At the Foot of the Mountain Range. Towards the close of a bright and warm day, between fifty and sixty years ago, a solitary man might have been seen, mounted on a mule, wending his way slowly up the western slopes of the Andes. Although decidedly inelegant and unhandsome, this specimen of the human family was by no means uninteresting. He was so large, and his legs were so long, that the contrast between him and the little mule which he... more...

The Wild Karroo. A solitary horseman—a youth in early manhood—riding at a snail’s pace over the great plains, or karroo, of South Africa. His chin on his breast; his hands in the pockets of an old shooting-coat; his legs in ragged trousers, and his feet in worn-out boots. Regardless of stirrups, the last are dangling. The reins hang on the neck of his steed, whose head may be said to dangle from its shoulders, so nearly does... more...

How they decided to run the Risk. “Well, Joses,” said Dr Lascelles, “if you feel afraid, you had better go back to the city.” There was a dead silence here, and the little party grouped about between a small umbrella-shaped tent and the dying embers of the fire, at which a meal of savoury antelope steaks had lately been cooked, carefully avoided glancing one at the other. Just inside the entrance of the tent, a pretty,... more...

In which the Reader is introduced to a Mad Hero, a Reckless Lover, and a Runaway Husband—Backwoods Juvenile Training described—The Principles of Fighting fully discussed, and some valuable Hints thrown out. March Marston was mad! The exact state of madness to which March had attained at the age when we take up his personal history—namely, sixteen—is uncertain, for the people of the backwoods settlement in which he dwelt... more...

IN NEEDY CIRCUMSTANCES "How are you feeling this morning, father?" asked Fred Stanley as his parent came slowly into the dining-room, leaning heavily on a crutch. "Not so well, Fred. My leg pained me considerable last night, and I did not sleep much. You are up early, aren't you?" "Yes. I am going over to the new diggings and see if I can't get a job, so I want to start soon." "Where are the new diggings, Fred? I hadn't heard of any. But that... more...

CHAPTER I A SKY RIDE "Oh Tom, is it really safe?" A young lady—an exceedingly pretty young lady, she could be called—stood with one small, gloved hand on the outstretched wing of an aeroplane, and looked up at a young man, attired in a leather, fur-lined suit, who sat in the cockpit of the machine just above her. "Safe, Mary?" repeated the pilot, as he reached in under the hood of the craft to make sure about one of the controls.... more...

CHAPTER I ON A LIVE WIRE "Now, see here, Mr. Swift, you may think it all a sort of dream, and imagine that I don't know what I'm talking about; but I do! If you'll consent to finance this expedition to the extent of, say, ten thousand dollars, I'll practically guarantee to give you back five times that sum." "I don't know, Alec, I don't know," slowly responded the aged inventor. "I've heard those stories before, and in my experience nothing... more...

THE NEW PROJECT Tom Swift appeared to be calm, although in reality he was about as excited over his latest invention as he ever had been about anything in his life. "I'm sure it's going to work, Ned!" he said eagerly to his chum as they neared Tom's private laboratory. "With my new device I hope to learn more about the planets. I want to start soon—" "Listen here!" broke in Ned Newton. "If you're thinking of going to Mars or the moon,... more...

CHAPTER I A STRANGE OFFER "Some one to see you, Mr. Tom." It was Koku, or August, as he was sometimes called, the new giant servant of Tom Swift, who made this announcement to the young inventor. "Who is it, Koku?" inquired Tom, looking up from his work-bench in the machine shop, where he was busy over a part of the motor for his new noiseless airship. "Any one I know? Is it the 'Blessing Man?'" for so Koku had come to call Mr. Damon, an... more...

Chapter One. “‘Honesty is the best policy,’ Tom, you may depend on it,” said a youth to his companion, one afternoon, as they walked along the margin of one of those brawling rivulets which, born amid the snows of the Rocky Mountain peaks, run a wild and plunging course of many miles before finding comparative rest in the celebrated goldfields of Oregon. “I don’t agree with you, Fred,” said Tom,... more...