James Otis - "Neal, the Miller"

T.S. Arthur - "Lizzy Glenn"

Juliana Horatia Ewing - "Jan of the Windmill"

Charles Darwin - "On the Origin of Species"

New Philadelphia Book Publisher Highlights Local Talent
Book and Publishing News from Publishers Newswire(tm)

Looking for Child to be on Cover of a New Book, 'The Model Child'
PHILADELPHIA, Pa. -- The Philadelphia literary world will celebrate the launch of two new players today, April 10th: Kay Square Press, a new publishing company focused on Philadelphia-area artists, their stories, and their art; and Kay Square's first release, 'With the Rich and Mighty: Emlen Etting of Philadelphia' (ISBN: 978-0-9815129-0-7), a critical biography by Kenneth C. Kaleta.

FlatSigned Press Alleges Don Imus Remarks Damage Legacy of President Gerald R. Ford
NEW YORK, N.Y. -- Nathan Yungerberg, an accomplished model scout and professional child photographer is launching a nation-wide casting call to find the cover model for his highly anticipated book release, 'The Model Child: A Parents Guide to the Child Modeling Industry' (ISBN: 978-0-9817018-0-6).

Books: The Man of the Forest

Z >> Zane Grey >> The Man of the Forest




Neither this day, nor the next, however, did he put in an
appearance at the house, though Helen saw him twice on her
rounds. He was busy, as usual, and greeted her as if nothing
particular had happened.

Roy called twice, once in the afternoon, and again during
the evening. He grew more likable upon longer acquaintance.
This last visit he rendered Bo speechless by teasing her
about another girl Carmichael was going to take to a dance.
Bo's face showed that her vanity could not believe this
statement, but that her intelligence of young men credited
it with being possible. Roy evidently was as penetrating as
he was kind. He made a dry, casual little remark about the
snow never melting on the mountains during the latter part
of March; and the look with which be accompanied this remark
brought a blush to Helen's cheek.

After Roy had departed Bo said to Helen: "Confound that
fellow! He sees right through me."

"My dear, you're rather transparent these days," murmured
Helen.

"You needn't talk. He gave you a dig," retorted Bo. "He just
knows you're dying to see the snow melt."

"Gracious! I hope I'm not so bad as that. Of course I want
the snow melted and spring to come, and flowers --"

"Hal Ha! Ha!" taunted Bo. "Nell Rayner, do you see any green
in my eyes? Spring to come! Yes, the poet said in the spring
a young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love. But
that poet meant a young woman."

Helen gazed out of the window at the white stars.

"Nell, have you seen him -- since I was hurt?" continued Bo,
with an effort.

"Him? Who?"

"Oh, whom do you suppose? I mean Tom!" she responded, and
the last word came with a burst.

"Tom? Who's he? Ah, you mean Las Vegas. Yes, I've seen him."

"Well, did he ask a-about me?"

"I believe he did ask how you were -- something like that."

"Humph! Nell, I don't always trust you." After that she
relapsed into silence, read awhile, and dreamed awhile,
looking into the fire, and then she limped over to kiss
Helen good night and left the room.

Next day she was rather quiet, seeming upon the verge of one
of the dispirited spells she got infrequently. Early in the
evening, just after the lights had been lit and she had
joined Helen in the sitting-room, a familiar step sounded on
the loose boards of the porch.

Helen went to the door to admit Carmichael. He was
clean-shaven, dressed in his dark suit, which presented such
marked contrast from his riding-garb, and he wore a flower
in his buttonhole. Nevertheless, despite all this style, he
seemed more than usually the cool, easy, careless cowboy.

"Evenin', Miss Helen," he said, as he stalked in. "Evenin',
Miss Bo. How are you-all?"

Helen returned his greeting with a welcoming smile.

"Good evening -- TOM," said Bo, demurely.

That assuredly was the first time she had ever called him
Tom. As she spoke she looked distractingly pretty and
tantalizing. But if she had calculated to floor Carmichael
with the initial, half-promising, wholly mocking use of his
name she had reckoned without cause. The cowboy received
that greeting as if he had heard her use it a thousand times
or had not heard it at all. Helen decided if he was acting a
part he was certainly a clever actor. He puzzled her
somewhat, but she liked his look, and his easy manner, and
the something about him that must have been his unconscious
sense of pride. He had gone far enough, perhaps too far, in
his overtures to Bo.

"How are you feelin'?" be asked.

"I'm better to-day," she replied, with downcast eyes. "But
I'm lame yet."

"Reckon that bronc piled you up. Miss Helen said there shore
wasn't any joke about the cut on your knee. Now, a fellar's
knee is a bad place to hurt, if he has to keep on ridin'."

"Oh, I'll be well soon. How's Sam? I hope he wasn't
crippled."

"Thet Sam -- why, he's so tough he never knowed he had a
fall."

"Tom -- I -- I want to thank you for giving Riggs what he
deserved."

She spoke it earnestly, eloquently, and for once she had no
sly little intonation or pert allurement, such as was her
wont to use on this infatuated young man.

"Aw, you heard about that," replied Carmichael, with a wave
of his hand to make light of it. "Nothin' much. It had to be
done. An' shore I was afraid of Roy. He'd been bad. An' so
would any of the other boys. I'm sorta lookin' out for all
of them, you know, actin' as Miss Helen's foreman now."

Helen was unutterably tickled. The effect of his speech upon
Bo was stupendous. He had disarmed her. He had, with the
finesse and tact and suavity of a diplomat, removed himself
from obligation, and the detachment of self, the casual
thing be apparently made out of his magnificent
championship, was bewildering and humiliating to Bo. She sat
silent for a moment or two while Helen tried to fit easily
into the conversation. It was not likely that Bo would long
be at a loss for words, and also it was immensely probable
that with a flash of her wonderful spirit she would turn the
tables on her perverse lover in a twinkling. Anyway, plain
it was that a lesson had sunk deep. She looked startled,
hurt, wistful, and finally sweetly defiant.

"But -- you told Riggs I was your girl!" Thus Bo unmasked
her battery. And Helen could not imagine how Carmichael
would ever resist that and the soft, arch glance which
accompanied it.

Helen did not yet know the cowboy, any more than did Bo.

"Shore. I had to say thet. I had to make it strong before
thet gang. I reckon it was presumin' of me, an' I shore
apologize."

Bo stared at him, and then, giving a little gasp, she
drooped.

"Wal, I just run in to say howdy an' to inquire after
you-all," said Carmichael. "I'm goin' to the dance, an' as
Flo lives out of town a ways I'd shore better rustle. . . .
Good night, Miss Bo; I hope you'll be ridin' Sam soon. An'
good night, Miss Helen."

Bo roused to a very friendly and laconic little speech, much
overdone. Carmichael strode out, and Helen, bidding him
good-by, closed the door after him.

The instant he had departed Bo's transformation was tragic.

"Flo! He meant Flo Stubbs -- that ugly, cross-eyed, bold,
little frump!"

"Bo!" expostulated Helen. "The young lady is not beautiful,
I grant, but she's very nice and pleasant. I liked her."

"Nell Rayner, men are no good! And cowboys are the worst!"
declared Bo, terribly.

"Why didn't you appreciate Tom when you had him?" asked
Helen.

Bo had been growing furious, but now the allusion, in past
tense, to the conquest she had suddenly and amazingly found
dear quite broke her spirit. It was a very pale, unsteady,
and miserable girl who avoided Helen's gaze and left the
room.

Next day Bo was not approachable from any direction. Helen
found her a victim to a multiplicity of moods, ranging from
woe to dire, dark broodings, from them to' wistfulness, and
at last to a pride that sustained her.

Late in the afternoon, at Helen's leisure hour, when she and
Bo were in the sitting-room, horses tramped into the court
and footsteps mounted the porch. Opening to a loud knock,
Helen was surprised to see Beasley. And out in the court
were several mounted horsemen. Helen's heart sank. This
visit, indeed, had been foreshadowed.

"Afternoon, Miss Rayner," said Beasley, doffing his
sombrero. "I've called on a little business deal. Will you
see me?"

Helen acknowledged his greeting while she thought rapidly.
She might just as well see him and have that inevitable
interview done with.

"Come in," she said, and when he had entered she closed the
door. "My sister, Mr. Beasley."

"How d' you do, Miss?" said the rancher, in bluff, loud
voice.

Bo acknowledged the introduction with a frigid little bow.

At close range Beasley seemed a forceful personality as well
as a rather handsome man of perhaps thirty-five, heavy of
build, swarthy of skin, and sloe-black of eye, like that of
the Mexicans whose blood was reported to be in him. He
looked crafty, confident, and self-centered. If Helen had
never heard of him before that visit she would have
distrusted him.

"I'd called sooner, but I was waitin' for old Jose, the
Mexican who herded for me when I was pardner to your uncle,"
said Beasley, and he sat down to put his huge gloved hands
on his knees.

"Yes?" queried Helen, interrogatively.

"Jose rustled over from Magdalena, an' now I can back up my
claim. . . . Miss Rayner, this hyar ranch ought to be mine
an' is mine. It wasn't so big or so well stocked when Al
Auchincloss beat me out of it. I reckon I'll allow for thet.
I've papers, an' old Jose for witness. An' I calculate
you'll pay me eighty thousand dollars, or else I'll take
over the ranch."

Beasley spoke in an ordinary, matter-of-fact tone that
certainly seemed sincere, and his manner was blunt, but
perfectly natural.

"Mr. Beasley, your claim is no news to me," responded Helen,
quietly. "I've heard about it. And I questioned my uncle. He
swore on his death-bed that he did not owe you a dollar.
Indeed, he claimed the indebtedness was yours to him. I
could find nothing in his papers, so I must repudiate your
claim. I will not take it seriously."

"Miss Rayner, I can't blame you for takin' Al's word against
mine," said Beasley. "An' your stand is natural. But you're
a stranger here an' you know nothin' of stock deals in these
ranges. It ain't fair to speak bad of the dead, but the
truth is thet Al Auchincloss got his start by stealin' sheep
an' unbranded cattle. Thet was the start of every rancher I
know. It was mine. An' we none of us ever thought of it as
rustlin'."

Helen could only stare her surprise and doubt at this
statement.

"Talk's cheap anywhere, an' in the West talk ain't much at
all," continued Beasley. "I'm no talker. I jest want to tell
my case an' make a deal if you'll have it. I can prove more
in black an' white, an' with witness, than you can. Thet's
my case. The deal I'd make is this. . . . Let's marry an'
settle a bad deal thet way."

The man's direct assumption, absolutely without a qualifying
consideration for her woman's attitude, was amazing,
ignorant, and base; but Helen was so well prepared for it
that she hid her disgust.

"Thank you, Mr. Beasley, but I can't accept your offer," she
replied.

"Would you take time an' consider?" he asked, spreading wide
his huge gloved hands.

"Absolutely no."

Beasley rose to his feet. He showed no disappointment or
chagrin, but the bold pleasantness left his face, and,
slight as that change was, it stripped him of the only
redeeming quality he showed.

"Thet means I'll force you to pay me the eighty thousand or
put you off," he said.

"Mr. Beasley, even if I owed you that, how could I raise so
enormous a sum? I don't owe it. And I certainly won't be put
off my property. You can't put me off."

"An' why can't I' he demanded, with lowering, dark gaze.

"Because your claim is dishonest. And I can prove it,"
declared Helen, forcibly.

"Who 're you goin' to prove it to -- thet I'm dishonest?"

"To my men -- to your men -- to the people of Pine -- to
everybody. There's not a person who won't believe me."

He seemed curious, discomfited, surlily annoyed, and yet
fascinated by her statement or else by the quality and
appearance of her as she spiritedly defended her cause.

"An' how 're you goin' to prove all thet?" he growled.

"Mr. Beasley, do you remember last fall when you met Snake
Anson with his gang up in the woods -- and hired him to make
off with me?" asked Helen, in swift, ringing words.

The dark olive of Beasley's bold face shaded to a dirty
white.

"Wha-at?" he jerked out, hoarsely.

"I see you remember. Well, Milt Dale was hidden in the loft
of that cabin where you met Anson. He heard every word of
your deal with the outlaw."

Beasley swung his arm in sudden violence, so hard that he
flung his glove to the floor. As he stooped to snatch it up
he uttered a sibilant hiss. Then, stalking to the door, he
jerked it open, and slammed it behind him. His loud voice,
hoarse with passion, preceded the scrape and crack of hoofs.


Shortly after supper that day, when Helen was just
recovering her composure, Carmichael presented himself at
the open door. Bo was not there. In the dimming twilight
Helen saw that the cowboy was pale, somber, grim.

"Oh, what's happened?" cried Helen.

"Roy's been shot. It come off in Turner's saloon But he
ain't dead. We packed him over to Widow Cass's. An' he said
for me to tell you he'd pull through."

"Shot! Pull through!" repeated Helen, in slow, unrealizing
exclamation. She was conscious of a deep internal tumult and
a cold checking of blood in all her external body.

"Yes, shot," replied Carmichael, fiercely.

"An', whatever he says, I reckon he won't pull through."

"0 Heaven, how terrible!" burst out Helen. "He was so good
-- such a man! What a pity! Oh, he must have met that in my
behalf. Tell me, what happened? Who shot him?"

"Wal, I don't know. An' thet's what's made me hoppin' mad. I
wasn't there when it come off. An' he won't tell me."

"Why not?"

"I don't know thet, either. I reckoned first it was because
he wanted to get even. But, after thinkin' it over, I guess
he doesn't want me lookin' up any one right now for fear I
might get hurt. An' you're goin' to need your friends.
Thet's all I can make of Roy."

Then Helen hurriedly related the event of Beasley's call on
her that afternoon and all that had occurred.

"Wal, the half-breed son-of-a-greaser!" ejaculated
Carmichael, in utter confoundment. "He wanted you to marry
him!"

"He certainly did. I must say it was a -- a rather abrupt
proposal."

Carmichael appeared to be laboring with speech that had to
be smothered behind his teeth. At last he let out an
explosive breath.

"Miss Nell, I've shore felt in my bones thet I'm the boy
slated to brand thet big bull."

"Oh, he must have shot Roy. He left here in a rage."

"I reckon you can coax it out of Roy. Fact is, all I could
learn was thet Roy come in the saloon alone. Beasley was
there, an' Riggs --"

"Riggs!" interrupted Helen.

"Shore, Riggs. He come back again. But he'd better keep out
of my way. . . . An' Jeff Mulvey with his outfit. Turner
told me he heard an argument an' then a shot. The gang
cleared out, leavin' Roy on the floor. I come in a little
later. Roy was still layin' there. Nobody was doin' anythin'
for him. An' nobody had. I hold that against Turner. Wal, I
got help an' packed Roy over to Widow Cass's. Roy seemed all
right. But he was too bright an' talky to suit me. The
bullet hit his lung, thet's shore. An' he lost a sight of
blood before we stopped it. Thet skunk Turner might have
lent a hand. An' if Roy croaks I reckon I'll --"

"Tom, why must you always be reckoning to kill somebody?"
demanded Helen, angrily.

"'Cause somebody's got to be killed 'round here. Thet's
why!" he snapped back.

"Even so -- should you risk leaving Bo and me without a
friend?" asked Helen, reproachfully.

At that Carmichael wavered and lost something of his sullen
deadliness.

"Aw, Miss Nell, I'm only mad. If you'll just be patient with
me -- an' mebbe coax me. . . . But I can't see no other way
out."

"Let's hope and pray," said Helen, earnestly. "You spoke of
my coaxing Roy to tell who shot him. When can I see him?"

"To-morrow, I reckon. I'll come for you. Fetch Bo along with
you. We've got to play safe from now on. An' what do you say
to me an' Hal sleepin' here at the ranch-house?"

"Indeed I'd feel safer," she replied. "There are rooms.
Please come."

"Allright. An' now I'll be goin' to fetch Hal. Shore wish I
hadn't made you pale an' scared like this."


About ten o'clock next morning Carmichael drove Helen and Bo
into Pine, and tied up the team before Widow Cass's cottage.

The peach- and apple-trees were mingling blossoms of pink
and white; a drowsy hum of bees filled the fragrant air;
rich, dark-green alfalfa covered the small orchard flat; a
wood fire sent up a lazy column of blue smoke; and birds
were singing sweetly.

Helen could scarcely believe that amid all this tranquillity
a man lay perhaps fatally injured. Assuredly Carmichael had
been somber and reticent enough to rouse the gravest fears.

Widow Cass appeared on the little porch, a gray, bent, worn,
but cheerful old woman whom Helen had come to know as her
friend.

"My land! I'm thet glad to see you, Miss Helen," she said.
"An' you've fetched the little lass as I've not got
acquainted with yet."

"Good morning, Mrs. Cass. How -- how is Roy?" replied Helen,
anxiously scanning the wrinkled face.

"Roy? Now don't you look so scared. Roy's 'most ready to git
on his hoss an' ride home, if I let him. He knowed you was
a-comin'. An' he made me hold a lookin'-glass for him to
shave. How's thet fer a man with a bullet-hole through him!
You can't kill them Mormons, nohow."

She led them into a little sitting-room, where on a couch
underneath a window Roy Beeman lay. He was wide awake and
smiling, but haggard. He lay partly covered with a blanket.
His gray shirt was open at the neck, disclosing bandages.

"Mornin' -- girls," he drawled. "Shore is good of you, now,
comin' down."

Helen stood beside him, bent over him, in her earnestness,
as she greeted him. She saw a shade of pain in his eyes and
his immobility struck her, but he did not seem badly off. Bo
was pale, round-eyed, and apparently too agitated to speak.
Carmichael placed chairs beside the couch for the girls.

"Wal, what's ailin' you this nice mornin'?" asked Roy, eyes
on the cowboy.

"Huh! Would you expect me to be wearin' the smile of 'a
fellar goin' to be married?" retorted Carmichael.

"Shore you haven't made up with Bo yet," returned Roy.

Bo blushed rosy red, and the cowboy's face lost something of
its somber hue.

"I allow it's none of your d -- darn bizness if SHE ain't
made up with me," he said.

"Las Vegas, you're a wonder with a hoss an' a rope, an' I
reckon with a gun, but when it comes to girls you shore
ain't there."

"I'm no Mormon, by golly! Come, Ma Cass, let's get out of
here, so they can talk."

"Folks, I was jest a-goin' to say thet Roy's got fever an'
he oughtn't t' talk too much," said the old woman. Then she
and Carmichael went into the kitchen and closed, the door.

Roy looked up at Helen with his keen eyes, more kindly
piercing than ever.

"My brother John was here. He'd just left when you come. He
rode home to tell my folks I'm not so bad hurt, an' then
he's goin' to ride a bee-line into the mountains."

Helen's eyes asked what her lips refused to utter.

"He's goin' after Dale. I sent him. I reckoned we-all sorta
needed sight of thet doggone hunter."

Roy had averted his gaze quickly to Bo.

"Don't you agree with me, lass?"

"I sure do," replied Bo, heartily.

All within Helen had been stilled for the moment of her
realization; and then came swell and beat of heart, and
inconceivable chafing of a tide at its restraint.

"Can John -- fetch Dale out -- when the snow's so deep?" she
asked, unsteadily.

"Shore. He's takin' two hosses up to the snow-line. Then, if
necessary, he'll go over the pass on snow-shoes. But I bet
him Dale would ride out. Snow's about gone except on the
north slopes an' on the peaks."

"Then -- when may I -- we expect to see Dale?"

"Three or four days, I reckon. I wish he was here now. . . .
Miss Helen, there's trouble afoot."

"I realize that. I'm ready. Did Las Vegas tell you about
Beasley's visit to me?"

"No. You tell me," replied Roy.

Briefly Helen began to acquaint him with the circumstances
of that visit, and before she had finished she made sure Roy
was swearing to himself.

"He asked you to marry him! Jerusalem! . . . Thet I'd never
have reckoned. The -- low-down coyote of a greaser! . . .
Wal, Miss Helen, when I met up with Senuor Beasley last night
he was shore spoilin' from somethin'; now I see what thet
was. An' I reckon I picked out the bad time."

"For what? Roy, what did you do?"

"Wal, I'd made up my mind awhile back to talk to Beasley the
first chance I had. An' thet was it. I was in the store when
I seen him go into Turner's. So I followed. It was 'most
dark. Beasley an' Riggs an' Mulvey an' some more were
drinkin' an' powwowin'. So I just braced him right then."

"Roy! Oh, the way you boys court danger!"

"But, Miss Helen, thet's the only way. To be afraid MAKES
more danger. Beasley 'peared civil enough first off. Him an'
me kept edgin' off, an' his pards kept edgin' after us, till
we got over in a corner of the saloon. I don't know all I
said to him. Shore I talked a heap. I told him what my old
man thought. An' Beasley knowed as well as I thet my old
man's not only the oldest inhabitant hereabouts, but he's
the wisest, too. An' he wouldn't tell a lie. Wal, I used all
his sayin's in my argument to show Beasley thet if he didn't
haul up short he'd end almost as short. Beasley's
thick-headed, an' powerful conceited. Vain as a peacock! He
couldn't see, an' he got mad. I told him he was rich enough
without robbin' you of your ranch, an' -- wal, I shore put
up a big talk for your side. By this time he an' his gang
had me crowded in a corner, an' from their looks I begun to
get cold feet. But I was in it an' had to make the best of
it. The argument worked down to his pinnin' me to my word
that I'd fight for you when thet fight come off. An' I shore
told him for my own sake I wished it 'd come off quick. . .
. Then -- wal -- then somethin' did come off quick!"

"Roy, then he shot you!" exclaimed Helen, passionately.

"Now, Miss Helen, I didn't say who done it," replied Roy,
with his engaging smile.

"Tell me, then -- who did?"

"Wal, I reckon I sha'n't tell you unless you promise not to
tell Las Vegas. Thet cowboy is plumb off his head. He thinks
he knows who shot me an' I've been lyin' somethin'
scandalous. You see, if he learns -- then he'll go gunnin'.
An', Miss Helen, thet Texan is bad. He might get plugged as
I did -- an' there would be another man put off your side
when the big trouble comes."

"Roy, I promise you I will not tell Las Vegas," replied
Helen, earnestly.

"Wal, then -- it was Riggs!" Roy grew still paler as he
confessed this and his voice, almost a whisper, expressed
shame and hate. "Thet four-flush did it. Shot me from behind
Beasley! I had no chance. I couldn't even see him draw. But
when I fell an' lay there an' the others dropped back, then
I seen the smokin' gun in his hand. He looked powerful
important. An' Beasley began to cuss him an' was cussin' him
as they all run out."

"Oh, coward! the despicable coward!" cried Helen.

"No wonder Tom wants to find out!" exclaimed Bo, low and
deep. "I'll bet he suspects Riggs."

Shore he does, but I wouldn't give him no satisfaction."

"Roy, you know that Riggs can't last out here."

"Wal, I hope he lasts till I get on my feet again."

"There you go! Hopeless, all you boys! You must spill
blood!" murmured Helen, shudderingly.

"Dear Miss Helen, don't take on so. I'm like Dale -- no man
to hunt up trouble. But out here there's a sort of unwritten
law -- an eye for an eye -- a tooth for a tooth. I believe
in God Almighty, an' killin' is against my religion, but
Riggs shot me -- the same as shootin' me in the back."

"Roy, I'm only a woman -- I fear, faint-hearted and unequal
to this West."

"Wait till somethin' happens to you. 'Supposin' Beasley
comes an' grabs you with his own dirty big paws an', after
maulin' you some, throws you out of your home! Or supposin'
Riggs chases you into a corner!"

Helen felt the start of all her physical being -- a violent
leap of blood. But she could only judge of her looks from
the grim smile of the wounded man as he watched her with his
keen, intent eyes.

"My friend, anythin' can happen," he said. "But let's hope
it won't be the worst."

He had begun to show signs of weakness, and Helen, rising at
once, said that she and Bo had better leave him then, but
would come to see him the next day. At her call Carmichael
entered again with Mrs. Cass, and after a few remarks the
visit was terminated. Carmichael lingered in the doorway.

"Wal, Cheer up, you old Mormon!" he called.

"Cheer up yourself, you cross old bachelor!" retorted Roy,
quite unnecessarily loud. "Can't you raise enough nerve to
make up with Bo?"

Carmichael evacuated the doorway as if he had been spurred.
He was quite red in the face while he unhitched the team,
and silent during the ride up to the ranch-house. There he
got down and followed the girls into the sitting room. He
appeared still somber, though not sullen, and had fully
regained his composure.

"Did you find out who shot Roy?" he asked, abruptly, of
Helen.

"Yes. But I promised Roy I would not tell," replied Helen,
nervously. She averted her eyes from his searching gaze,
intuitively fearing his next query.

"Was it thet -- Riggs?"

"Las Vegas, don't ask me. I will not break my promise."

He strode to the window and looked out a moment, and
presently, when he turned toward Bo, he seemed a stronger,
loftier, more impelling man, with all his emotions under
control.