Hidden Water

Hidden Water
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Оглавление

Coolidge Dane. Hidden Water

CHAPTER I. THE MOUSE

CHAPTER II. THE MAN FROM CHERRYCOW

CHAPTER III. THE TRAIL OF THE SHEEP

CHAPTER IV. DON PABLO MORENO

CHAPTER V. HIDDEN WATER

CHAPTER VI. THE CROSSING

CHAPTER VII. HELL’S HIP POCKET

CHAPTER VIII. A YEAR’S MAIL

CHAPTER IX. MORONI

CHAPTER X “FEED MY SHEEP”

CHAPTER XI. JUMPED

CHAPTER XII. THE GARDEN IN THE DESERT

CHAPTER XIII. A SNOW-SCENE

CHAPTER XIV. FOREBODINGS

CHAPTER XV. THE CATASTROPHE

CHAPTER XVI. THE DEPARTURE

CHAPTER XVII. CHICO AND GRANDE

CHAPTER XVIII. BAD BLOOD

CHAPTER XIX. THE BIG DRUNK

CHAPTER XX. THE DROUGHT

CHAPTER XXI. THE FLOOD

CHAPTER XXII. PORTENTS OF WAR

CHAPTER XXIII. THE LAST CROSSING

CHAPTER XXIV. THE END OF IT ALL

Отрывок из книги

After lashing the desert to a frazzle and finding the leaks in the Hotel Bender, the wind from Papaguería went howling out over the mesa, still big with rain for the Four Peaks country, and the sun came out gloriously from behind the clouds. Already the thirsty sands had sucked up the muddy pools of water, and the board walk which extended the length of the street, connecting saloon with saloon and ending with the New York Store, smoked with the steam of drying. Along the edge of the walk, drying out their boots in the sun, the casual residents of the town–many of them held up there by the storm–sat in pairs and groups, talking or smoking in friendly silence. A little apart from the rest, for such as he are a long time making friends in Arizona, Rufus Hardy sat leaning against a post, gazing gloomily out across the desert. For a quiet, retiring young man, interested in good literature and bearing malice toward no one, his day in the Bender barroom had been eventful out of all proportion to his deserts and wishes, and he was deep in somber meditation when the door opened and Judge Ware stepped out into the sunshine.

In outward appearance the judge looked more like a large fresh-faced boy in glasses than one of San Francisco’s eminent jurists, and the similarity was enhanced by the troubled and deprecating glances with which he regarded his foreman, who towered above him like a mentor. There was a momentary conference between them at the doorway, and then, as Creede stumped away down the board walk, the judge turned and reluctantly approached Hardy.

.....

“Yourn?” he inquired, surveying it with the keen concentrated gaze which stamps every point on a cowboy’s memory for life.

“Sure,” returned Hardy, patting his pony carefully upon the shoulder.

.....

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