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Charles King
Charles King (1844–1933) was an American writer known for his prolific output of historical and military fiction novels. He served in the military, which heavily influenced his storytelling, focusing often on tales of adventure and heroism. His works, such as "Campaigning with Crook" and "Fort Frayne," are celebrated for their vivid portrayal of frontier life and military campaigns in the American West.
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Charles King
CHAPTER I. TWO TROOPERS. "Ray, what would you do if some one were to leave you a fortune?" "Humph! Pay for the clothes I have on, I suppose," is the answer, half humorous, half wistful, as the interrogated party, the younger of two officers, glances down at his well-worn regimentals. "That's one reason I'm praying we may be sent to reinforce Crook up in the Sioux country....
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Charles King
Riding at ease in the lazy afternoon sunshine a single troop of cavalry was threading its way in long column of twos through the bold and beautiful foothills of the Big Horn. Behind them, glinting in the slanting rays, Cloud Peak, snow clad still although it was late in May, towered above the pine-crested summits of the range. To the right and left of the winding trail bare shoulders of bluff, covered...
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Charles King
STARLIGHT RANCH. We were crouching round the bivouac fire, for the night was chill, and we were yet high up along the summit of the great range. We had been scouting through the mountains for ten days, steadily working southward, and, though far from our own station, our supplies were abundant, and it was our leader's purpose to make a clean sweep of the line from old Sandy to the Salado, and...
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Charles King
A RASH RESOLVE. "Better take my advice, sir. The road ahead is thick with the Patchies." "But you have come through all alone, my friend; why should I not go? I have been stationed among the Apaches for the last five years and have fought them all over Arizona. Surely I ought to know how to take care of myself." "I don't doubt that, captain. It's the kids I'm thinking...
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Charles King
CHAPTER I. Something unusual was going on at division headquarters. The men in the nearest regimental camps, regular and volunteer, were “lined up” along the sentry posts and silently, eagerly watching and waiting. For a week rumor had been rife that orders for a move were coming and the brigades hailed it with delight. For a month, shivering at night in the dripping, drenching fogs drifting in...
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Charles King
CHAPTER I. The stage coach was invisible in a cloud of its own dust as it lurched and rolled along the alkali flats down the valley, and Sancho, the ranch-keeper, could not make out whether any passengers were on top or not. He had brought a fine binocular to bear just as soon as the shrill voice of Pedro, a swarthy little scamp of a half-breed, announced the dust-cloud sailing over the clump of...
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Charles King
CHAPTER I. "Ananias!" "Ye-as, suh?" "What time is it?" "Gyahd-mountin' done gone, suh." "The devil it has! What do you mean, sir, by allowing me to sleep on in this shameless and unconscionable manner, when an indulgent government is suffering for my services? What sort of day is it, sir?" "Beautiful day, Mr. Waring." "Then go at once to Mr....
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Charles King
TWO ANNOUNCEMENTS The war with Spain was at an end, and so were the hopes and aspirations of many a warrior. For several reasons Colonel Ray of the ——th Kentucky was a disappointed man. One of the best soldiers doing duty with the volunteers, he had had some of the worst luck. Through long years of service in the regular cavalry he had borne the reputation of being a most energetic and valuable...
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Charles King
PRELUDE It was graduation day at West Point, and there had been a remarkable scene at the morning ceremonies. In the presence of the Board of Visitors, the full-uniformed officers of the academic and military staff, the august professors and their many assistants, scores of daintily dressed women and dozens of sober-garbed civilians, the assembled Corps of Cadets, in their gray and white, had risen as...
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Charles King
The sun was sinking low beyond the ford of the foaming Platte. The distant bluffs commanding the broad valley of the Sweetwater stood sharp and clear against the westward skies. The smoke from the camp-fires along the stream rose in misty columns straight aloft, for not so much as a breath of breeze had wafted down from the far snow fields of Cloud Peak, or the sun-sheltered rifts of the Big Horn. The...
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