Hopalong Cassidy's Rustler Round-Up; Or, Bar-20 By Clarence Edward Mulford
A collection of short stories. The narrator of the story, Bill Joyce a big, rough bruiser. Bill unfolds a drama that involves a young man’s wife back home and how he reunites the man and wife in wedded bliss. Bill also recalls a time prospecting with a different partner, called Kink, in Arizona who happens to shoot and kill an Indian. Another story of the collection involves a bunch of five Texas boys who travel to Indian Territory for a horse race. Their scheme is to get the Indians to match their money in a big wager and then take off with the pot before the race is over. Enjoy these works of Rex Beach as he give away different breathtaking stories all written in one book.
Mr. William Hyde was discharged from Deer Lodge Penitentiary a changed man. That was quite in line with the accepted theory of criminal jurisprudence, the warden's discipline, and the chaplain's prayers. Yes, Mr. Hyde was changed, and the change had bitten deep; his humorous contempt for the law had turned to abiding hatred; his sunburned cheeks were pallid, his lungs were weak, and he coughed considerably. Balanced against these results, to be sure, were the benefits accruing from three years of corrective discipline at the State's expense; the knack of conversing through stone walls, which Mr. Hyde had mastered, and the plaiting of wonderful horsehair bridles, which he had learned. Otherwise he was the same "Laughing Bill" his friends had known, neither more nor less regenerate. Since the name of Montana promised to associate itself with unpleasant memories, Mr. Hyde determined at once to bury his past and begin life anew in a climate more suited to weak lungs. To that end he stuck up a peaceful citizen of Butte who was hurrying homeward with an armful of bundles, and in the warm dusk of a pleasant evening relieved him of eighty-three dollars, a Swiss watch with an elk's-tooth fob, a pearl-handled penknife, a key-ring, and a bottle of digestive tablets.
A well written tale of love and comeuppance set in early days of Dallas during the oil boom. Calvin Gray, a conman. He is smooth, classy, intelligent, and full of life. He is genius, and he knows how to play the game. Flowing Gold is a story of success, flippant money spending, confidence building, unwavering support, and revenge. Excerpt from the Flowing Gold. The representative of the Dallas Post had anticipated some difficulty in interviewing the elusive Calvin Gray--whoever he might be--but luck appeared to be with him, for shortly after his arrival at the hotel the object of his quest appeared. Mr. Gray was annoyed at being discovered; he was, in fact, loath to acknowledge his identity. Having just returned from an important conference with some of the leading financiers of the city, his mind was burdened with affairs of weight, and then, too, the mayor was expecting him--luncheon probably--hence he was in no mood to be interviewed. Usually Mr. Gray's secretary saw interviewers. However, now that his identity was known, he had not the heart to be discourteous to a fellow journalist. Yes! He had once owned a newspaper--in Alaska. Incidentally, it was the farthest-north publication in the world.
The ship stole through the darkness with extremest caution, feeling her way past bay and promontory. Around her was none of that phosphorescent glow which lies above the open ocean, even on the darkest night, for the mountains ran down to the channel on either side. In places they overhung, and where they lay upturned against the dim sky it could be seen that they were mantled with heavy timber. All day long the NEBRASKA had made her way through an endless succession of straits and sounds, now squeezing through an inlet so narrow that the somber spruce trees seemed to be within a short stone's-throw, again plowing across some open reach where the pulse of the north Pacific could be felt. Out through the openings to seaward stretched the restless ocean, on across uncounted leagues, to Saghalien and the rim of Russia's prison-yard.
1910. Rex Beach was well on his way to becoming a lawyer when he was hit by Gold Rush Fever and left for the Klondike to strike it rich. He never found gold, but his travels had sparked his imagination and he began to write. His tales of adventures quickly made him into a popular author. The Ne'er-Do-Well begins: It was a crisp November night. The artificial brilliance of Broadway was rivaled by a glorious moonlit sky. The first autumn frost was in the air, and on the side-streets long rows of taxicabs were standing, their motors blanketed, their chauffeurs threshing their arms to rout the cold. A few well-bundled cabbies, perched upon old-style hansoms, were barking at the stream of hurrying pedestrians. Against a background of lesser lights myriad points of electric signs flashed into ever-changing shapes, winking like huge, distorted eyes; fanciful designs of liquid fire ran up and down the walls or blazed forth in lurid colors. From the city's canons came an incessant clanging roar, as if a great river of brass and steel were grinding its way toward the sea. See other titles by this author available from Kessinger Publishing.
An entertaining collection of classic western short stories by Rex Beach. The other stories are Rope's End, Inocencio, The Wag-Lady, "Man Propose"-The Story of man who wanted to die, Told in the Storm, The Weight of Obligation, The Stampede, When the Mail Came in, McGill and The Brand. In the collection, there were stories about survival on the storm at sea and the storm of life. Stories of adventure, sailing and more. Excerpt The Crimson Gardenia. The fellow was laughing loudly; he assumed a tipsy air and lurched against the girl; then, with a quickness that belied his pose, he snatched at her mask and bared her features. She cried out in terror, and with the sound of her voice Mr. Van Dam flew to action. He knew that until six o'clock disguises were inviolate, and that it was against the strictest of police regulations to unmask a reveler; therefore he yielded to a righteous impulse and struck the man in the domino squarely upon the jaw. Beneath Roly's rounded proportions was a deceptive machinery of bone and muscle that had been schooled by the most expensive instructors of boxing. He had known how to hit cleanly since he was twelve years old, and although he had never struck a man in anger until this moment, his fist went true.