The Mystery of Lost River Canyon by Harry Castlemon

The Mystery of Lost River Canyon

byHarry Castlemon

Kobo ebook | September 15, 2019

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One hot, sultry August afternoon, a weary horse, whose heaving sides and foam-flecked breast bore evidence to the fact that he had been driven long and rapidly, was reined up in front of a little station on the Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe Railroad. His rider—a tall, broad-shouldered, full-bearded man—was dressed in clothing which seems to have been chosen by the ranchmen of the country of which we write, as a badge distinctive of their calling—a red shirt, wide-brimmed hat, corduroy trousers and heavy top boots. He was armed and equipped as the law of the plains directs—a heavy Winchester rifle being slung at his back, and a brace of navy revolvers buckled about his waist. Before his horse had fairly come to a stand-still, he swung himself from the saddle, hurried into the telegraph office, drew a couple of blanks toward him, and, after writing a hasty dispatch upon each, handed them to the operator. The latter read them with great deliberation, counted the words they contained, and no one would have imagined, by looking at his impassive face, that he had made himself master of a piece of news that was destined to work the most remarkable changes in the lives of some of the characters who are to appear in our story. Having received pay for the dispatches, the operator seated himself at his instrument and sent them off, while the horseman sprang into his saddle and rode slowly away. Let us go with these telegrams and see where they went, and how they were received by those to whom they were addressed. They both sped over the same wire until they reached the city of Chicago, and then one turned off and made its way to the little town of Bolton, in Indiana, where we will leave it for the present, while we follow the other, which finally reached its journey’s end in a thriving village in one of our Eastern States. The operator at the latter place, when he heard his “call” sounded, seated himself at his table with his usual nonchalance; but, before he had written half a dozen words, a surprised and grieved expression settled on his face, and, when the dispatch had been copied, he leaned back in his chair and sighed deeply.

Title:The Mystery of Lost River CanyonFormat:Kobo ebookPublished:September 15, 2019Language:English

The following ISBNs are associated with this title:

ISBN - 10:1465632794

ISBN - 13:9781465632791

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From the Author

One hot, sultry August afternoon, a weary horse, whose heaving sides and foam-flecked breast bore evidence to the fact that he had been driven long and rapidly, was reined up in front of a little station on the Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe Railroad. His rider—a tall, broad-shouldered, full-bearded man—was dressed in clothing which seems to have been chosen by the ranchmen of the country of which we write, as a badge distinctive of their calling—a red shirt, wide-brimmed hat, corduroy trousers and heavy top boots. He was armed and equipped as the law of the plains directs—a heavy Winchester rifle being slung at his back, and a brace of navy revolvers buckled about his waist. Before his horse had fairly come to a stand-still, he swung himself from the saddle, hurried into the telegraph office, drew a couple of blanks toward him, and, after writing a hasty dispatch upon each, handed them to the operator. The latter read them with great deliberation, counted the words they contained, and no one would have imagined, by looking at his impassive face, that he had made himself master of a piece of news that was destined to work the most remarkable changes in the lives of some of the characters who are to appear in our story. Having received pay for the dispatches, the operator seated himself at his instrument and sent them off, while the horseman sprang into his saddle and rode slowly away. Let us go with these telegrams and see where they went, and how they were received by those to whom they were addressed. They both sped over the same wire until they reached the city of Chicago, and then one turned off and made its way to the little town of Bolton, in Indiana, where we will leave it for the present, while we follow the other, which finally reached its journey’s end in a thriving village in one of our Eastern States. The operator at the latter place, when he heard his “call” sounded, seated himself at his table with his usual nonchalance; but, before he had written half a dozen words, a surprised and grieved expression settled on his face, and, when the dispatch had been copied, he leaned back in his chair and sighed deeply.