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The Twins of Suffering Creek   By: (1867-1943)

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First Page:

THE TWINS OF SUFFERING CREEK

BY THE SAME AUTHOR

THE ONE WAY TRAIL THE TRAIL OF THE AXE THE SHERIFF OF DYKE HOLE THE WATCHERS OF THE PLAINS

[Illustration: "Say Jessie," he breathed hotly, "you're you're fine!"]

THE TWINS OF SUFFERING CREEK

BY

RIDGWELL CULLUM

AUTHOR OF

"THE ONE WAY TRAIL," "THE WATCHERS OF THE PLAINS," ETC.

PHILADELPHIA

GEORGE W. JACOBS & CO.

PUBLISHERS

Copyright, 1912, by

George W. Jacobs & Company

TO

MY TWO LITTLE CHUMS

CHRIS AND RIDGE

THIS BOOK

IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED

CONTENTS

I POTTER'S CLAY 9 II THE HARVEST OF PASSION 23 III THE AWAKENING OF SCIPIO 37 IV SCIPIO BORROWS A HORSE 54 V HUSBAND AND LOVER 69 VI SUNNY OAK PROTESTS 87 VII SUNNY OAK TRIES HIS HAND 94 VIII WILD BILL THINKS HARD AND HEARS NEWS 108 IX THE FORERUNNER OF THE TRUST 116 X THE TRUST 124 XI STRANGERS IN SUFFERING CREEK 136 XII THE WOMAN 142 XIII BIRDIE AND THE BOYS 154 XIV BIRDIE GIVES MORE ADVICE 167 XV THE TRUST AT WORK 177 XVI ZIP'S GRATITUDE 188 XVII JESSIE'S LETTER 196 XVIII ON THE ROAD 205 XIX A FINANCIAL TRANSACTION 216 XX HOW THE TRUST BOUGHT MEDICINE 225 XXI SCIPIO MAKES PREPARATIONS 236 XXII SUNDAY MORNING IN SUFFERING CREEK 240 XXIII A BATH AND 247 XXIV A BIBLE TALK 259 XXV WILD BILL FIRES A BOMB 267 XXVI WILD BILL INSPECTS HIS CLAIM 274 XXVII SUSPENSE 285 XXVIII JAMES 296 XXIX THE GOLD STAGE 304 XXX ON THE SPAWN CITY TRAIL 316 XXXI THE BATTLE 325 XXXII A MAN'S LOVE 335 XXXIII THE REASON WHY 346 XXXIV THE LUCK OF SCIPIO 353 XXXV HOME 363

THE TWINS OF SUFFERING CREEK

CHAPTER I

POTTER'S CLAY

Scipio moved about the room uncertainly. It was characteristic of him. Nature had given him an expression that suggested bewilderment, and, somehow, this expression had got into his movements.

He was swabbing the floor with a rag mop; a voluntary task, undertaken to relieve his wife, who was lounging over the glowing cookstove, reading a cheap story book. Once or twice he paused in his labors, and his mild, questioning blue eyes sought the woman's intent face. His stubby, work soiled fingers would rake their way through his straw colored hair, which grew sparsely and defiantly, standing out at every possible unnatural angle, and the mop would again flap into the muddy water, and continue its process of smearing the rough boarded floor.

Now and again the sound of children's voices floated in through the open doorway, and at each shrill piping the man's pale eyes lit into a smile of parental tenderness... Continue reading book >>




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