Sawtooth Ranch

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Bower B. M.. Sawtooth Ranch

CHAPTER I. LITTLE FISH

CHAPTER II. THE ENCHANTMENT OF LONG DISTANCE

CHAPTER III. REALITY IS WEIGHED AND FOUND WANTING

CHAPTER IV "SHE'S A GOOD GIRL WHEN SHE AIN'T CRAZY"

CHAPTER V. A DEATH "BY ACCIDENT"

CHAPTER VI. LONE ADVISES SILENCE

CHAPTER VII. THE MAN AT WHISPER

CHAPTER VIII "IT TAKES NERVE JUST TO HANG ON"

CHAPTER IX. THE EVIL EYE OF THE SAWTOOTH

CHAPTER X. ANOTHER SAWTOOTH "ACCIDENT"

CHAPTER XI. SWAN TALKS WITH HIS THOUGHTS

CHAPTER XII. THE QUIRT PARRIES THE FIRST BLOW

CHAPTER XIII. LONE TAKES HIS STAND

CHAPTER XIV "FRANK'S DEAD"

CHAPTER XV. SWAN TRAILS A COYOTE

CHAPTER XVI. THE SAWTOOTH SHOWS ITS HAND

CHAPTER XVII. YACK DON'T LIE

CHAPTER XVIII "I THINK AL WOODRUFF'S GOT HER"

CHAPTER XIX. SWAN CALLS FOR HELP

CHAPTER XX. KIDNAPPED

CHAPTER XXI "OH, I COULD KILL YOU!"

CHAPTER XXII "YACK, I LICK YOU GOOD IF YOU BARK"

CHAPTER XXIII "I COULDA LOVED THIS LITTLE GIRL"

CHAPTER XXIV. ANOTHER STORY BEGINS

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Lorraine Hunter always maintained that she was a Western girl. If she reached the point of furnishing details she would tell you that she had ridden horses from the time that she could walk, and that her father was a cattle-king of Idaho, whose cattle fed upon a thousand hills. When she was twelve she told her playmates exciting tales about rattlesnakes. When she was fifteen she sat breathless in the movies and watched picturesque horsemen careering up and down and around the thousand hills, and believed in her heart that half the Western pictures were taken on or near her father's ranch. She seemed to remember certain landmarks, and would point them out to her companions and whisper a desultory lecture on the cattle industry as illustrated by the picture. She was much inclined to criticism of the costuming and the acting.

At eighteen she knew definitely that she hated the very name Casa Grande. She hated the narrow, half-lighted hallway with its "tree" where no one ever hung a hat, and the seat beneath where no one ever sat down. She hated the row of key-and-mail boxes on the wall, with the bell buttons above each apartment number. She hated the jangling of the hall telephone, the scurrying to answer, the prodding of whichever bell button would summon the tenant asked for by the caller. She hated the meek little Filipino boy who swept that ugly hall every morning. She hated the scrubby palms in front. She hated the pillars where the paint was peeling badly. She hated the conflicting odours that seeped into the atmosphere at certain hours of the day. She hated the three old maids on the third floor and the frowsy woman on the first, who sat on the front steps in her soiled breakfast cap and bungalow apron. She hated the nervous tenant who occupied the apartment just over her mother's three-room-and-bath, and pounded with a broom handle on the floor when Lorraine practised overtime on chromatic scales.

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" – and as I says time and again, they ain't big enough to fight the outfit, and the quicker they git out the less lead they'll carry under their hides when they do go. What they want to try an' hang on for, beats me. Why, it's like setting into a poker game with a five-cent piece! They ain't got my sympathy. I ain't got any use for a damn fool, no way yuh look at it."

"Well, there's the TJ – they been here a long while, and they ain't packin' any lead, and they ain't getting out."

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