William Macleod Raine

Gunsight Pass William Macleod Raine

CONTENTS  I. "CROOKED AS A DOG'S HIND LAIG" II. THE RACE III. DAVE RIDES ON HIS SPURS IV. THE PAINT HOSS DISAPPEARS V. SUPPER AT DELMONICO'S INTERRUPTED VI. BY WAY OF A WINDOW VII. BOB HART TAKES A HAND VIII. THE D BAR LAZY R BOYS MEET AN ANGEL IX. GUNSIGHT PASS X. THE CATTLE TRAIN XI. THE NIGHT CLERK GETS BUSY PRONTO XII. THE LAW PUZZLES DAVE XIII. FOR MURDER XIV. TEN YEARS XV. IN DENVER XVI. DAVE MEETS TWO FRIENDS AND A FOE XVII. OIL XVIII. DOBLE PAYS A VISIT XIX. AN INVOLUNTARY BATH XX. THE LITTLE MOTHER FREES HER MIND XXI. THE HOLD-UP XXII. NUMBER THREE COMES IN XXIII. THE GUSHER XXIV. SHORTY XXV. MILLER TALKS XXVI. DAVE ACCEPTS AN INVITATION XXVII. AT THE JACKPOT XXVIII. DAVE MEETS A FINANCIER XXIX. THREE IN CONSULTATION XXX. ON THE FLYER XXXI. TWO ON THE HILLTOPS XXXII. DAVE BECOMES AN OFFICE MAN XXXIII. ON THE DODGE XXXIV. A PLEASANT EVENING XXXV. FIRE IN THE CHAPARRAL XXXVI. FIGHTING FIRE XXXVII. SHORTY ASK A QUESTION XXXVIII. DUG DOBLE RIDES INTO THE HILLS XXXIX. THE TUNNEL XL. A MESSAGE XLI. HANK BRINGS BAD NEWS XLII. SHORTY IS AWAKENED XLIII. JUAN OTERO IS CONSCRIPTED XLIV. THE BULLDOG BARKS XLV. JOYCE MAKES PIES  *** excerpt from CHAPTER I "CROOKED AS A DOG'S HIND LAIG" It was a land of splintered peaks, of deep, dry gorges, of barren mesas burnt by the suns of a million torrid summers. The normal condition of it was warfare. Life here had to protect itself with a tough, callous rind, to attack with a swift, deadly sting. Only the fit survived. But moonlight had magically touched the hot, wrinkled earth with a fairy godmother's wand. It was bathed in a weird, mysterious beauty. Into the crotches of the hills lakes of wondrous color had been poured at sunset. The crests had flamed with crowns of glory, the canons become deep pools of blue and purple shadow. Blurred by kindly darkness, the gaunt ridges had softened to pastels of violet and bony mountains to splendid sentinels keeping watch over a gulf of starlit space. Around the camp-fire the drivers of the trail herd squatted on their heels or lay sprawled at indolent ease. The glow of the leaping flames from the twisted mesquite lit their lean faces, tanned to bronzed health by the beat of an untempered sun and the sweep of parched winds. Most of them were still young, scarcely out of their boyhood; a few had reached maturity. But all were products of the desert. The high-heeled boots, the leather chaps, the kerchiefs knotted round the neck, were worn at its insistence. Upon every line of their features, every shade of their thought, it had stamped its brand indelibly. The talk was frank and elemental. It had the crisp crackle that goes with free, unfettered youth. In a parlor some of it would have been offensive, but under the stars of the open desert it was as natural as the life itself. They spoke of the spring rains, of the Crawford-Steelman feud, of how they meant to turn Malapi upside down in their frolic when they reached town. They "rode" each other with jokes that were familiar old friends. Their horse play was rough but good-natured.