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Raw Gold A Novel By: Bertrand W. Sinclair (1881-1972) |
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Frontispiece. Page 161. ]
RAW GOLD A NOVEL BY BERTRAND W. SINCLAIR Illustrations by
CLARENCE H. ROWE G. W. DILLINGHAM COMPANY
PUBLISHERS NEW YORK Copyright, 1907, by
STREET & SMITH Copyright, 1908, by
G. W. DILLINGHAM COMPANY Issued June, 1908 Raw Gold
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE I. The Long Arm of the Law 7 II. A Reminiscent Hour 18 III. Birds of Prey 30 IV. A Tale Half Told 59 V. Mounted Again 50 VI. Stony Crossing 58 VII. Thirty Days in Irons 69 VIII. Lyn 85 IX. An Idle Afternoon 103 X. The Vanishing Act, and the Fruits Thereof 116 XI. The Gentleman Who Rode in the Lead 130 XII. We Lose Again 146 XIII. Outlawed 163 XIV. A Close Call 179 XV. Piegan Takes a Hand 197 XVI. In the Camp of the Enemy 214 XVII. A Master stroke of Villainy 226 XVIII. Honor Among Thieves 240 XIX. The Bison 251 XX. The Mouth of Sage Creek 258 XXI. An Elemental Ally 271 XXII. Speechless Hicks 283 XXIII. The Spoils of War 294 XXIV. The Pipe of Peace 303
ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE Hicks drew his and slapped me over the head with it, even as my
finger curled on the trigger Frontispiece 161 Bedded in the soft earth underneath lay the slim buckskin sacks 159 "There's been too much blood shed over that wretched gold already.
Let them have it" 212 A war for the open road against an enemy whose only weapon was
his unswerving bulk 256
RAW GOLD.
CHAPTER I. THE LONG ARM OF THE LAW.
How many of us, I wonder, can look back over the misty, half forgotten
years and not see a few that stand out clear and golden, sharp cut
against the sky line of memory? Years that we wish we could live again,
so that we might revel in every full blooded hour. For we so seldom get
the proper focus on things until we look at them through the clarifying
telescope of Time; and then one realizes with a pang that he can't
back track into the past and take his old place in the passing show. Would we, if we could? It's an idle question, I know; wise men and musty
philosophers say that regrets are foolish. But I speak for myself only
when I say that I would gladly wheedle old, gray bearded Tempus into
making the wheels click backward till I could see again the
buffalo herds darkening the green of Northwestern prairies. They and the
blanket Indian have passed, and the cowpuncher and Texas longhorns that
replaced them will soon be little more than a vivid memory. Already the
man with the plow is tearing up the brown sod that was a stamping ground
for each in turn; the wheat fields have doomed the sage brush, and
truck farms line the rivers where the wild cattle and the elk came down
to drink... Continue reading book >>
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Fiction |
Literature |
Westerns |
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