The Ranchman. Charles Alden Seltzer

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       Charles Alden Seltzer

      The Ranchman

      Published by Good Press, 2021

       [email protected]

      EAN 4057664609168

Table of Contents

       CHAPTER I—CONCERNING DAWES

       CHAPTER II—SLICK DUDS

       CHAPTER III—THE SERPENT TRAIL

       CHAPTER IV—THE HOLD-UP

       CHAPTER V—THE UNEXPECTED

       CHAPTER VI—A MAN MAKES PLANS

       CHAPTER VII—THE SHADOW OF THE PAST

       CHAPTER VIII—CONCERNING “SQUINT”

       CHAPTER IX—A MAN LIES

       CHAPTER X—THE FRAME-UP

       CHAPTER XI—“NO FUN FOOLING HER”

       CHAPTER XII—LIFTING THE MASK

       CHAPTER XIII—THE SHADOW OF TROUBLE

       CHAPTER XIV—THE FACE OF A FIGHTER

       CHAPTER XV—GLOOM—AND PLANS

       CHAPTER XVI—A MAN BECOMES A BRUTE

       CHAPTER XVII—THE WRONG ANKLE

       CHAPTER XVIII—THE BEAST AGAIN

       CHAPTER XIX—THE AMBUSH

       CHAPTER XX—A FIGHT TO A FINISH

       CHAPTER XXI—A MAN FACES DEATH

       CHAPTER XXII—LOOKING FOR TROUBLE

       CHAPTER XXIII—A WORLD-OLD LONGING

       CHAPTER XXIV—A DEATH WARRANT

       CHAPTER XXV—KEATS LOOKS FOR “SQUINT”

       CHAPTER XXVI—KEATS FINDS “SQUINT”

       CHAPTER XXVII—BESIEGED

       CHAPTER XXVIII—THE FUGITIVE

       CHAPTER XXIX—THE CAPTIVE

       CHAPTER XXX—PARSONS HAS HUMAN INSTINCTS

       CHAPTER XXXI—A RESCUE

       CHAPTER XXXII—TAYLOR BECOMES RILED

       CHAPTER XXXIII—RETRIBUTION

       CHAPTER XXXIV—THE WILL OF THE MOB

       CHAPTER XXXV—TRIUMPH AT LAST

CHAPTER I—CONCERNING DAWES

       Table of Contents

      The air in the Pullman was hot and, despite the mechanical contrivances built into the coach to prevent such a contingency, the dust from the right-of-way persisted in filtering through crevices.

      Even the electric fans futilely combated the heat; their droning hum bespoke terrific revolutions which did not materially lessen the discomfort of the occupants of the coach; and the dry, dead dust of the desert, the glare of a white-hot sun, the continuing panorama of waste land, rolling past the car windows, afforded not one cool vista to assuage the torture of travel.

      For hours after leaving Kansas City, several of the passengers had diligently gazed out of the windows. But when they had passed the vast grass plains and had entered the desert, where their eyes met nothing but endless stretches of feathery alkali dust, beds of dead lava, and clumps of cacti with thorny spire and spatula blade defiantly upthrust as though in mockery of all life—the passengers drew the shades and settled down in their seats to endure the discomfort of it all.

      A blasé tourist forward reclined in one seat and rested his legs on another. From under the peak of a cap pulled well down over his eyes he smiled cynically at his fellow-passengers, noting the various manifestations of their discomfort. The tourist was a transcontinental traveler of note and he had few expectations. It amused him to watch those who had.

      A girl of about twenty, seated midway in the coach to the left of the tourist, had been an intent watcher of the desert. With the covert eye of the tourist upon her she stiffened, stared sharply out of the window, then drew back, shuddering, a queer pallor on her face.

      “She’s seen something unpleasant,” mused the tourist. “A heap of bleached bones—which would be the skeleton of a steer; or a rattlesnake—or most anything. She’s got nerves.”

      One passenger in the car had no nerves—of that the tourist was convinced. The tourist had observed him closely, and the tourist was a judge of men. The nerveless one was a young man who sat in a rear seat staring intently out into the inferno of heat and sand, apparently absorbed in his thoughts and unaware of any physical