Emerson Hough

Emerson Hough
Emerson Hough was an American author born on June 28, 1857, in Newton, Iowa, and is best known for his western and historical novels. His most famous work, "The Covered Wagon" (1922), became a significant contribution to the genre, reflecting the pioneering spirit of the American West. Hough's prolific writing career, which also included non-fiction works and articles, greatly influenced the popular perception of frontier life during the late 19th and early 20th centuries.

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TAKING THE TRAIL It was a wild and beautiful scene which lay about the little camp in the far-off mountains of the Northwest. The sun had sunk beyond the loftier ridges, although even now in the valley there remained considerable light. One could have seen many miles over the surrounding country had not, close at hand, where the little white tent stood, the forest of spruce been very dense and green.... more...

THE START FOR THE MIDNIGHT SUN “ Well, fellows,” said Jesse Wilcox, the youngest of the three boys who stood now at the ragged railway station of Athabasca Landing, where they had just disembarked, “here we are once more. For my part, I’m ready to start right now.” He spoke somewhat pompously for a youth no more than fifteen years of age. John Hardy and Rob McIntyre, his two companions,... more...

CHAPTER I FOLLOWING LEWIS AND CLARK “ Well, sister,” said Uncle Dick, addressing that lady as she sat busy with her needlework at the window of a comfortable hotel in the city of St. Louis, “I’m getting restless, now that the war is over. Time to be starting out. Looks like... more...

CHAPTER I A LADY IN COMPANY "Madam, you are charming! You have not slept, and yet you smile.No man could ask a better prisoner." She turned to him, smiling faintly. "I thank you. At least we have had breakfast, and for such mercy I am grateful to my jailer. I admit I was famished. What now?" With just the turn of a shoulder she indicated the water front, where, at the end of the dock on... more...

CHAPTER I MOTHER AND SON A woman, tall, somewhat angular, dark of hair and eye, strong of features—a woman now approaching middle age—sat looking out over the long, tree-clad slopes that ran down from the gallery front of the mansion house to the gate at the distant roadway. She had sat thus for some moments, many moments, her gaze intently fixed, as though waiting for something—something or... more...

CHAPTER I THE RETURNED TRAVELER "Gentlemen, this is America!" The speaker cast upon the cloth-covered table a singular object, whose like none of those present had ever seen. They gathered about and bent over it curiously. "This is that America," the speaker repeated. "Here you have it, barbaric, wonderful, abounding!" With sudden gesture he swept his hand among the gold coin... more...

ROB, JOHN, AND JESSE IN CAMP “ Well, here we are, fellows,” said Jesse Wilcox, as he threw down an armful of wood at the side of the camp-fire. “For my part, I believe this is going to be about the best trip we ever had.” “That’s what I was telling Rob to-day,” said John Hardy, setting down a pail of water near by. “But I hope I won’t have to carry water up a bank a hundred feet high... more...

CHAPTER I THE BRAZEN TONGUES The band major was a poet. His name is lost to history, but it deserves a place among the titles of the great. Only in the soul of a poet, a great man, could there have been conceived that thought by which the music of triumph should pass the little pinnacle of human exultation, and reach the higher plane of human sympathy. Forty black horses, keeping step; forty... more...

CHAPTER I - YOUTH MARCHES "Look at 'em come, Jesse! More and more! Must be forty or fifty families." Molly Wingate, middle-aged, portly, dark browed and strong, stood at the door of the rude tent which for the time made her home. She was pointing down the road which lay like an écru ribbon thrown down across the prairie grass, bordered beyond by the timber-grown bluffs of the Missouri.... more...

Chapter I - The Kissing Of Miss Grace Sheraton I admit I kissed her. Perhaps I should not have done so. Perhaps I would not do so again. Had I known what was to come I could not have done so. Nevertheless I did. After all, it was not strange. All things about us conspired to be accessory and incendiary. The air of the Virginia morning was so soft and warm, the honeysuckles along the wall were so... more...

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