The Happy Girl
: The Forester's DaughterThe stage line which ran from Williams to Bear Tooth (one of the most
authentic then to be found in all the West) possessed at least one
genuine Concord coach, so faded, so saddened, so cracked, and so
splintered that its passengers entered it under protest, and alighted
from it with thanksgiving, and yet it must have been built by honorable
men, for in 190- it still made the run of one hundred and twenty miles
twice e
of paint.
And yet, whatever it may have been in its youth, it was in its age no
longer a gay dash of color in the landscape. On the contrary, it fitted
into the dust-brown and sage-green plain as defensively as a beetle in a
dusty path. Nevertheless, it was an indispensable part of a very moving
picture as it crept, creaking and groaning (or it may be it was the
suffering passenger creaking and groaning), along the hillside.
After leaving the Grande River the road winds up a pretty high divide
before plunging down into Ute Park, as they call all that region lying
between the Continental Range on the east and the Bear Tooth plateau on
the west. It was a big spread of land, and very far from an Eastern man's
conception of a park. From Dome Peak it seems a plain; but, in fact, when
clouds shut off the high summits to the west, this "valley" becomes a
veritable mountain land, a tumbled, lonely country, over which an
occasional horseman crawls, a minute but persistent insect. It is, to be
exact, a succession of ridges and ravines, sculptured (in some far-off,
post-glacial time) by floods of water, covered now, rather sparsely, with
pinons, cedars, and aspens, a dry, forbidding, but majestic landscape.
In late August the hills become iridescent, opaline with the translucent
yellow of the aspen, the coral and crimson of the fire-weed, the
blood-red of huckleberry beds, and the royal purple of the asters, while
flowing round all, as solvent and neutral setting, lies the gray-green of
the ever-present and ever-enduring sage-brush. On the loftier heights
these colors are arranged in most intricate and cunning patterns, with
nothing hard, nothing flaring in the prospect. All is harmonious and
restful. It is, moreover, silent, silent as a dream world, and so flooded
with light that the senses ache with the stress of it.
Through this gorgeous land of mist, of stillness, and of death, a few
years ago a pale young man (seated beside the driver) rode one summer day
in a voiceless rapture which made Bill McCoy weary.
"If you'd had as much of this as I have you'd talk of something else," he
growled, after a half dozen attempts at conversation. Bill wasn't much to
look at, but he was a good driver and the stranger respected him for it.
Eventually this simple-minded horseman became curious about the slim
young fellow sitting beside him.
"What you doing out here, anyhow--fishing or just rebuilding a lung?"
"Rebuilding two lungs," answered the tourist.
"Well, this climate will just about put lungs into a coffee-can,"
retorted Bill, with official loyalty to his country.
To his discerning eye "the tourist" now became "a lunger." "Where do you
live when you're to home?"
"Connecticut."
"I knew it."
"How did you know it?" The youth seemed really interested to know.
"I drove another fellow up here last fall that dealt out the same kind of
brogue you do."
This amused the tourist. "You think I have a 'brogue,' do you?"
"I don't think it--I know it!" Bill replied, shortly.
He was prevented at the moment from pursuing this line of inquiry by the
discovery of a couple of horsemen racing from a distant ranch toward the
road. It was plain, even to the stranger, that they intended to intercept
the stage, and Bill plied the lash with sudden vigor.
"I'll give 'em a chase," said he, grimly.
The other appeared a little alarmed, "What are they--bandits?"
"Bandits!" sneered Bill. "Your eyesight is piercing. Them's girls."
The traveler apologized. "My eyes aren't very good," he said, hurriedly.
He was, however, quite justified in his mistake, for both riders wore
wide-rimmed sombreros and rode astride at a furious pace, bandanas
fluttering, skirts streaming, and one was calling in shrill command, "OH,
BILL!"
As they neared the gate the driver drew up with a word of surprise. "Why,
howdy, girls, howdy!" he said, with an assumption of innocence. "Were you
wishin' fer to speak to me?"
"Oh, shut up!" commanded one of the girls, a round-faced, freckled romp.
"You know perfectly well that Berrie is going home to-day--we told you
all about it yesterday."
"Sure thing!" exclaimed Bill. "I'd forgot all about it."
"Like nothin'!" exclaimed the maid. "You've been countin' the hours till
you got here--I know you."
Meanwhile her companion had slipped from her horse. "Well, good-by,
Molly, wish I could stay longer."
"Good-by. Run down again."
"I will. You come up."
The young passenger sprang to the ground and politely said: "May I help
you in?"
Bill stared, the girl smiled, and her companion called: "Be careful,
Berrie, don't hurt yourself, the wagon might pitch."
The youth, perceiving that he had made another mistake, stammered an
apology.
The girl perceived his embarrassment and sweetly accepted his hand. "I am
much obliged, all the same."
Bill shook with malicious laughter. "Out in this country girls are
warranted to jump clean over a measly little hack like this," he
explained.
The girl took a seat in the back corner of the dusty vehicle, and Bill
opened conversation with her by asking what kind of a time she had been
having "in the East."
"Fine," said she.
"Did ye get as far back as my old town?"
"What town is that, Bill?"
"Oh, come off! You know I'm from Omaha."
"No, I only got as far as South Bend."
The picture which the girl had made as she dashed up to the pasture gate
(her hat-rim blown away from her brown face and sparkling eyes), united
with the kindliness in her voice as she accepted his gallant aid, entered
a deep impression on the tourist's mind; but he did not turn his head to
look at her--perhaps he feared Bill's elbow quite as much as his
guffaw--but he listened closely, and by listening learned that she had
been "East" for several weeks, and also that she was known, and favorably
known, all along the line, for whenever they met a team or passed a ranch
some one called out, "Hello, Berrie!" in cordial salute, and the men, old
and young, were especially pleased to see her.
Meanwhile the stage rose and fell over the gigantic swells like a tiny
boat on a monster sea, while the sun blazed ever more fervently from the
splendid sky, and the hills glowed with ever-increasing tumult of color.
Through this land of color, of repose, of romance, the young traveler
rode, drinking deep of the germless air, feeling that the girl behind him
was a wondrous part of this wild and unaccountable country.
He had no chance to study her face again till the coach rolled down the
hill to "Yancy's," where they were to take dinner and change horses.
Yancy's ranch-house stood on the bank of a fine stream which purled--in
keen defiance of the hot sun--over a gravel bed, so near to the mountain
snows that their coolness still lingered in the ripples. The house, a
long, low, log hut, was fenced with antlers of the elk, adorned with
morning-glory vines, and shaded by lofty cottonwood-trees, and its green
grass-plat--after the sun-smit hills of the long morning's ride--was very
grateful to the Eastern man's eyes.
With intent to show Bill that he did not greatly fear his smiles, the
youth sprang down and offered a hand to assist his charming
fellow-passenger to alight; and she, with kindly understanding, again
accepted his aid--to Bill's chagrin--and they walked up the path side by
side.
"This is all very new and wonderful to me," the young man said in
explanation; "but I suppose it's quite commonplace to you--and Bill."
"Oh no--it's home!"
"You were born here?"
"No, I was born in the East; but I've lived here ever since I was three
years old."
"By East you mean Kansas?"
"No, Missouri," she laughed back at him.
She was taller than most women, and gave out an air of fine unconscious
health which made her good to see, although her face was too broad to be
pretty. She smiled easily, and her teeth were white and even. Her hand he
noticed was as strong as steel and brown as leather. Her neck rose from
her shoulders like that of an acrobat, and she walked with the sense of
security which comes from self-reliant strength.
She was met at the door by old lady Yancy, who pumped her hand up and
down, exclaiming: "My stars, I'm glad to see ye back! 'Pears like the
country is just naturally goin' to the dogs without you. The dance last
Saturday was a frost, so I hear, no snap to the fiddlin', no gimp to the
jiggin'. It shorely was pitiful."
Yancy himself, tall, grizzled, succinct, shook her hand in his turn.
"Ma's right, girl, the country needs ye. I'm scared every time ye go away
fer fear some feller will snap ye up."
She laughed. "No danger. Well, how are ye all, anyway?" she asked.
"All well, 'ceptin' me," said the little old woman. "I'm just about able
to pick at my vittles."
"She does her share o' the work, and half the cook's besides,"
volunteered Yancy.
"I know her," retorted Berrie, as she laid off her hat. "It's me for a
dip. Gee, but it's dusty on the road!"
The young tourist--he signed W. W. Norcross in Yancy's register--watched
her closely and listened to every word she spoke with an intensity of
interest which led Mrs. Yancy to say, privately:
"'Pears like that young 'lunger' ain't goin' to forgit you if he can help
it."
"What makes you think he's a 'lunger'?"
"Don't haf to think. One look at him is enough."
Thereafter a softer light--the light of pity--shone in the eyes of the
girl. "Poor fellow, he does look kind o' peaked; but this climate will
bring him up to the scratch," she added, with optimistic faith in her
beloved hills.
A moment later the down-coming stage pulled in, loaded to the side-lines,
and everybody on it seemed to know Berea McFarlane. It was hello here and
hello there, and how are ye between, with smacks from the women and open
cries of "pass it around" on the part of the men, till Norcross marveled
at the display.
"She seems a great favorite," he observed to Yancy.
"Who--Berrie? She's the whole works up at Bear Tooth. Good thing she
don't want to go to Congress--she'd lay Jim Worthy on the shelf."
Berea's popularity was not so remarkable as her manner of receiving it.
She took it all as a sort of joke--a good, kindly joke. She shook hands
with her male admirers, and smacked the cheeks of her female friends with
an air of modest deprecation. "Oh, you don't mean it," was one of her
phrases. She enjoyed this display of affection, but it seemed not to
touch her deeply, and her impartial, humorous acceptance of the courtship
of the men was equally charming, though this was due, according to
remark, to the claims of some rancher up the line.
She continued to be the theme of conversation at the dinner-table and yet
remained unembarrassed, and gave back quite as good as she received.
"If I was Cliff," declared one lanky admirer, "I'd be shot if I let you
out of my sight. It ain't safe."
She smiled broadly. "I don't feel scared."
"Oh, you're all right! It's the other feller--like me--that gets
hurt."
"Don't worry, you're old enough and tough enough to turn a steel-jacketed
bullet."
This raised a laugh, and Mrs. Yancy, who was waiting on the table, put in
a word: "I'll board ye free, Berrie, if you'll jest naturally turn up
here regular at meal-time. You do take the fellers' appetites. It's the
only time I make a cent."
To the Eastern man this was all very unrestrained and deeply diverting.
The people seemed to know all about one another notwithstanding the fact
that they came from ranches scattered up and down the stage line twenty,
thirty miles apart--to be neighbors in this country means to be anywhere
within a sixty-mile ride--and they gossiped of the countryside as
minutely as the residents of a village in Wisconsin discuss their kind.
News was scarce.
The north-bound coach got away first, and as the girl came out to take
her place, Norcross said: "Won't you have my seat with the driver?"
She dropped her voice humorously. "No, thank you, I can't stand for
Bill's clack."
Norcross understood. She didn't relish the notion of being so close to
the frankly amorous driver, who neglected no opportunity to be personal;
therefore, he helped her to her seat inside and resumed his place in
front.
Bill, now broadly communicative, minutely detailed his tastes in food,
horses, liquors, and saddles in a long monologue which would have been
tiresome to any one but an imaginative young Eastern student. Bill had a
vast knowledge of the West, but a distressing habit of repetition. He was
self-conscious, too, for the reason that he was really talking for the
benefit of the girl sitting in critical silence behind him, who, though
he frequently turned to her for confirmation of some of the more
startling of his statements, refused to be drawn into controversy.
In this informing way some ten miles were traversed, the road climbing
ever higher, and the mountains to right and left increasing in grandeur
each hour, till of a sudden and in a deep valley on the bank of another
swift stream, they came upon a squalid saloon and a minute post-office.
This was the town of Moskow.
Bill, lumbering down over the wheel, took a bag of mail from the boot and
dragged it into the cabin. The girl rose, stretched herself, and said:
"This stagin' is slow business. I'm cramped. I'm going to walk on
ahead."
"May I go with you?" asked Norcross.
"Sure thing! Come along."
As they crossed the little pole bridge which spanned the flood, the
tourist exclaimed: "What exquisite water! It's like melted opals."
"Comes right down from the snow," she answered, impressed by the poetry
of his simile.
He would gladly have lingered, listening to the song of the water, but as
she passed on, he followed. The opposite hill was sharp and the road
stony, but as they reached the top the young Easterner called out, "See
the savins!"
Before them stood a grove of cedars, old, gray, and drear, as weirdly
impressive as the cacti in a Mexican desert. Torn by winds, scarred by
lightnings, deeply rooted, tenacious as tradition, unlovely as Egyptian
mummies, fantastic, dwarfed and blackened, these unaccountable creatures
clung to the ledges. The dead mingled horribly with the living, and when
the wind arose--the wind that was robustly cheerful on the high
hills--these hags cried out with low moans of infinite despair. It was as
if they pleaded for water or for deliverance from a life that was a kind
of death.
The pale young man shuddered. "What a ghostly place!" he exclaimed, in a
low voice. "It seems the burial-place of a vanished race."
Something in his face, some note in his voice profoundly moved the girl.
For the first time her face showed something other than childish good
nature and a sense of humor. "I don't like these trees myself," she
answered. "They look too much like poor old squaws."
For a few moments the man and the maid studied the forest of immemorial,
gaunt, and withered trees--bright, impermanent youth confronting
time-defaced and wind-torn age. Then the girl spoke: "Let's get out of
here. I shall cry if we don't."
In a few moments the dolorous voices were left behind, and the cheerful
light of the plain reasserted itself. Norcross, looking back down upon
the cedars, which at a distance resembled a tufted, bronze-green carpet,
musingly asked: "What do you suppose planted those trees there?"
The girl was deeply impressed by the novelty of this query. "I never
thought to ask. I reckon they just grew."
"No, there's a reason for all these plantings," he insisted.
"We don't worry ourselves much about such things out here," she replied,
with charming humor. "We don't even worry about the weather. We just take
things as they come."
They walked on talking with new intimacy. "Where is your home?" he
asked.
"A few miles out of Bear Tooth. You're from the East, Bill says--'the far
East,' we call it."
"From New Haven. I've just finished at Yale. Have you ever been to New
York?"
"Oh, good Lord, no!" she answered, as though he had named the ends of the
earth. "My mother came from the South--she was born in Kentucky--that
accounts for my name, and my father is a Missourian. Let's see, Yale is
in the state of Connecticut, isn't it?"
"Connecticut is no longer a state; it is only a suburb of New York
City."
"Is that so? My geography calls it 'The Nutmeg State.'"
"Your geography is behind the times. New York has absorbed all of
Connecticut and part of Jersey."
"Well, it's all the same to us out here. Your whole country looks like
the small end of a slice of pie to us."
"Have you ever been in a city?"
"Oh yes, I go to Denver once in a while, and I saw St. Louis once; but I
was only a yearling, and don't remember much about it. What are you doing
out here, if it's a fair question?"
He looked away at the mountains. "I got rather used up last spring, and
my doctor said I'd better come out here for a while and build up. I'm
going up to Meeker's Mill. Do you know where that is?"
"I know every stove-pipe in this park," she answered. "Joe Meeker is kind
o' related to me--uncle by marriage. He lives about fifteen miles over
the hill from Bear Tooth."
This fact seemed to bring them still closer together. "I'm glad of that,"
he said, pointedly. "Perhaps I shall be permitted to see you now and
again? I'm going to be lonesome for a while, I'm afraid."
"Don't you believe it! Joe Meeker's boys will keep you interested," she
assured him.
The stage overtook them at this point, and Bill surlily remarked: "If
you'd been alone, young feller, I'd 'a' give you a chase." His resentment
of the outsider's growing favor with the girl was ludicrously evident.
As they rose into the higher levels the aspen shook its yellowish leaves
in the breeze, and the purple foot-hills gained in majesty. Great new
peaks came into view on the right, and the lofty cliffs of the Bear Tooth
range loomed in naked grandeur high above the blue-green of the pines
which clothed their sloping eastern sides.
At intervals the road passed small log ranches crouching low on the banks
of creeks; but aside from these--and the sparse animal life around
them--no sign of settlement could be seen. The valley lay as it had lain
for thousands of years, repeating its forests as the meadows of the lower
levels send forth their annual grasses. Norcross said to himself: "I have
circled the track of progress and have re-entered the border America,
where the stage-coach is still the one stirring thing beneath the sun."
At last the driver, with a note of exultation, called out: "Grab a root,
everybody, it's all the way down-hill and time to feed."
And so, as the dusk came over the mighty spread of the hills to the east,
and the peaks to the west darkened from violet to purple-black, the stage
rumbled and rattled and rushed down the winding road through thickening
signs of civilization, and just at nightfall rolled into the little town
of Bear Tooth, which is the eastern gateway of the Ute Plateau.
Norcross had given a great deal of thought to the young girl behind him,
and thought had deepened her charm. Her frankness, her humor, her superb
physical strength and her calm self-reliance appealed to him, and the
more dangerously, because he was so well aware of his own weakness and
loneliness, and as the stage drew up before the hotel, he fervently said:
"I hope I shall see you again?"
Before she could reply a man's voice called: "Hello, there!" and a tall
fellow stepped up to her with confident mien.
Norcross awkwardly shrank away. This was her cowboy lover, of course. It
was impossible that so attractive a girl should be unattached, and the
knowledge produced in him a faint but very definite pang of envy and
regret.
The happy girl, even in the excitement of meeting her lover, did not
forget the stranger. She gave him her hand in parting, and again he
thrilled to its amazing power. It was small, but it was like a steel
clamp. "Stop in on your way to Meeker's," she said, as a kindly man would
have done. "You pass our gate. My father is Joseph McFarlane, the Forest
Supervisor. Good night."
"Good night," he returned, with sincere liking.
"Who is that?" Norcross heard her companion ask.
She replied in a low voice, but he overheard her answer, "A poor
'lunger,' bound for Meeker's--and Kingdom Come, I'm afraid. He seems a
nice young feller, too."
"They always wait till the last minute," remarked the rancher, with
indifferent tone.
More
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"Well, I hope this farce is about over," Dunk sneered, with as near an approach to his old, supercilious manner as he could command, when the three who had ridden apart returned presently. "Perhaps, Weary, you'll be good enough to have this fellow p... The Happy Family Turn Nesters
"Say, Andy, where's them dry-farmers?" Big Medicine inquired at the top of his voice when the Happy Family had reached the biscuit-and-syrup stage of supper that evening. "Oh, they're trying to make up their minds whether to bring the old fannin'... The Happy Girl
The stage line which ran from Williams to Bear Tooth (one of the most authentic then to be found in all the West) possessed at least one genuine Concord coach, so faded, so saddened, so cracked, and so splintered that its passengers entered it und... The Hatred Of Big Buffalo
The last of the sap had been reduced to sugar and made into a fine solid cake weighing nearly two pounds, the night that the foregoing conversation took place. With this as a present to the chief of the Delawares, Ree and John set out early the fo... The Heart Of A Desert Wife
"The squaws who come at times to crouch upon my back have the slow listening patience of the rabbits." MUSINGS OF THE ELEPHANT. Pen paused, eyes angry, mouth disgusted: "You are the last pers... The Hen Of Wun Sing
But whatever wild schemes were hatching in the heads of the three lads nothing seemed to come of them. Days followed one another in such peaceful routine that Dorothy felt ashamed of her fears, as well as ashamed of her composure regarding Jim ... The Heritage Of The Desert
"MESCAL'S far out in front by this time. Depend on it, Hare," went on Naab. "That trick was the cunning Indian of her. She'll ride Silvermane into White Sage to-morrow night. Then she'll hide from Snap. The Bishop will take care of her. She'll be ... The Hermit's Warning
As it was now after midday, we concluded to eat our lunch before going any further, so, sitting down on the rocks, we produced the bread and cold bacon we had brought with us and prepared to refresh ourselves. Observing this, Socrates, who had flo... The Honk-honk Breed
It was Sunday at the ranch. For a wonder the weather had been favourable; the windmills were all working, the bogs had dried up, the beef had lasted over, the remuda had not strayed--in short, there was nothing to do. Sang had given us a baked bre... The Honorable Thomas B Pelton
It was next morning that Steve came into Ridgway's offices with a copy of the Rocky Mountain Herald in his hands. As soon as the president of the Mesa Ore-producing Company was through talking with Dalton, the superintendent of the Taurus, about the... The Hoodoo Outfit
Pop Daggett hesitated and glanced uneasily toward the door. "I warned yuh, didn't I, the Shoe-Bar was a hoodoo outfit?" he evaded. Stratton shook some tobacco into a cigarette-paper and jerked the draw-string with his teeth. "Sure you did, ... The Hospitality Of Travennes
Mr. Buck Peters rode into Alkaline one bright September morning and sought refreshment at the Emporium. Mr. Peters had just finished some business for his employer and felt the satisfaction that comes with the knowledge of work well done. He exp... The Idyl Of Red Gulch
Sandy was very drunk. He was lying under an azalea bush, in pretty much the same attitude in which he had fallen some hours before. How long he had been lying there he could not tell, and didn't care; how long he should lie there was a matter equa... The Indiscretion Of Elsbeth
The American paused. He had evidently lost his way. For the last half hour he had been wandering in a medieval town, in a profound medieval dream. Only a few days had elapsed since he had left the steamship that carried him hither; and the accents... The Intruder
After closing the door through which she had entered, Barbara Morgan slipped the fastenings into place and stood, an ear pressed against the door, listening for sounds that would tell her Harlan had followed her. But beyond the door all was silenc... The Invisible Hand
Jane received a letter from Bishop Dyer, not in his own handwriting, which stated that the abrupt termination of their interview had left him in some doubt as to her future conduct. A slight injury had incapacitated him from seeking anothe... The Jack-pot
As Uncle Bill Griswold came breathless from the raging whiteness outside with an armful of bark and wood, the two long icicles hanging from the ends of his mustache made him look like an industrious walrus. He drew the fuel beside the tiny, sheet-... The Jimmyjohn Boss
I One day at Nampa, which is in Idaho, a ruddy old massive jovial man stood by the Silver City stage, patting his beard with his left hand, and with his right the shoulder of a boy who stood beside him. He had come with the boy on the branch tr... The Judge Ignores Particulars
"Do you often have these visitations?" Ogden inquired of Judge Henry. Our host was giving us whiskey in his office, and Dr. MacBride, while we smoked apart from the ladies, had repaired to his quarters in the foreman's house previous to the servic... The Judgment Of God
The man who had entered with such violence upon so violent a scene, stood waiting till the smoke of Pierre's discharge had cleared away, then, still holding his gun in readiness, he stepped across the room and bent over the fallen man. "I've ki... The Jump
He brought Satan back to a hand canter, and so he pulled around the next curve of the gulch and saw the trap squarely in front. He came to a full halt. For he saw a tall, strong barbed-wire fence stretching across the stream-bed, and beyond the fenc... The Kid Has Ideas Of His Own
The Old Man sat out in his big chair on the porch, smoking and staring dully at the trail which led up the bluff by way of the Hog's Back to the benchland beyond. Facing him in an old, cane rocking chair, the Honorable Blake smoked with that air of ... The Kid Is Used For A Pawn In The Game
Did you ever stop to think of the tremendous moral lesson in the Bible tale of David and Goliath? And how great, human issues are often decided one way or the other by little things? Not all crises are passed in the clashing of swords and the boom o... The Kid Learns Some Things About Horses
The Kid--Chip's Kid and the Little Doctor's--was six years old and big for his age. Also he was a member in good standing of the Happy Family and he insisted upon being called Buck outside the house; within it the Little Doctor insisted even more st... The Killer
Lidgerwood had found little difficulty in getting on the companionable side of Dawson, so far as the heavy-muscled, silent young draftsman had a companionable side; and an invitation to the family dinner-table at the Dawson cottage on the low mesa... The King Of The Big Horn Country
Two months before this time Helen Messiter had been serenely teaching a second grade at Kalamazoo, Michigan, notwithstanding the earnest efforts of several youths of that city to induce her to retire to domesticity "What's the use of being a schoolm... The Kingdom Of Joy
A prince of the Kingdom of Joy rode the Piceance trail on a morning glad with the song of birds and the rippling of brooks. Knee to knee with him rode his princess, slim and straight, the pink in her soft smooth cheeks, a shy and eager light in th... The Knife
In every community, be it never so small, there are undesirable citizens; and, while the little party was still at breakfast on the following morning, three such members of society came around the cabin and let fall their packs, greeting the occup... The Lady From The Past
Stratton's first feeling was that the girl must have made a mistake. In a dazed fashion he stepped forward and helped her out of the buckboard, but this was a more or less mechanical action and because she so evidently expected it. As he took her ... The Land Of The Musk-ox
A far cry it was from bright June at Port Chippewayan to dim October on Great Slave Lake. Two long, laborious months Rea and Jones threaded the crooked shores of the great inland sea, to halt at the extreme northern end, where a plunging rivulet ... The Last Frontier
Many men were in debt to the trader at Flambeau, and many counted him as a friend. The latter never reasoned why, except that he had done them favors, and in the North that counts for much. Perhaps they built likewise upon the fact that he was eve... The Last Herd
Over gray No-Man's-Land stole down the shadows of night. The undulating prairie shaded dark to the western horizon, rimmed with a fading streak of light. Tall figures, silhouetted sharply against the last golden glow of sunset, marked the rounded cr... The Leopardess
Pierre stood before the cheap bureau of his ugly hotel bedroom turning a red slip of cardboard about in his fingers. The gas-jet sputtering above his head threw heavy shadows down on his face. It was the face of hopeless, heartsick youth, the musc... The Letter In The Chaps
Though hours may drag themselves into the past so sluggishly that one is fairly maddened by the snail's pace of them, into the past they must go eventually. Jean had sat and listened to the wheels of the Golden State Limited clank over the cryptic ... The Light Of Western Stars
Blinded, like a wild creature, Madeline Hammond ran to her room. She felt as if a stroke of lightning had shattered the shadowy substance of the dream she had made of real life. The wonder of Danny Mains's story, the strange regret with which she ha... The Little Missouri
A week later we crossed the Belle Fourche, sometimes called the North Fork of the Big Cheyenne. Like its twin sister on the south, it was a mountain river, having numerous affluents putting in from the Black Hills, which it encircled on the north an... The Living Dead
"Oh, I want to go back to the Rio Grande! The Rio! That's where I long to be!" The words, sung in a soft and musical tenor, died away and changed to a plaintive whistle, leaving the scene more lonely than ever. For a few moments n... The Long Arm Of Power
Presently Corrigan lit a cigar, biting the end off carefully, to keep it from coming in contact with his bruised lips. When the cigar was going well, he looked at Braman. "What is Trevison?" Pale, still dizzy from the effects of the blow on t...