Tappan kept to the north side of the canyon, where the snow crust was strongest. What he must do was to work up to the top of the canyon slope, and then keeping to the ridge travel north along it, and so down out of the forest.
Travel was slow. He soon found he had to pick his way. Jenet appeared to be absolutely unable to sense either danger or safety. Her experience had been of the rock confines and the drifting sands of the desert. She walked where Tappan led her. And it seemed to Tappan that her trust in him, her reliance upon him, were pathetic.
“Well, old girl,” said Tappan to her, “it’s a horse of another color now—hey?”
At length he came to a wide part of the canyon, where a bench of land led to a long gradual slope, thickly studded with small pines. This appeared to be fortunate, and turned out to be so, for when Jenet broke through the crust Tappan had trees and branches to hold to while he hauled her out. The labor of climbing that slope was such that Tappan began to appreciate Blade’s absolute refusal to attempt getting Jenet out. Dusk was shadowing the white aisles of the forest when Tappan ascended to a level. He had not traveled far from camp, and the fact struck a chill upon his heart.
To go on in the dark was foolhardy. So Tappan selected a thick spruce, under which there was a considerable depression in the snow, and here made preparation to spend the night. Unstrapping the tarpaulin, he spread it on the snow. All the lower branches of this giant of the forest were dead and dry. Tappan broke off many and soon had a fire. Jenet nibbled at the moss on the trunk of the spruce tree. Tappan’s meal consisted of beans, biscuits, and a ball of snow, that he held over the fire to soften. He saw to it that Jenet fared as well as he. Night soon fell, strange and weirdly white in the forest, and piercingly cold. Tappan needed the fire. Gradually it melted the snow and made a hole, down to the ground. Tappan rolled up in the tarpaulin and soon fell asleep.
IN THREE DAYS Tappan traveled about fifteen miles, gradually descending, until the snow crust began to fail to hold Jenet. Then whatever had been his difficulties before, they were now magnified a hundredfold. As soon as the sun was up, somewhat softening the snow, Jenet began to break through. And often when Tappan began hauling her out he broke through himself. This exertion was killing even to a man of Tappan’s physical prowess. The endurance to resist heat and flying dust and dragging sand seemed another kind from that needed to toil on in his snow. The endless snowbound forest began to be hideous to Tappan. Cold, lonely, dreary, white, mournful—the kind of ghastly and ghostly winter land that had been the terror of Tappan’s boyish dreams! He loved the sun—the open. This forest had deceived him. It was a wall of ice. As he toiled on, the state of his mind gradually and subtly changed in all except the fixed and absolute will to save Jenet. In some places he carried her.
The fourth night found him dangerously near the end of his stock of food. He had been generous with Jenet. But now, considering that he had to do more work than she, he diminished her share. On the fifth day Jenet broke through the snow crust so often that Tappan realized how utterly impossible it was for her to get out of the woods by her own efforts. Therefore Tappan hit upon the plan of making her lie on the tarpaulin, so that he could drag her. The tarpaulin doubled once did not make a bad sled. All the rest of that day Tappan hauled her. And so all the rest of the next day he toiled on, hands behind him, clutching the canvas, head and shoulders bent, plodding and methodical, like a man who could not be defeated. That night he was too weary to build a fire, and too worried to eat the last of his food.
Next day Tappan was not unalive to the changing character of the forest. He had worked down out of the zone of the spruce trees; the pines had thinned out and decreased in size; oak trees began to show prominently. All these signs meant that he was getting down out of the mountain heights. But the fact, hopeful as it was, had drawbacks. The snow was still four feet deep on a level and the crust held Tappan only about half the time. Moreover, the lay of the land operated against Tappan’s progress. The long, slowly descending ridge had failed. There were no more canyons, but ravines and swales were numerous. Tappan dragged on, stern, indomitable, bent to his toil.
When the crust let him down, he hung his snowshoes over Jenet’s back, and wallowed through, making a lane for her to follow. Two days of such heartbreaking toil, without food or fire, broke Tappan’s magnificent endurance. But not his spirit! He hauled Jenet over the snow, and through the snow, down the hills and up the slopes, through the thickets, knowing that over the next ridge, perhaps, was deliverance. Deer and elk tracks began to be numerous. Cedar and juniper trees now predominated. An occasional pine showed here and there. He was getting out of the forest land. Only such mighty and justifiable hope as that could have kept him on his feet.
He fell often, and it grew harder to rise and go on. The hour came when the crust failed altogether to hold Tappan and he had to abandon hauling Jenet. It was necessary to make a road for her. How weary, cold, horrible, the white reaches! Yard by yard Tappan made his way. He no longer sweat. He had no feeling in his feet or legs. Hunger ceased to gnaw at his vitals. His thirst he quenched with snow—soft snow now, that did not have to be crunched like ice. The pangs in his breast were terrible—cramps, constrictions, the piercing pains in his lungs, the dull ache of his overtaxed heart.
Tappan came to an opening in the cedar forest from which he could see afar. A long slope fronted him. It led down and down to open country. His desert eyes, keen as those of an eagle, made out flat country, sparsely covered with snow, and black dots that were cattle. The last slope! The last pull! Three feet of snow, except in drifts; down and down he plunged, making way for Jenet! All that day he toiled and fell and rolled down this league-long slope, wearing toward sunset to the end of his task, and likewise to the end of his will.
NOW HE SEEMED up and now down. There was no sense of cold or weariness. Only direction! Tappan still saw! The last of his horror at the monotony of white faded from his mind. Jenet was there, beginning to be able to travel for herself. The solemn close of endless day found Tappan arriving at the edge of the timbered country, where wind-bared patches of ground showed long, bleached grass. Jenet took to grazing.
As for Tappan, he fell with the tarpaulin, under a thick cedar, and with strengthless hands plucked and plucked at the canvas to spread it, so that he could cover himself. He looked again for Jenet. She was there, somehow a fading image, strangely blurred. But she was grazing. Tappan lay down, and stretched out, and slowly drew the tarpaulin over him.
A piercing cold night wind swept down from the snowy heights. It wailed in the edge of the cedars and moaned out toward the open country. Yet the night seemed silent. The stars shone white in a deep blue sky—passionless, cold, watchful eyes, looking down without pity or hope or censure. They were the eyes of Nature. Winter had locked the heights in its snowy grip. All night that winter wind blew down, colder and colder. Then dawn broke, steely, gray, with a fire in the east.
Jenet came back where she had left her master. Camp! As she had returned thousands of dawns in the long years of her service. She had grazed all night. Her sides that had been flat were now full. Jenet had weathered another vicissitude of her life. She stood for a while, in a doze, with one long ear down over her meek face. Jenet was waiting for Tappan.
But he did not stir from under the long roll of canvas. Jenet waited. The winter sun rose, in cold yellow flare. The snow glistened as with a crusting of diamonds. Somewhere in the distance sounded a long-drawn, discordant bray. Jenet’s ears shot up. She listened. She recognized the call of one of her kind. Instinct always prompted Jenet. Sometimes she did bray. Lifting her gray head she sent forth a clarion, “Hee-haw hee-haw-haw—hee-haw how-e-e-e!”
That stentorian call started the echoes. They pealed down the slope and rolled out over the open country, clear as a bugle blast, yet hideous in their discordance. But this morning Tappan did not awaken.
“The prolific bestselling author of historical saga … has put together a superb antholo
gy of thirty Western short fictions written in the last one hundred years. Many of the stories are appearing here for the first time since they were published in the ’30s, ’40s, and ’50s, but their appeal is as fresh as ever.”
—Publishers Weekly
“The best-kept secret of American literature is the brilliance of the Western short story. That savvy master of fiction, John Jakes, has gathered some dazzling stories here, written by some of the finest fiction authors of the twentieth century. This is a collection you’ll relish, read again and again, and keep among the classics on your bookshelves.”
—Richard S. Wheeler
“A superb collection that tells you why the Western will never die.”
—David Nevin
“A whopping collection of John Jakes’s favorite tales … I had a lot of fun… . If you have any nostalgic feeling left for that uniquely American literary genre, you will, too.”
—The Hilton Head Island Packet
“This superb collection … is entertaining not only for Western fans, but for other readers as well.”
—The Tampa Tribune and Times
“This is an excellent retrospective, as well as a look into the future of the immortal Western, and for those unfamiliar with it, the best introduction to the genre today.”
— Rocky Mountain News
About the Author
John Jakes is the bestselling author of The Kent Family Chronicles, The North and South Trilogy, and The Crown Family Saga. He lives in South Carolina and Connecticut. You can sign up for author updates here.
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Introduction John Jakes
Preface John Jakes
The Gift of Cochise Louis L’Amour
The Tin Star John M. Cunningham
Killers’ Country! Dan Cushman
Timberline Owen Wister
All Gold Canyon Jack London
The Lamb of the Flying U B. M. Bower
Gun Job Thomas Thompson
The Burial of Letty Strayhorn Elmer Kelton
Hell on the Draw Loren D. Estleman
The Attack on the Mountain Glendon Swarthout
Fear Bill Pronzini
Geranium House Peggy Simson Curry
The Trouble Man Eugene Manlove Rhodes
The Weight of Obligation Rex Beach
Top Hand Luke Short
Sergeant Houck Jack Schaefer
Manitow and Ironhand John Jakes
The Killing at Triple Tree Evan Hunter
Sweet Cactus Wine Marcia Muller
Peace Officer Brian Garfield
Wolf Moon Ed Gorman
Gamblin’ Man Dwight V. Swain
Candles in the Bottom of the Pool Max Evans
Stage to Lordsburg Ernest Haycox
King of the Buckskin Breed Les Savage, Jr.
Burn Him Out Frank Bonham
The Shaming of Broken Horn Bill Gulick
The Guns of William Longley Donald Hamilton
Wine on the Desert Max Brand
Tappan’s Burro Zane Grey
Praise
About the Author
Copyright
Copyrights for
A Century of Great Western Stories
“The Gift of Cochise” by Louis L’Amour. “The Gift of Cochise,” copyright first appeared in Collier’s, July 5, 1952. Copyright © 1952 by the Cromwell-Collier Publishing Company. From War Party by Louis L’Amour. Used by permission of Bantam Books, a division of Random House, Inc.
“The Tin Star” by John Cunningham. Copyright © 1947, 1975 by John Cunningham. Reprinted by permission of Knox Burger Associates.
“Killers’ Country” by Dan Cushman. Copyright © 1950 by Popular Publications, Inc. Copyright © renewed 1978 by Dan Cushman. Reprinted by arrangement with Golden West Literary Agency. All rights reserved.
“The Lamb of the Flying U” by B. M. Bower. Copyright © 1940 by Little, Brown & Company. Copyright © renewed 1968 by Dele Newman Doke. Reprinted by arrangement with Golden West Literary Agency. All rights reserved.
“Gun Job” by Thomas Thompson. From Moment of Glory by Thomas Thompson. Doubleday and Company, Inc. Copyright © 1961 by Thomas Thompson. Copyright © renewed 1989 by Thomas Thompson. Reprinted by permission of Brandt & Brandt Literary Agents, Inc.
“The Burial of Letty Strayhorn” by Elmer Kelton. Copyright © 1994 by Elmer Kelton. Reprinted by permission of the author.
“Hell on the Draw” by Loren D. Estleman. Copyright © 1989 by Loren D. Estleman. Reprinted by permission of the author.
“The Attack on the Mountain” by Glendon Swarthout. Copyright © 1954, renewed 1982 by Glendon Swarthout. Reprinted by permission of the William Morris Agency, Inc., on behalf of the author.
“Fear” by Bill Pronzini. Copyright © 1995 by the Pronzini-Muller Family Trust. First published in Louis L’Amour Western Magazine. Reprinted by permission of the author.
“Geranium House” by Peggy Simson Curry, copyright © 1959 by Peggy Simpson Curry. Reprinted by permission of the Executor of the Author’s Estate, William S. Curry.
“Top Hand” by Luke Short. Copyright © 1943 by Curtis Publishing Company. First appeared in The Saturday Evening Post. Reprinted by arrangement with Kate Hirson.
“Sergeant Houck” by Jack Schaefer. Copyright © 1951 by Jack Schaefer; renewed 1979. Reprinted by permission of Harold Matson Co. Inc. for the Estate of Jack Schaefer.
“Manitow and Ironhand” by John Jakes. Copyright © 1994 by John Jakes. Reprinted by permission of the author.
“The Killing at Triple Tree” by Evan Hunter. Copyright © 1953 by Flying Eagle Publications. Copyright © 1981 renewed by Evan Hunter. Reprinted by permission of the author.
“Sweet Cactus Wine” by Marcia Muller. Copyright © 1982 by the Pronzini-Muller Family Trust. First published in The Arbor House Treasury of Great Western Stories. Reprinted by permission of the author.
“Peace Officer” by Brian Garfield. Copyright © 1967, 1995 by Brian Garfield. First published in Iron Men and Silver Stars. Reprinted by permission of the author.
“Wolf Moon” by Edward Gorman. Copyright © 1993 by Edward Gorman. Reprinted by permission of the author.
“Gamblin’ Man” by Dwight Swain. Copyright © 1947 by Popular Publications, Inc. First published in Dime Western under the title “Sentimental Gentleman of Death.” Reprinted by permission of the author.
“Candles in the Bottom of the Pool” by Max Evans. Copyright © 1973 by Max Evans. Reprinted by permission of the author and his agent, Nat Sobel.
“Stage to Lordsburg” by Ernest Haycox. Copyright © 1937 by Crowell Collier Publishing Corporation. Copyright © renewed 1964 by Jill Marie Haycox. Reprinted by arrangement with Golden West Literary Agency. All rights reserved.
“King of the Buckskin Breed” by Les Savage, Jr. Copyright © 1951 by Popular Publications, Inc. Copyright © renewed 1979 by Marian R. Savage. Reprinted by arrangement with Golden West Literary Agency. All rights reserved.
“Burn Him Out” by Frank Bonham. Copyright © 1949 by Popular Publications, Inc. Copyright © renewed 1977 by Frank Bonham. Reprinted by arrangement with Golden West Literary Agency. All rights reserved.
“The Shaming of Broken Horn” by Bill Gulick. Copyright © 1960 by Curtis Publications, Co. Reprinted by permission of the author.
“The Guns of William Longley” by Donald Hamilton. From “Iron Men and Silver Stars” by Donald Hamilton, Fawcett Publications, Copyright © 1967 by Donald Hamilton. Reprinted by permission of Brandt & Brandt Literary Agents, Inc.
“Wine on the Desert”
by Max Brand. Copyright © 1936 by United Newspapers Magazine Corporation. Copyright © renewed 1951 by Jane Faust Easton, John Frederick Faust, Judith Faust. Reprinted by arrangement with Golden West Literary Agency. All rights reserved.
“Tappan’s Burro” by Zane Grey. Copyright © 1923 by Zane Grey. Copyright © renewed 1951 by Zane Grey, Inc. Reprinted by arrangement with Golden West Literary Agency. All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this anthology are either products of the authors’ imaginations or are used fictitiously.
A CENTURY OF GREAT WESTERN STORIES
Copyright © 2000 by John Jakes
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form.
Book design by Jane Adele Regina
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
A century of great Western stories / edited by John Jakes.
p. cm.
“A Tom Doherty Associates book.”
Includes bibliographical references.
eISBN: 978-1-250-20590-2
A Century of Great Western Stories Page 71