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Mavericks By: William MacLeod Raine (1871-1954) |
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MAVERICKS BY WILLIAM MACLEOD RAINE AUTHOR OF WYOMING, RIDGWAY OF MONTANA, BUCKY O'CONNOR, A TEXAS RANGER, ETC.
ILLUSTRATIONS BY CLARENCE ROWE
GROSSET & DUNLAP PUBLISHERS NEW YORK 1911 STREET & SMITH 1912 G.W. DILLINGHAM COMPANY TO MY MOTHER "In vain men tell us time can alter
Old loves, or make old memories falter."
CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE
I. PHYLLIS 9 II. THE NESTER 18 III. CAUGHT RED HANDED 28 IV. "I'M A RUSTLER AND A THIEF, AM I?" 43 V. AN AIDER AND ABETTOR 53 VI. A GOOD FRIEND 76 VII. A SHOT FROM AMBUSH 84 VIII. MISS GOING ON EIGHTEEN 103 IX. PUNISHMENT 117 X. INTO THE ENEMY'S COUNTRY 126 XI. TOM DIXON 144 XII. THE ESCAPE 157 XIII. A MISTAKE 168 XIV. A DIFFERENCE OF OPINION 183 XV. THE BRAND BLOTTER 200 XVI. A WATERSPOUT 214 XVII. THE HOLD UP 226 XVIII. BRILL HEALY AIRS HIS SENTIMENTS 233 XIX. THE ROAN WITH THE WHITE STOCKINGS 241 XX. YEAGER RIDES TO NOCHES 253 XXI. BREAKING DOWN AN ALIBI 263 XXII. SURRENDER 276 XXIII. AT THE RODEO 289 XXIV. MISSING 296 XXV. LARRY TELLS A BEAR STORY 304 XXVI. THE MAN HUNT 323 XXVII. THE ROUND UP 329 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE The rider slewed in the saddle with his whole
attention upon possible pursuit. Frontispiece 33 She drew back as if he had struck her, all the
sparkling eagerness driven from her face. 110 "Drop that gun!" 205 They grappled in silence save for the heavy panting
that evidenced the tension of their efforts. 340 MAVERICKS
CHAPTER I PHYLLIS
Phyllis leaned against the door jamb and looked down the long road which
wound up from the valley and lost itself now and again in the land
waves. Miles away she could see a little cloud of dust travelling behind
the microscopic stage, which moved toward her almost as imperceptibly as
the minute hand of a clock. A bronco was descending the hill trail from
the Flagstaff mine, and its rider announced his coming with song in a
voice young and glad. "My love has breath o' roses,
O' roses, o' roses,
And cheeks like summer posies
All fresh with morning dew," floated the words to her across the sunlit open. If the girl heard, she heeded not. One might have guessed her a sullen,
silent lass, and would have done her less than justice. For the storm in
her eyes and the curl of the lip were born of a mood and not of habit.
They had to do with the gay vocalist who drew his horse up in front of
her and relaxed into the easy droop of the experienced rider at rest. "Don't see me, do you?" he asked, smiling. Her dark, level gaze came round and met his sunniness without response. "Yes, I see you, Tom Dixon." "And you don't think you see much then?" he suggested lightly. She gave him no other answer than the one he found in the rigor of her
straight figure and the flash of her dark eyes. "Mad at me, Phyl?" Crossing his arms on the pommel of the saddle he
leaned toward her, half coaxing, half teasing... Continue reading book >>
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Literature |
Westerns |
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