tcher
The Young Lion Hunter
Roping Lions in the Grand Canyon
The Last of the Plainsmen
The Shortstop
The Young Forester
VALLEY OF WILD HORSES
CHAPTER ONE
The Panhandle was a lonely purple range land, unfenced and wind swept.
Bill Smith, cattleman, threw up a cabin and looked at the future with
hopeful eyes. One day while plowing almost out of sight of his little
home--which that morning he had left apprehensively owing to an
impending event--he espied his wife Margaret coming along the edge of
the plowed field. She had brought his lunch this day, despite his
order to the contrary. Bill dropped the loop of his driving reins over
the plow handle and strode toward her. Presently she halted wearily
and sat down where the dark rich overturned earth met the line of
bleached grass. Bill meant to scold Margaret for bringing his lunch,
but it developed she had brought him something more. A son!
This boy was born on the fragrant fresh soil, out on the open prairie,
under the steely sun and the cool wind from off the Llano Estacado. He
came into the world protesting against this primitive manner of his
birth. Bill often related that the youngster arrived squalling and
showed that his lung capacity fitted his unusual size. Despite the
mother's protestations, Bill insisted on calling the lad Panhandle.
Panhandle's first memory was of climbing into the big cupboard in the
cabin, falling out upon his head and getting blood all over his white
dress. His next adventurous experience was that of chewing tobacco he
found in his father's coat. This made him very sick. His mother
thought he was poisoned, and as Bill was away, she ran to the nearest
neighbors for help. By the time she returned with the experienced
neighbor woman Panhandle had gotten rid of the tobacco and was bent
upon further conquest.
Another day Panhandle manifested a growing tendency toward
self-assertion. He ran away from home. Owing to his short legs and
scant breath he did not get very far down over the slope. His will and
intention were tremendous. Did the dim desert call to the child? His
parents had often seen him stand gazing into the purple distance. But
Panhandle on this runaway occasion fell asleep on the dry grassy bottom
of an irrigation ditch. Bye and bye he was missed, and father and
mother, and the farm hands ran hither and thither in wild search for
him. No one, however, found him. In the haste of the
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