Genre Western. Page - 17

k of his uncle recalled the fact that he must now become a fugitive. An unreasonable anger took hold of him."The d--d fool!" he exclaimed, hotly. "Meeting Bain wasn't much, Uncle Jim. He dusted my boots, that's all. And for that I've got to go on the dodge." "Son, you killed him--then?" asked the uncle, huskily. "Yes. I stood over him--watched him die. I did as I would have been done by." "I knew it. Long ago I saw it comin'. But now we can't stop to

tracks. Now is the time when the wild mustangs and the buffaloes go southward, and the Indians follow in the chase. The Kiowas are all right, for we arranged with them for the road, but the Apaches and Comanches know nothing of it, and we don't dare let them see us. We have finished our part, and are ready to leave this region; hurry up with yours, and do likewise. Remember there's danger, and good-by."Sam looked gravely after his retreating form, and pointed to a footprint near the spring

-except as they might have been reminded of the dreary distance from the glitter and the tinsel of the East. The mountains, distant and shining, would have meant nothing to them; the strong, pungent aroma of the sage might have nauseated them.But Miss Benham had caught her first glimpse of Manti and the surrounding country from a window of her berth in the car that morning just at dawn, and she loved it. She had lain for some time cuddled up in her bed, watching the sun rise over the distant

o, no; go on; don't wait for me," he answered. But neither Charley nor I was inclined to do that.Dick was soon on his feet again, while we assisted him, in spite of what he had said, to get up his horse. The animal's leg did not appear to be strained, and Dick quickly again climbed into the saddle. "Thank you, my dear boys," he exclaimed, "it must not happen again; I am a heavy weight for my brute, and, if he comes down, you must go on and let me shift for myself." We

h telegraphed and wrote, begging piteously to be permitted to accompany them on the long journey by way of San Francisco, and so it had finally been settled. The colonel's household were now at regimental headquarters up at Prescott, and Angela was quite happy at Camp Sandy. She had been there barely four weeks when Neil Blakely, pale, fragile-looking, and still far from strong, went to report for duty at his captain's quarters and was met at the threshold by his captain's daughter.Expecting a

tire to the life of a country gentleman.His sister's voice cut into his musing. She had two tones. One might be called her social register. It was smooth, gentle--the low-pitched and controlled voice of a gentlewoman. The other voice was hard and sharp. It could drive hard and cold across a desk, and bring businessmen to an understanding that here was a mind, not a woman. At present she used her latter tone. Vance Cornish came into a shivering consciousness that she was sitting beside him. He

"My Ántonia" by Willa Cather is a beautiful and haunting novel that explores the lives of immigrants in the American Midwest at the turn of the 20th century. The story is told through the eyes of Jim Burden, a young man who moves to Nebraska and befriends Ántonia Shimerda, a girl from a Bohemian immigrant family. The novel is a poignant examination of the immigrant experience, as well as a moving coming-of-age story that examines the challenges and rewards of growing up in a new and

He found his companions dining, and joining them, he made a good meal, and at its conclusion all hands repaired to the bar again, and indulged in several more drinks.Jesse then startled his companions by pulling out his big wad of bills, and paying the landlord for their fare. The moment the gang got him alone, Frank whispered: "Where did you get the roll, Jess?" "From Jack Wright," laughed the outlaw. "Tell us about it!" "Certainly. It was the easiest game I

some one had drawn up her window shades. Carley promptly pulled them down and settled herself comfortably. Then she heard a woman speak, not particularly low: "I thought people traveled west to see the country." And a man replied, rather dryly. "Wal, not always." His companion went on: "If that girl was mine I'd let down her skirt." The man laughed and replied: "Martha, you're shore behind the times. Look at the pictures in the magazines."Such remarks

counterpane!"Doctor Ward sighed, as he shook his head. "I don't pretend to know now all you mean." Calhoun whirled on him fiercely, with a vigor which his wasted frame did not indicate as possible. "Listen, then, and I will tell you what John Calhoun means--John Calhoun, who has loved his own state, who has hated those who hated him, who has never prayed for those who despitefully used him, who has fought and will fight, since all insist on that. It is true Tyler has offered