Christmas came, by the big calendar that hung on the wall of Tommy's Place. It did not come in the heart of Bill Dale. Don Hunter, riding thoughtfully to dead Parowan, begged Bill to come and spend the holiday at the ranch. Mother Hunter, he said, had made fresh mincemeat and was fattening a turkey, and she'd feel hurt if Bill didn't show up to help celebrate.
Bill was standing by the whim, watching Tommy unhitch the burros from the sweeps. Bill's face was grimed, his shoulders drooped a bit. He had put in five long holes since noon, and the rock was hard. His eyes went down to the empty roofs of Parowan that was; wandered farther, to where the big house stood staunchly upon its knoll, solid, beautiful,—but with no smoke curling up into the nipping air.
"Tell her I'm sorry, Don. I can't—keep Christmas." He swung away and went down the trail, biting his lip, fighting the hot surge of rebellious thoughts. Christmas! Good God, didthey think he was made of stone? Did they think, because he wouldn't whine like a beaten dog—did they think it meant so little to him—all this desolation?
"Dead—inside and out," he muttered fiercely. "And they think I can eat turkey and mince pie and call it—Christmas!"
Behind him, hazing the burros, Tommy was talking plaintively to Don.
"I wouldn't urrge 'im, Mr. Hunter. He worrks like tin men, he does. An' he eats hearty, an' he plays pinochle wit' me of an evenin'. He's havin' 'is joke wit' me an' the burrd an' the dorg—but I've eyes in me head, Mr. Hunter. The heart of 'im's weepin' tears of blood whilst the lips of 'em's laughin' belike. It shows in the eyes of 'im. It does that, Mr. Hunter."
There was no Christmas in Parowan, then. On that day Bill worked harder than ever, and mortared and panned some pieces of quartz that seemed "likely looking rock." He got colors in the pan and professed to be very much encouraged, he talked about formations and ore deposits and bedding planes, on Christmas night, until Tommy fell asleep in his chair and dropped his pipe, breaking the mouthpiece.
"I'll make you a bargain, Tommy," Bill said then, his eyes brighter than they should be,"We'll go over to my store, and you can pick out the best pipe there. And then, if you're human, you'll invite me into your 'Place' and set 'em up. I'd like to get drunk—stony, blind drunk. But I don't think I shall, because I want to put in a thundering big day to-morrow."
Tommy blinked and couldn't find his hat, which was on his head. And Bill laughed at him all the way to the store. He laughed, too, when he pushed Tommy behind the bar to serve the drinks; made him put on a white apron, polish the bar with a towel before and afterwards,—do the thing in style. But neither of them mentioned Christmas.
After that, Bill went away, still laughing at something funny. He said that he was going to bed. But the next morning, when Tommy went over to Bill's camp for breakfast, there were Bill's tracks in the fresh-fallen snow,—tracks coming up from across the gulch and turning in at the gate. Seeing them there, Tommy blinked again. He knew that it had not snowed until dawn was breaking.
One day, when Tommy was washing the dishes—Bill taking a turn at the blacksmithing—he came across two letters tucked behind a jar of fermenting peaches which should have gone into the discard days ago. Tommy pulled out the envelopes, goggled down at them and saw that one was addressed to Parowan, Nevada, and that the address had been covered by a red stamped notice, "NO SUCH POSTOFFICE." Below that was another address—where the Hunters got their mail. The other envelope bore a later date, and was addressed in care of D. L. Hunter. Neither envelope had been opened,—an over-sight which caused Tommy some anxiety. He thought it was darned careless of Don Hunter to put them up in the cupboard and say nothing about them.
So, "Here's a coupla letters Mr. Hunter musta brought yuh an' fergot to give yuh," he said, the moment Bill stepped inside for a drink.
Bill took the letters, glanced at them, lifted the lid of the stove and thrust them deep into the fire.
"We're on the right track," said Bill, and gathered up an armful of dulled steel to sharpen the next morning, preferring his own little forge by the camp for that purpose, and passing by the bigger shop at the mill.
"We are that," Tommy agreed, just as he had agreed every day for the past month. "She's talkin' to us, Bill. She's t'rowed out 'er thread uh gold, an' says, 'Will yuh folly the t'read, now, byes?' A mont' ago she said that—she did."
"We're on the trail," Bill repeated mechanically. "It may be a damn long one, but it's got to end."
"It has," said Tommy, bouncing a rock off Wise One's rump. "Ivery trail has got an ind to it, Bill—it has, that."
Bill walked several paces. "I wonder," he said then.
"Did yuh leave a fire, Bill, in the stove?" Tommy broke a moody silence. "She's smokin' yit."
"It's Don," Bill said indifferently. "I wish they'd quit worrying over me. Hell, you'd think I never spent months in the desert before! I hate to be treated like a sick kid," he added querulously.
"Wit' a fire starrted a'ready, supper'll be quicker got," Tommy observed plaintively, and made for the camp. "I'll warrm up the beans an' bile the coffee in the time it takes t' tell it," he said.
Bill went on with his steel and dumped it beside the blacksmith shop. The heads of two horses showed over the front gate,—Don's horses. Bill felt a contraction of the throat. He wished they would leave him alone; their unspoken loyalty hurt; their sympathy made him writhe. And then, Don might bring letters. Bill felt as if he could not bear to see another letter.
So he walked into the camp—from which Tommy had fled—and confronted Doris. Bill pushed the door shut behind him and leaned against it, not knowing that he did so. He did not speak.
Doris, in khaki riding skirt and flannel shirt, her hair braided down her back, was standing by the table, on which were three plates, three cups. She was holding a can of tomatoes in one hand,and with the other she was trying to open the can with a dull can-opener.
"Did the man ever live," she asked, "that kept a decently sharp knife or anything on the place?"
Bill came forward mechanically, took the can from her and opened it. Doris stood back and watched him, her breath coming unevenly. Bill's eyes were fixed upon the slight task. He did not look up.
"Everything else is all—ready," Doris said. "I thought maybe—I thought I'd use up those cold biscuits in a tomato stew. Tommy says he boards himself. I—would you rather have them cold out of the can?"
Bill looked into her face. His eyes seemed hard and bitter, with those hollows beneath.
"What's the matter? Did your money play out?" His voice was hard, too—though God knows he did not mean to be hard. He was trying so hard not to be a fool!
"Why, no." Doris winced a bit before she straightened her shoulders. "I can stew them in just a minute, if you'd rather." She stood waiting his decision, the can in her two hands before her. Her own eyes were sparkling, but social training helps a lot when one wants to cover emotion deep out of sight. "Which?"
"Oh—any way." Bill turned away to the wash basin, feeling the old, baffled bewilderment. He washed his face, caught himself wishing he had shaved, swore at himself silently for the craven thought. Doris had chosen to come. Let her take him as she found him, or—not at all. He dried his hands carefully, glad of his broken nails. He combed his hair before the little, square mirror, spitefully pleased with Tommy's attempt at a haircut,—though his remarks had been biting at the time.
"Well, how's the social elect?" he asked ironically, unconsciously responding to her presence so far that he stood beside his chair until she was seated. He never did that for Tommy.
Doris poured his coffee with the grace he had loved when they were on their honeymoon,—when the coffeepot was silver and the cups toy things of china. She held out his chipped enamel cup to him with gracious composure.
"The elect? They're riding and golfing and swimming and bridging, as usual." Then, unexpectedly, "I left baby down with mother and daddy. She's awfully well—little monkey; she trots around all over the place."
Bill set his teeth and kept his composure. In a moment he could risk speaking. His voice was so steady that it was brutal.
"And the maid and the nurse—are they down there, too?"
"Oh, no. They're canned. And that reminds me. Those are peach preserves in that jar."
Bill lifted his head a trifle, so that he could send her a sidelong glance. What, in heaven's name, had brought her here, in the dead of winter? Wanting him to go back with her, probably. Wanted to dodge the gossiping. But he would not ask her. She was here; let her tell her object in coming.
"I don't suppose you've heard any news lately," Doris remarked, when Bill had declined every dish of food on the table, and was merely pretending to drink his coffee. "I heard it just as I was leaving the ranch. Walter and John and another man, and that Al Freeman—the one I shot out of here that time, you know—all had a terrible fight in this other man's office, in Goldfield. About money, they said. Walter and the other man were shot, and the other two are in jail. They think Walter won't live. I was thinking, Bill, maybe you ought to go and see him. He—they cheated you somehow, didn't they? Walter might tell, if you went to him and asked about it. I think he'd tell, to get even with John."
"What's the use?" Bill pushed back his chair."What's the use of anything? Doris, did you make the ride over here to tell methat?"
Doris also was making a pretense of eating. She pushed back her plate and began rolling a bit of bread under her forefinger, patting it carefully into a flat little cake. Bill noticed then that she was wearing no rings, save her wedding ring and one with a Parowan nugget,—the first one he found in the claim.
"Why, no. I just happened to think of that. No. What I really came for—well Ireallycame for, was—well, I thought there was no sense in spending money living at a hotel when I have a wonderful home here, and—when the mine needs the money. I don't know whether you need any of mine, but I wish you'd take it and use it, Bill. I—it's a darned shame for you to be working like—like a Bohunk!"
Bill was studying her fixedly.
"I was working like a Bohunk when I found the mine in the first place," he said. "I guess there's nothing the matter with my back. It can stand up under a little more work. I haven't," he said deliberately, "found the ore yet. I may never find it. So you may need your money."
"Our money," corrected Doris, under her breath. "Well, I suppose I can't get around it—you're the stubbornest mule of a man I eversaw in my life! Ireallycame to say I've been a beast. I don't see why," she cried indignantly, "a man can get rich and make a darned fool of himself, and it's all right. But if awomangoes on a perfectly respectable society spree, it—it'ssomething awful!" Her voice broke. "If it had beenyou—if you'd got drunk and gambled and—raised Cain generally, don't—don't you suppose I'd have overlooked it when you—so-sobered up and—wanted to get a fresh start?"
Bill stared at her.
"What Ireallycame over for," she said, sniffling a little, "was to be w-with you. If you can s-stand it like this, I—can't. I just about wentcrazy, seeing other women with their husbands and—being around those darned hotels alone, and you here working like a dog—Icouldn't sta-andit!"
"You poor little kid!" Bill whispered against her hair. "You poor little kid!" He laughed shakily, holding her close. "Sobered up with an awful head on her, I'll bet!"
That was not what he expected to say, but Bill was never much of a hand to express his deeper emotions.
"Anyway, I can cook for you and Tommy, I hope!" Doris was, as usual, withering in hersarcasm. "If you'redeterminedto grub along like this, all right. I'm game for it. I never liked cooking—much. But I can do it. We can move up to the house——"
"Not till we've struck the ore. Call me stubborn if you want to—I can't help it. I found the ore in the first place, and I'll find it again. Without touching a dollar of your money. I can't afford to keep up that big house. This is about my limit."
Doris eyed the limited space, chewing her lip meditatively.
"It isn't much of a place to bring baby," she said. "She'd have her little hands full of slivers, the first thing, off these rough boards. And I can't see the sense, Bill-dear. Not when there's the kitchen up there, and the breakfast room and maid's room that could be shut off from the rest of the house. I'd like to know how it's going to cost more to live there. Do you think you boys wouldeatmore in that kitchen than you do here?"
"Aw, hell! Come on, be a shport!" cried Luella into the silence, evidently believing that the two were playing pinochle.
The winter passed quickly, after that. Bill wondered sometimes if there hadn't been some mistake about that honeymoon trip to California.This was the kind of honeymoon he had dreamed of, when he dared to dream of so remote a bliss. Baby Mary was just a lump of sweetness thrown in for good measure; by the way, you should have seen how she took to mining. On warm days, Doris and the baby would go up to the mine, little Mary smiling back over her daddy's shoulder until they overtook Tommy and the burros, when she would insist upon riding burro-back.
Sometimes she had her way, if one of the burros on shift chanced to be Wise One. Luella, of course, would go along, language and all. They would have a hot lunch, cooked over the camp fire by Doris, who wore khaki, these days, and high-laced boots, and did not look in the least like a lady millionaire. Lady millionaires do not as a rule drive two burros round and round in a circle, hoisting muck from a mine.
They were up there—baby Mary trying her little best to lift a single-jack, and wrinkling her nose at Doris, who was busy with the burros—one morning in April. Bill and Tommy were both below, examining the effect of their "shots" of the evening before. Parowan was "talkin' to 'em louder 'n' the noon whistle," according to Tommy, and when Doris received the hoisting signal, she answered it and then picked up adouble handful of rocks, with which to pelt the two burros whom nobody loved. Bill and Tommy had not been down underground longer than five minutes. Doris put an unexpected sharpness into her tone. The burros broke into a trot,—proving that the load was not muck.
Bill heaved himself out of the bucket, his eyes dancing.
"Ever see anything like that before?" he asked triumphantly, holding out a piece of rock the size of his fist.
"Why—it's gold, isn't it?" The same old thrill hushed her voice as she took the quartz in her hand. Tiny, yellow specks showed here and there,—Parowan gold.
"Busted right into it!" crowed Bill. "I told you last night I was willing to bet we'd get a change this morning. There she is, old girl. Whole face of the tunnel in quartz—gold ore or I'm a Chinaman. It won't be so rich as the surface ore was, but it'll be a darn sight more permanent. We trailed her close to a hundred feet—but we sure overhauled her at last!"
"Oh, Bill-dear, isn't it simply great! Well, what are you going to do now? Organize——"
"Not on your life. The crooks aren't all dead and in jail—not by any means! I'll borrow somemoney from my wife and put in a crew of men here and go to mining!"
"I suppose," said Doris, "you wouldn't consider selling an interest in the mine—to your wife? You couldn't borrow what's yours, you great, big silly!"
Bill gave the ore to baby Mary, who tried harder than ever to lift the single-jack so that she could smash it down on the rock. His eyes strayed down the hill to the empty town, with the two-story cement bank standing up high above the wooden buildings around it. And the O'Hara House with staring, empty windows and no pennant at all.
"The town'll come back," he said, squatting on his haunches beside Doris and beginning to plan and dream again. "I almost wish it wouldn't. This has been a great winter, honey. But it's bound to come back. I don't know what the darned railroad will do about it," he grinned. "We've swiped most of their ties!"
"That's a hell of a note, ain't it!" cried Luella, and began crawling, beak and claws, up Bill's back.
—including the wrapper which covers every Grosset & Dunlap book. When you feel in the mood for a good romance, refer to the carefully selected list of modern fiction comprising most of the successes by prominent writers of the day which is printed on the back of every Grosset & Dunlap book wrapper.
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CASEY RYANCHIP OF THE FLYING UCOW-COUNTRYFLYING U RANCHFLYING U'S LAST STAND, THEGOOD INDIANGRINGOS, THEHAPPY FAMILY, THEHER PRAIRIE KNIGHTHERITAGE OF THE SIOUX, THELONG SHADOW, THELONESOME TRAIL, THELOOKOUT MAN, THELURE OF THE DIM TRAILS, THEPHANTOM HERD, THEQUIRT, THERANGE DWELLERS, THERIM O' THE WORLDSKYRIDERSTARR OF THE DESERTTHUNDER BIRD, THETRAIL OF THE WHITE MULE, THEUPHILL CLIMB, THE
CASEY RYAN
CHIP OF THE FLYING U
COW-COUNTRY
FLYING U RANCH
FLYING U'S LAST STAND, THE
GOOD INDIAN
GRINGOS, THE
HAPPY FAMILY, THE
HER PRAIRIE KNIGHT
HERITAGE OF THE SIOUX, THE
LONG SHADOW, THE
LONESOME TRAIL, THE
LOOKOUT MAN, THE
LURE OF THE DIM TRAILS, THE
PHANTOM HERD, THE
QUIRT, THE
RANGE DWELLERS, THE
RIM O' THE WORLD
SKYRIDER
STARR OF THE DESERT
THUNDER BIRD, THE
TRAIL OF THE WHITE MULE, THE
UPHILL CLIMB, THE
THE COVERED WAGONNORTH OF 36THE WAY OF A MANTHE STORY OF THE OUTLAWTHE SAGEBRUSHERTHE GIRL AT THE HALFWAY HOUSETHE WAY OUTTHE MAN NEXT DOORTHE MAGNIFICENT ADVENTURETHE BROKEN GATETHE STORY OF THE COWBOYTHE WAY TO THE WEST54-40 OR FIGHTHEART'S DESIRETHE MISSISSIPPI BUBBLETHE PURCHASE PRICE
THE COVERED WAGON
NORTH OF 36
THE WAY OF A MAN
THE STORY OF THE OUTLAW
THE SAGEBRUSHER
THE GIRL AT THE HALFWAY HOUSE
THE WAY OUT
THE MAN NEXT DOOR
THE MAGNIFICENT ADVENTURE
THE BROKEN GATE
THE STORY OF THE COWBOY
THE WAY TO THE WEST
54-40 OR FIGHT
HEART'S DESIRE
THE MISSISSIPPI BUBBLE
THE PURCHASE PRICE
THE BARON OF DIAMOND TAIL
The Elk Mountain Cattle Co. had not paid a dividend in years; so Edgar Barrett, fresh from the navy, was sent West to see what was wrong at the ranch. The tale of this tenderfoot outwitting the buckaroos at their own play will sweep you into the action of this salient western novel.
THE BONDBOY
Joe Newbolt, bound out by force of family conditions to work for a number of years, is accused of murder and circumstances are against him. His mouth is sealed; he cannot, as a gentleman, utter the words that would clear him. A dramatic, romantic tale of intense interest.
CLAIM NUMBER ONE
Dr. Warren Slavens drew claim number one, which entitled him to first choice of rich lands on an Indian reservation in Wyoming. It meant a fortune; but before he established his ownership he had a hard battle with crooks and politicians.
THE DUKE OF CHIMNEY BUTTE
When Jerry Lambert, "the Duke," attempts to safeguard the cattle ranch of Vesta Philbrook from thieving neighbors, his work is appallingly handicapped because of Grace Kerr, one of the chief agitators, and a deadly enemy of Vesta's. A stirring tale of brave deeds, gun-play and a love that shines above all.
THE FLOCKMASTER OF POISON CREEK
John Mackenzie trod the trail from Jasper to the great sheep country where fortunes were being made by the flock-masters. Shepherding was not a peaceful pursuit in those bygone days. Adventure met him at every turn—there is a girl of course—men fight their best fights for a woman—it is an epic of the sheeplands.
THE LAND OF LAST CHANCE
Jim Timberlake and Capt. David Scott waited with restless thousands on the Oklahoma line for the signal to dash across the border. How the city of Victory arose overnight on the plains, how people savagely defended their claims against the "sooners;" how good men and bad played politics, makes a strong story of growth and American initiative.
TRAIL'S END
Ascalon was the end of the trail for thirsty cowboys who gave vent to their pent-up feelings without restraint. Calvin Morgan was not concerned with its wickedness until Seth Craddock's malevolence directed itself against him. He did not emerge from the maelstrom until he had obliterated every vestige of lawlessness, and assured himself of the safety of a certain dark-eyed girl.
THE PRIDE OF PALOMAR
When two strong men clash and the under-dog has Irish blood in his veins—there's a tale that Kyne can tell! And "the girl" is also very much in evidence.
KINDRED OF THE DUST
Donald McKay, son of Hector McKay, millionaire lumber king, falls in love with "Nan of the Sawdust Pile," a charming girl who has been ostracized by her townsfolk.
THE VALLEY OF THE GIANTS
The fight of the Cardigans, father and son, to hold the Valley of the Giants against treachery. The reader finishes with a sense of having lived with big men and women in a big country.
CAPPY RICKS
The story of old Cappy Ricks and of Matt Peasley, the boy he tried to break because he knew the acid test was good for his soul.
WEBSTER: MAN'S MAN
In a little Jim Crow Republic in Central America, a man and a woman, hailing from the "States," met up with a revolution and for a while adventures and excitement came so thick and fast that their love affair had to wait for a lull in the game.
CAPTAIN SCRAGGS
This sea yarn recounts the adventures of three rapscallion sea-faring men—a Captain Scraggs, owner of the green vegetable freighter Maggie, Gibney the mate and McGuffney the engineer.
THE LONG CHANCE
A story fresh from the heart of the West, of San Pasqual, a sun-baked desert town, of Harley P. Hennage, the best gambler, the best and worst man of San Pasqual and of lovely Donna.
THE EVERLASTING WHISPER
The story of a strong man's struggle against savage nature and humanity, and of a beautiful girl's regeneration from a spoiled child of wealth into a courageous strong-willed woman.
DESERT VALLEY
A college professor sets out with his daughter to find gold. They meet a rancher who loses his heart, and become involved in a feud. An intensely exciting story.
MAN TO MAN
Encircled with enemies, distrusted, Steve defends his rights. How he won his game and the girl he loved is the story filled with breathless situations.
THE BELLS OF SAN JUAN
Dr. Virginia Page is forced to go with the sheriff on a night journey into the strongholds of a lawless band. Thrills and excitement sweep the reader along to the end.
JUDITH OF BLUE LAKE RANCH
Judith Sanford part owner of a cattle ranch realizes she is being robbed by her foreman. How, with the help of Bud Lee, she checkmates Trevor's scheme makes fascinating reading.
THE SHORT CUT
Wayne is suspected of killing his brother after a violent quarrel. Financial complications, villains, a horse-race and beautiful Wanda, all go to make up a thrilling romance.
THE JOYOUS TROUBLE MAKER
A reporter sets up housekeeping close to Beatrice's Ranch much to her chagrin. There is "another man" who complicates matters, but all turns out as it should in this tale of romance and adventure.
SIX FEET FOUR
Beatrice Waverly is robbed of $5,000 and suspicion fastens upon Buck Thornton, but she soon realizes he is not guilty. Intensely exciting, here is a real story of the Great Far West.
WOLF BREED
No Luck Drennan had grown hard through loss of faith in men he had trusted. A woman hater and sharp of tongue, he finds a match in Ygerne whose clever fencing wins the admiration and love of the "Lone Wolf."
THE MAN WITHOUT A HEART
Why was Barbara held captive in a deserted hermit's hut for days by a "man without a heart" and in the end how was it that she held the winning cards.
THE ROMANCE OF A ROGUE
Twenty-four hours after his release from prison Bruce Lawn finds himself playing a most surprising role in a drama of human relationships that sweeps on to a wonderfully emotional climax.
THE MATHERSON MARRIAGE
She married for money. With her own hands she had locked the door on happiness and thrown away the key. But, read the story which is very interesting and well told.
RICHARD CHATTERTON
A fascinating story in which love and jealousy play strange tricks with women's souls.
A BACHELOR HUSBAND
Can a woman love two men at the same time?
In its solving of this particular variety of triangle "A Bachelor Husband" will particularly interest, and strangely enough, without one shock to the most conventional minded.
THE SCAR
With fine comprehension and insight the author shows a terrific contrast between the woman whose love was of the flesh and one whose love was of the spirit.
THE MARRIAGE OF BARRY WICKLOW
Here is a man and woman who, marrying for love, yet try to build their wedded life upon a gospel of hate for each other and yet win back to a greater love for each other in the end.
THE UPHILL ROAD
The heroine of this story was a consort of thieves. The man was fine, clean, fresh from the West. It is a story of strength and passion.
WINDS OF THE WORLD
Jill, a poor little typist, marries the great Henry Sturgess and inherits millions, but not happiness. Then at last—but we must leave that to Ruby M. Ayres to tell you as only she can.
THE SECOND HONEYMOON
In this story the author has produced a book which no one who has loved or hopes to love can afford to miss. The story fairly leaps from climax to climax.
THE PHANTOM LOVER
Have you not often heard of someone being in love with love rather than the person they believed the object of their affections? That was Esther! But she passes through the crisis into a deep and profound love.
THE COUNTRY BEYONDTHE FLAMING FORESTTHE VALLEY OF SILENT MENTHE RIVER'S ENDTHE GOLDEN SNARENOMADS OF THE NORTHKAZANBAREE, SON OF KAZANTHE COURAGE OF CAPTAIN PLUMTHE DANGER TRAILTHE HUNTED WOMANTHE FLOWER OF THE NORTHTHE GRIZZLY KINGISOBELTHE WOLF HUNTERSTHE GOLD HUNTERSTHE COURAGE OF MARGE O'DOONEBACK TO GOD'S COUNTRY
THE COUNTRY BEYOND
THE FLAMING FOREST
THE VALLEY OF SILENT MEN
THE RIVER'S END
THE GOLDEN SNARE
NOMADS OF THE NORTH
KAZAN
BAREE, SON OF KAZAN
THE COURAGE OF CAPTAIN PLUM
THE DANGER TRAIL
THE HUNTED WOMAN
THE FLOWER OF THE NORTH
THE GRIZZLY KING
ISOBEL
THE WOLF HUNTERS
THE GOLD HUNTERS
THE COURAGE OF MARGE O'DOONE
BACK TO GOD'S COUNTRY
TO THE LAST MANTHE MYSTERIOUS RIDERTHE MAN OF THE FORESTTHE DESERT OF WHEATTHE U. P. TRAILWILDFIRETHE BORDER LEGIONTHE RAINBOW TRAILTHE HERITAGE OF THE DESERTRIDERS OF THE PURPLE SAGETHE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARSTHE LAST OF THE PLAINSMENTHE LONE STAR RANGERDESERT GOLDBETTY ZANE
TO THE LAST MAN
THE MYSTERIOUS RIDER
THE MAN OF THE FOREST
THE DESERT OF WHEAT
THE U. P. TRAIL
WILDFIRE
THE BORDER LEGION
THE RAINBOW TRAIL
THE HERITAGE OF THE DESERT
RIDERS OF THE PURPLE SAGE
THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS
THE LAST OF THE PLAINSMEN
THE LONE STAR RANGER
DESERT GOLD
BETTY ZANE
LAST OF THE GREAT SCOUTS
The life story of "Buffalo Bill" by his sister Helen Cody Wetmore, with Foreword and conclusion by Zane Grey.
KEN WARD IN THE JUNGLETHE YOUNG LION HUNTERTHE YOUNG FORESTERTHE YOUNG PITCHERTHE SHORT STOPTHE RED-HEADED OUTFIELD AND OTHERBASEBALL STORIES
KEN WARD IN THE JUNGLE
THE YOUNG LION HUNTER
THE YOUNG FORESTER
THE YOUNG PITCHER
THE SHORT STOP
THE RED-HEADED OUTFIELD AND OTHERBASEBALL STORIES