Over the Pass

Over the Pass

The Project Gutenberg EBook of Over the Pass, by Frederick Palmer This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net
Title: Over the Pass
Author: Frederick Palmer
Release Date: February 4, 2004 [EBook #10932]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
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OVER THE PASS
BY FREDERICK PALMER
AUTHOR OF THE VAGABOND, DANBURY RODD, ETC.
1912

CONTENTS

PART I--AN EASY TRAVELLER

CHAPTER
I YOUTH IN SPURS
II DINOSAUR OR DESPERADO
III JACK RIDES IN COMPANY
IV HE CARRIES THE MAIL
V A SMILE AND A SQUARE CHIN
VI OBLIVION IS NOT EASY
VII WHAT HAPPENED AT LANG'S
VIII ACCORDING TO CODE
IX THE DEVIL IS OUT
X MARY EXPLAINS
XI SE?OR DON'T CARE RECEIVES
XII MARY BRINGS TRIBUTE
XIII A JOURNEY ON CRUTCHES
XIV "HOW FAST YOU SEW!"
XV WHEN THE DESERT BLOOMS
XVI A CHANGE OF MIND
XVII THE DOGE SNAPS A RUBBER BAND
XVIII ANOTHER STRANGER ARRIVES
XIX LOOKING OVER PRECIPICES
XX A PUZZLED AMBASSADOR
XXI "GOOD-BY, LITTLE RIVERS!"
XXII "LUCK, JACK, LUCK!"

PART II--HE FINDS HIMSELF
XXIII LABELLED AND SHIPPED
XXIV IN THE CITADEL OF THE MILLIONS
XXV "BUT WITH YOU, YES, SIR!"
XXVII BY RIGHT OF ANCESTRY
XXVIII JACK GETS A RAISE
XXIX A MEETING ON THE AVENUE TRAIL
XXX WITH THE PHANTOMS
XXXI PRATHER WOULD NOT WAIT
XXXII A CRISIS IN THE WINGFIELD LIBRARY
XXXIII PRATHER SEES THE PORTRAIT
XXXIV "JOHN WINGFIELD, YOU--"

PART III--HE FINDS HIS PLACE IN LIFE
XXXV BACK TO LITTLE RIVERS
XXXVI AROUND THE WATER-HOLE
XXXVII THE END OF THE WEAVING
XXXVIII THEIR SIDE OF THE PASS

PART I
AN EASY TRAVELLER

I
YOUTH IN SPURS
Here time was as nothing; here sunset and sunrise were as incidents of an uncalendared, everlasting day; here chaotic grandeur was that of the earth's crust when it cooled after the last convulsive movement of genesis.
In all the region about the Galeria Pass the silence of the dry Arizona air seemed luminous and eternal. Whoever climbed to the crotch of that V, cut jagged against the sky for distances yet unreckoned by tourist folders, might have the reward of pitching the tents of his imagination at the gateway of the clouds.
Early on a certain afternoon he would have noted to the eastward a speck far out on a vast basin of sand which was enclosed by a rim of tumbling mountains. Continued observation at long range would have shown the speck to be moving almost imperceptibly, with what seemed the impertinence of infinitesimal life in that dead world; and, eventually, it would have taken the form of a man astride a pony.
The man was young, fantastically young if you were to judge by his garb, a flamboyant expression of the romantic cowboy style which might have served as a sensational exhibit in a shop-window. In place of the conventional blue wool shirt was one of dark blue silk. The _chaparejos_, or "chaps," were of the softest leather, with the fringe at the seams generously long; and the silver spurs at the boot-heels were chased in antique pattern and ridiculously large. Instead of the conventional handkerchief at the neck was a dark red string tie; while the straight-brimmed cowpuncher hat, out of keeping with the general effect of newness and laundered freshness, had that tint which only exposure to many dewfalls and many blazing mid-days will produce in light-colored felt.
There was vagrancy in the smile of his singularly sensitive mouth and vagrancy in the relaxed way that he rode. From the fondness with which his gaze swept the naked peaks they might have been cities _en fête_ calling him to their festivities. If so, he was in no haste to let realization overtake anticipation. His reins hung loose. He hummed snatches of Spanish, French, and English songs. Their cosmopolitan freedom of variety was as out of keeping with the scene as their lilt, which had the tripping, self-carrying impetus of the sheer joy of living.
Lapsing into silence, his face went ruminative and then sad. With a sudden indrawing of breath he freed himself from his reverie, and bending over from his saddle patted a buckskin neck in affectionate tattoo. Tawny ears turned backward in appreciative fellowship, but without any break in a plodding dog-trot. Though the rider's aspect might say with the desert that time was nothing, the pony's expressed a logical purpose. Thus the speed of their machine-like progress was entirely regulated by the prospect of a measure of oats at the journey's end.
When they came to the foot-hills and the rider dismounted and led the way, with a following muzzle at times poking the small of his back, up the tortuous path, rounding pinnacles and skimming the edge of abysses, his leg muscles answered with the readiness of familiarity with climbing. At the top he saw why the pass had received its name of