Purchase one of 1st World Library's Classic Books and help support our free internet library of downloadable eBooks. Visit us online at www.1stWorldLibrary.ORG - - I loved outdoor life and hunting. Some way a grizzly bear would come in when I tried to explain forestry to my brother. Hunting grizzlies! he cried. "Why, Ken, father says you've been reading dime novels." Just wait, Hal, till he comes out here. I'll show him that forestry isn't just bear-hunting. My brother Hal and I were camping a few days on the Susquehanna River, and we had divided the time between fishing and tramping. Our camp was on the edge of a forest some eight miles from Harrisburg. The property belonged to our father, and he had promised to drive out to see us. But he did not come that day, and I had to content myself with winning Hal over to my side.

Purchase one of 1st World Library's Classic Books and help support our free internet library of downloadable eBooks. Visit us online at www.1stWorldLibrary.ORG - - It was inevitable that in my efforts to write romantic history of the great West I should at length come to the story of a feud. For long I have steered clear of this rock. But at last I have reached it and must go over it, driven by my desire to chronicle the stirring events of pioneer days. Even to-day it is not possible to travel into the remote corners of the West without seeing the lives of people still affected by a fighting past. How can the truth be told about the pioneering of the West if the struggle, the fight, the blood be left out? It cannot be done. How can a novel be stirring and thrilling, as were those times, unless it be full of sensation? My long labors have been devoted to making stories resemble the times they depict. I have loved the West for its vastness, its contrast, its beauty and color and life, for its wildness and violence, and for the fact that I have seen how it developed great men and women who died unknown and unsung

Relive once more the action packed, shoot 'em up western in the tradition of Zane Grey. Ride with Marshal Woodrow Kinslow as he brings an embittered Colorado landowner to justice. An accident claims the life of a young son of a Colorado rancher, Johnathan Birk. Although, he reluctantly agreed to let homesteaders onto land that he claimed for his own, the death of his son sends him on a vengeful crusade to rid the valley of all the homesteaders. Marshall Woodrow Kinslow is shot at on a high country trail by Ansen Miller, the homesteader who accidentally killed Birk's son. Kinslow listens to his story and decides to take him to see a judge. Birk and his hired guns kill Miller and wound Kinslow. Upon recovery, he goes to a Federal judge, gets some warrants and returns to dispense his own brand of frontier justice. Ride with Marshal Woodrow Kinslow as he brings an embittered Colorado landowner to justice. An accident claims the life of a young son of a Colorado rancher, Johnathan Birk. Although, he reluctantly agreed to let homesteaders onto land that he claimed for his own, the death of his son sends him on a vengeful crusade to rid the valley of all the homesteaders. Marshall Woodrow Kinslow is shot at on a high country trail by Ansen Miller, the homesteader who accidentally killed Birk's son. He mistakes the marshal for one of Birk's men. After the dust settles, Kinslow listens to what Miller has to say and decides to help the man get to a judge so he can his side of the story. Birk and his hired guns catch up to them where they kill Miller and wound Kinslow. Upon recovery, Kinslow goes to a Federal judge, gets some warrants and returns to dispense his own brand of frontier justice.

The wind now springing up, the Tonquin got under way, and stood in to seek the channel; but was again deterred by the frightful aspect of the breakers, from venturing within a league. Here she hove to; and Mr. Mumford, the second mate, was despatched with four hands, in the pinnace, to sound across the channel until he should find four fathoms depth. from Chapter VII The storied wildness of the American West captured the imagination of Washington Irving as completely as did the cultured romance of Europe, and the native New Yorker had barely returned home, in 1832, from nearly two decades abroad in England, France, Germany, and Spain when he set out again, this time for the frontier. The West truly was still wild then, to Continental and colonial eyes, and Irving was moved to tell one of the most fascinating adventure tales of the hardy men who explored and mapped it. This is Irvings lost classic, a riveting, rollicking account of John Jacob Astors grand dreams of building a fur-trading empire in the Pacific Northwest, of the expeditions he sent West, and of his ultimateand abysmalfailure. First published in 1836, Astoria has been unfairly maligned as historically inaccurate, but more recent scholarship has proven the books detractors wrong: this is not only an essential work of brilliant literature by one of the great American writers, it is also an important factual chronicle of a foundational era of the American story that should not be forgotten. American author WASHINGTON IRVING (17831859) wrote extensively in the areas of history and historical biography but is best known for his short fiction, including The Legend of Sleepy Hollow and Rip Van Winkle.

Joe Manning owned a good-size ranch outside of a small town in Virginia, and he was plowing one day close to his house. He was getting ready to plant a garden patch for the family to use for their livelihood. Three men came along the road. All three had sidearms and one man had a rifle. He shot Joe in the back while Joe was trying to get to the house to get his rifle and defend his family. Then they killed his wife and young daughter, burned the house down around them, and left Joe in his yard bleeding to death. Joe, who cared deeply about people, was the first person in the community to volunteer to help everyone who was in need. Joe, with his wife at one time or another, had entertained in their home all the people in the area. Who could have shot poor Joe Manning in the back twice and destroyed his family and house? What is going on around here? This has always been a nice area of the country. I wonder who is behind all this killing. Why would they kill his wife and daughter, and why would they have burned down his nice house? This is really a mystery. I wonder if Joe will survive. The doctor does not think so. I wonder what the sheriff is doing about it. He does not seem to have a clue. Will anyone else have to die before we find out who the culprits are?

Texas was a huge wide place full of frontiersmen, ranchers, farmers, cowpokes, shiftless no-accounts, shootists, rascals, and politicians -- all of them blended together into a single state. The Rangers -- lawmen, "Texas" Rangers -- were outnumbered a thousand to one, and in one county -- Pecos county -- the law was all but helpless. Until Ranger Vaughn Steel went to Pecos, looking for revenge. . . .

Tom Swan is a young man growing up in the center of the Muscogee Creek Nation in Indian Territory.
Taught by his father the art of handling a pistol he is led to a job of a shotgun guard for a payroll.
As Tom becomes known for his abilities, a veteran U.S. Marshall working out of Fort Smith, takes young Tom under his wing to teach him about the right side of the law. They become a team to be reckoned with in the territory. He and his partner get into big business and big trouble where fast guns aren't always the answer.

Purchase one of 1st World Library's Classic Books and help support our free internet library of downloadable eBooks. Visit us online at www.1stWorldLibrary.ORG - - In the early sixties a trail led from the broad Missouri, swirling yellow and turgid between its green-groved borders, for miles and miles out upon the grassy Nebraska plains, turning westward over the undulating prairie, with its swales and billows and long, winding lines of cottonwoods, to a slow, vast heave of rising ground - Wyoming - where the herds of buffalo grazed and the wolf was lord and the camp-fire of the trapper sent up its curling blue smoke from beside some lonely stream; on and on over the barren lands of eternal monotony, all so gray and wide and solemn and silent under the endless sky; on, ever on, up to the bleak, black hills and into the waterless gullies and through the rocky gorges where the deer browsed and the savage lurked; then slowly rising to the pass between the great bold peaks, and across the windy uplands into Utah, with its verdant valleys, green as emeralds, and its haze-filled canons and wonderful wind-worn cliffs and walls, and its pale salt lakes, veiled in the shadows of stark and lofty rocks, dim, lilac-colored, austere, and isolated; ever onward across Nevada, and ever westward, up from desert to mountain, up into California, where the white streams rushed and roared and the stately pines towered, and seen from craggy heights, deep down, the little blue lakes gleamed like gems; finally sloping to the great descent, where the mountain world ceased and where, out beyond the golden land, asleep and peaceful, stretched the illimitable Pacific, vague and grand beneath the setting sun.

Purchase one of 1st World Library's Classic Books and help support our free internet library of downloadable eBooks. Visit us online at www.1stWorldLibrary.ORG - - Shefford halted his tired horse and gazed with slowly realizing eyes. A league-long slope of sage rolled and billowed down to Red Lake, a dry red basin, denuded and glistening, a hollow in the desert, a lonely and desolate door to the vast, wild, and broken upland beyond. All day Shefford had plodded onward with the clear horizon-line a thing unattainable; and for days before that he had ridden the wild bare flats and climbed the rocky desert benches. The great colored reaches and steps had led endlessly onward and upward through dim and deceiving distance. A hundred miles of desert travel, with its mistakes and lessons and intimations, had not prepared him for what he now saw. He beheld what seemed a world that knew only magnitude. Wonder and awe fixed his gaze, and thought remained aloof. Then that dark and unknown northland flung a menace at him. An irresistible call had drawn him to this seamed and peaked border of Arizona, this broken battlemented wilderness of Utah upland; and at first sight they frowned upon him, as if to warn him not to search for what lay hidden beyond the ranges.