Of all the men who had slept under Flying-U tents and eaten beside the mess-wagon, Andy Green was conceded to be the greatest, the most shameless and wholly incorrigible liar of the lot. ...
He could ride anything in his string, and he was always just where he was wanted. He never went to town when the others clattered off for a few hours' celebration more or less mild, he never took part in any of the camp fun, and he never offended any man. If any offended him they did not know it unless they were observant; if they were, they would see his pale lashes wink fast for a minute, and they might read aright the sign and refrain fr ...
Black Rim country is called bad. The men from Black Rim are eyed askance when they burr their spur rowels down the plank sidewalks of whatever little town they may choose to visit. A town dweller will not quarrel with one of them. He will treat him politely, straightway seek some acquaintance whom he wishes to impress, and jerk a thumb toward the departing Black Rim man, and say importantly: “See that feller I was talking with just now? That’s o ...
"When came the famine in stock-cars on the Montana Central, and the Flying U herd had grazed for two days within five miles of Dry Lake, waiting for the promised train of empties, Chip Bennett, lately promoted foreman, felt that he had trouble a-plenty." The Happy Family return for more adventures at the Flying U. ...
A privileged young man from the West Coast meets a well-to-do East Coast girl during a summer vacation in cattle country, and nothing turns out as expected in this classic Bower adventure. ...
'Demian' is a psychological masterpiece of modern literature. This novel explores the duality of human nature and the alienation of man's soul. A powerful coming of age story. ...
'The Most Dangerous Game' is a tense story pitting man against man and the hunted against the hunter. Sanger Rainsford falls from a yacht on route to Rio de Janeiro to hunt jaguars. He manages to swim to a nearby island, but there the hunter becomes the hunted. ...
As I sit down to write here amidst the shadows of vine-leaves under the blue sky of southern Italy, it comes to me with a certain quality of astonishment that my participation in these amazing adventures of Mr. Cavor was, after all, the outcome of the purest accident. It might have been any one. I fell into these things at a time when I thought myself removed from the slightest possibility of disturbing experiences. I had gone to Lympne because ...
