Bransford of Rainbow Range: Originally Published under the title of Bransford in Arcadia, or, The Little EohippusRhodes, Eugene Manlove
General
Bransford of Rainbow Range: Originally Published under the title of Bransford in Arcadia, or, The Little Eohippus
Rhodes, Eugene Manlove
Frontier and pioneer life -- West (U.S.) -- Fiction; Western stories
"Florence Mehitabel Genevieve Jane,
She came home in the wind an' the rain,
She came home in the rain an' the snow;
'Ain't a-goin' to leave my home any mo'!'"
"Jeff," said the mystified Ballinger, spurring up beside him, "what has
the gray-haired Register done? Has murder stained his hands with gore?"
Jeff raised his bridle hand.
"Gee! Leo, I don't know! I just taken a chance!"
CHAPTER I
THE PITCHER THAT WENT TO THE WELL
"When I bend my head low and listen at the ground,
I can hear vague voices that I used to know,
Stirring in dim places, faint and restless sound;
I remember how it was when the grass began to grow."
--_Song of The Wandering Dust_,
ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH.
The pines thinned as she neared Rainbow Rim, the turfy glades grew
wider; she had glimpses of open country beyond--until, at last, crossing
a little spit of high ground, she came to the fairest spot in all her
voyage of exploration and discovery. She sank down on a fallen log with
a little sigh of delight.
The steep bank of a little canyon broke away at her feet--a canyon which
here marked the frontier of the pines, its farther side overgrown with
mahogany bush and chaparral--a canyon that fell in long, sinuous curves
from the silent mystery of forest on Rainbow Crest behind her, to widen
just below into a rolling land, parked with green-black powderpuffs of
juniper and cedar; and so passed on to mystery again, twisting away
through the folds of the low and bare gray hills to the westward, ere
the last stupendous plunge over the Rim to the low desert, a mile toward
the level of the waiting sea.
Facing the explorer, across the little canyon, a clear spring bubbled
from the hillside and fell with pleasant murmur and tinkle to a pool
below, fringed with lush emerald--a spring massed about with wild
grapevine, shining reeds of arrow-weed; a tangle of grateful greenery,
jostling eagerly for the life-giving water. Draped in clinging vines,
slim acacias struggled up through the jungle; the exquisite fragrance of
their purple bells gave a final charm to the fairy chasm.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account