Westerns Books

THE HOME-COMING OF CALUMET MARSTON Shuffling down the long slope, its tired legs moving automatically, the drooping pony swerved a little and then came to a halt, trembling with fright. Startled out of his unpleasant ruminations, his lips tensing over his teeth in a savage snarl, Calumet Marston swayed uncertainly in the saddle, caught himself, crouched, and swung a heavy pistol to a menacing poise.... more...

CHAPTER I. It was the last day of Captain Wilbur Cranston's leave of absence. For three blissful months he had been visiting his old home in a bustling Western city, happy in the happiness of his charming wife in this her first long restoration to civilization since their marriage ten years before; happy in the pride and joy of his father and mother in having once more under their roof the soldier... more...

THE VALLEY OF SILENT MEN Before the railroad's thin lines of steel bit their way up through the wilderness, Athabasca Landing was the picturesque threshold over which one must step who would enter into the mystery and adventure of the great white North. It is still Iskwatam—the "door" which opens to the lower reaches of the Athabasca, the Slave, and the Mackenzie. It is somewhat... more...

CHAPTER I GOING "IN" The midnight sun had set, but in a crotch between two snow-peaks it had kindled a vast caldron from which rose a mist of jewels, garnet and turquoise, topaz and amethyst and opal, all swimming in a sea of molten gold. The glow of it still clung to the face of the broad Yukon, as a flush does to the soft, wrinkled cheek of a girl just roused from deep sleep. Except for a... more...

CHAPTER I It seemed that Father Anthony gathered all the warmth of the short northern summer and kept it for winter use, for his good nature was an actual physical force. From his ruddy face beamed such an ardent kindliness that people literally reached out towards him as they might extend their hands toward a comfortable fire. All the labors of his work as an Inspector of Jesuit institutions across... more...

The Reward of Folly. I'm something like the old maid you read about—the one who always knows all about babies and just how to bring them up to righteous maturity; I've got a mighty strong conviction that I know heaps that my dad never thought of about the proper training for a healthy male human. I don't suppose I'll ever have a chance to demonstrate my wisdom, but, if I do, there... more...

COMANCHE Coming to Comanche, you stopped, for Comanche was the end of the world. Unless, of course, you were one of those who wished to push the boundary-line of the world farther, to make homes in the wilderness where there had been no homes, to plant green fields in the desert where none had been before. In that case you merely paused at Comanche, like the railroad, to wait the turn of events. Beyond... more...

A POET WITHOUT HONORBefore I die, I'll ride the sky;I'll part the clouds like foam.I'll brand each star with the Rolling R,And lead the Great Bear home.I'll circle Mars to beat the cars,On Venus I will call.If she greets me fair as I ride the air,To meet her I will stall.I'll circle high—as if passing by—Then volplane, bank, and land.Then if she'll smile I'll stop... more...

GRIT "Mormon" Peters carefully shifted his weighty bulk in the chair that he dared not tilt, gazing dreamily at the saw-toothed mountains shimmering in the distance, sniffing luxuriously the scent of sage. "They oughter spell Arizona with three 'C's,'" he said. "Why?" asked Sandy Bourke, wiping the superfluous oil from the revolver he was meticulously cleaning.... more...

CHAPTER I: THE REACHING OF A DECISION For the second time that night Frederick Cavendish, sitting at a small table in a busy café where the night life of the city streamed continually in and out, regarded the telegram spread out upon the white napery. It read: Bear Creek, Colorado, 4/2/15. FREDERICK CAVENDISH,  College Club,    New York City. Found big lead; lost it again. Need you badly.... more...