glimpsed from the top of a hill Bud went into the cluttered little general store and bought a few blocks of slim, evil smelling matches and a couple of pounds of sliced bacon, a loaf of stale bread, and two small cans o... Buddy Gives Warning
Buddy swung down from his horse, unsaddled it and went staggering to the stable wall with the burden of a stock-saddle much too big for him. He had to stand on his boot-toes to reach and pull the bridle down over the ears of Whitefoot, which turned ... Buddy Runs True To Type
One never could predict with any certainty how long Indians would dance before they actually took the trail of murder and pillage. So much depended upon the Medicine, so much on signs and portents. It was even possible that they might, for some myst... Building A Cabin
By reason of having been the first to see the strange foot-prints, and having come upon them, too, in the gray light of the early morning, when alone in the forest solitudes, John found it hard to shake off the dread with which they filled him. On... Bulger's Reputation
We all remembered very distinctly Bulger's advent in Rattlesnake Camp. It was during the rainy season--a season singularly inducive to settled reflective impressions as we sat and smoked around the stove in Mosby's grocery. Like older and more civ... Burglary At Blake's
The doctor started at the heels of the corporal, but was distanced long before he reached the scene. The sergeant of the guard was hammering on the front door of Blake's quarters; but, before the summons was answered from within, Mrs. Ray, in long... Buried Treasure
The Old Timer's voice broke a little. We had leisure to notice that even the drip from the eaves had ceased. A faint, diffused light vouchsafed us dim outlines of sprawling figures and tumbled bedding. Far in the distance outside a wolf yelped. ... Cabin Fever In The Worst Form
Bud Moore woke on a certain morning with a distinct and well-defined grouch against the world as he had found it; a grouch quite different from the sullen imp of contrariness that had possessed him lately. He did not know just what had caused the grouc... Camp Supply
In gala spirits we broke camp the next morning. The herd had left the bed-ground at dawn, and as the outfit rode away to relieve the last guard, every mother's son was singing. The cattle were a refreshing sight as they grazed forward, their ragged ... Camping With Old Man Trouble
The sun was shining in his face when Curly wakened. He sat up and rubbed his eyes. Mac was nowhere in sight. Probably he had gone to get the horses. A sound broke the stillness of the desert. It might have been the explosion of a giant firecrac... Capital Takes Holt
It is a safe wager that where two or three prospectors meet in a mining camp or cabin, the length of time which will elapse before the subject of conversation reverts to food will not exceed ten minutes and in this respect the inhabitants of Ore C... Captain Kilmeny Retires
A voice calling his name from the top of the shaft brought Jack Kilmeny back to consciousness. He answered. A shout of joy boomed down to him in Colter's heavy bass. He could hear, too, the sweet troubled tones of a woman. "Hurry, please, hur... Carried Away
The same dawn unrolled before the eyes of a man and a girl, riding southward along the ragged margin of the T-T ranch. Westward stretched the wide, rolling range-land, empty at the moment of any signs of life. And somehow, for the very reason that... Cash Gets A Shock
It happened that Cash was just returning to the cabin from the Blind Ledge claim. He met Bud almost at the doorstep, just as Bud was fumbling with the latch, trying to open the door without moving Lovin Child in his arms. Cash may or may not have been ... Cass Fendrick Makes A Call
Kate was in her rose garden superintending the stable boy as he loosened the dirt around the roots of some of the bushes. She had returned to the Circle C for a day or two to give some directions in the absence of her father. Buck and the other ri... Catastrophe
The discovery galvanized Stratton into instant, alert attention. Motor-cars were rare in this remote range country and confined almost solely to the sort of "flivver" which is not entirely dependent on roads. The presence in the north pasture of t... Caught In A Storm
"Some class to Roger's driving!" cried Phil, as the little touring-car swept along, in the direction of Lake Sargola. "Roger, if you ever want a recommendation as a chauffeur----" "We'll give it to him on gilt-edged paper," finished Dave, with a... Caught In A Storm
"Say, but this is sure going to be a corker!" Dave shouted out the words--to make himself heard above the whistling of the wind as it blew across the little plateau on the mountainside, where the party had gone into camp. It was half an hour ... Cavanagh Asks For Help
Lee Virginia waited with increasing impatience for Ross Cavanagh's return, expecting each noon to see him appear at the door; but when three days passed without word or sign from him, her uneasiness deepened into alarm. The whole town was profound... Cavanagh's Last Vigil Begins
On his solitary ride upward and homeward the ranger searched his heart and found it bitter and disloyal. Love had interfered with duty, and pride had checked and defeated love. His path, no longer clear and definite, looped away aimlessly, lost in... Chain-lightning
Turning from Purgatory, after he had dismounted in front of the sheriff's office, Harlan faced three men who stood just outside of the building, watching him. The slightly humorous smile that curved Harlan's lips might have betrayed his reason ... Chance Takes A Hand
A huge pipe organ was filling the theater with a vast undertone that was like the whispering surge of a great wind. Jean went into the soft twilight and sat down, feeling that she had shut herself away from the harsh, horrible world that held so mu... Choosing A Profession
I loved outdoor life and hunting. Some way a grizzly bear would come in when I tried to explain forestry to my brother. "Hunting grizzlies!" he cried. "Why, Ken, father says you've been reading dime novels." "Just wait, Hal, till he comes out h...