by Rex Ellingwood Beach
Bailey smoked morosely as he scanned the dusty trail leading down across the “bottom” and away over the dry grey prairie toward the hazy mountains in the west.
From his back-tilted chair on the veranda, the … Read the rest
Bailey smoked morosely as he scanned the dusty trail leading down across the “bottom” and away over the dry grey prairie toward the hazy mountains in the west.
From his back-tilted chair on the veranda, the … Read the rest
Pierre “Feroce” showed disapproval in his every attitude as plainly as disgust peered from the seams in his dark face; it lurked in his scowl and in the curl of his long rawhide that bit among … Read the rest
The storm broke at Salmon Lake, and we ran for Slisco’s road-house. It whipped out from the mountains, all tore into strips coming through the saw-teeth, lashing us off the glare ice and driving us up … Read the rest
The Mission House at Togiak stands forlornly on a wind-swept Alaskan spit, while huddled around it a swarm of dirt-covered “igloos” grovel in an ecstacy of abasement.
Many natives crawled out of these and stared across … Read the rest
Louis Mitchell knew what the telegram meant, even though it was brief and cryptic. He had been expecting something of the sort ever since the bottom dropped out of the steel business and prices tobogganed forty … Read the rest
This is the tale of a wrong that rankled and a great revenge. It is not a moral story, nor yet, measured by the modern money code, is it what could be called immoral. It is … Read the rest
Coming down coast from the Kotzebue country they stumbled onto the little camp in the early winter, and as there was food a plenty, of its kind, whereas they had subsisted for some days on puree … Read the rest
“Most all the old quotations need fixing,” said Joyce in tones forbidding dispute. “For instance, the guy that alluded to marriages germinating in heaven certainly got off on the wrong foot. He meant pardnerships. The same … Read the rest
Up from the valley below came the throb of war drums, the faint rattle of shots, and the distant cries of painted horsemen charging. From my vantage-point on the ridge I had an unobstructed view of … Read the rest
Those marks on my arm? Oh! I got ’em playin’ horse-thief. Yes, playin’. I wasn’t a real one, you know–Well, I s’pose it was sort of a queer game. Came near bein’ my last too, and … Read the rest