Rancho Del Muerto, and Other Stories of Adventure: by Various Authors, from "Outing"King, Charles
General
Rancho Del Muerto, and Other Stories of Adventure: by Various Authors, from "Outing"
King, Charles
Adventure stories; Fiction; Hunting stories; Short stories
Antaeus was a “fifteen-tonner,” and his market price was $4,000; he was
about sixteen feet long by seven wide at his widest part; he consumed
from three to four hundred pounds of coal per diem; his strength was
equal to that of more horses than I can recollect; he came down upon the
dust at the rate of two tons weight per foot in width; and, when put to
his best, he could settle into what was intended to be its final resting
place about two thousand square yards of new road material per day of
ten hours. As regarded wheels he was tricycular, that is, he rested
upon one roller in front and two behind, the former being also used
for steering purposes. He had two small coal-bunkers in the rear, a
reasonably commodious space, with a spring seat, for the Driver, and a
good-sized awning overhead. He worked under a low pressure of I forget
just how many pounds of steam, and when traveling for pleasure could do
rather more miles a day than could a crack trotter per hour when put to
his best paces.
These particulars I learned during the first week that Antaeus was
busied in our neighborhood. It was thus that I took the preliminary
steps toward making his acquaintance and came to be on pleasant speaking
terms with him, as it were. For the subsequent intimacy between Antaeus
and myself, neither he nor I were wholly responsible.
A young lady had appeared at the house across the way. She was pretty,
but I noticed her more particularly on account of the seemingly
boundless capabilities of her wardrobe. She had a fresh gown for every
new day, or at least, in the course of the first fortnight she had
displayed a series of fourteen charming costumes, which I could no
more hope to describe than could a North Greenland Eskimo to write
an intelligent treatise on the flora of the torrid zone. I sat at my
window, not too near, every morning when she came out of doors, and
admired her through a spy-glass. This may appear like a piece of
impertinence--perhaps it was--but I shall urge in my defence the fact
that the street between us was nearly a hundred feet wide, and our
two houses were set so far back that even by using my comparatively
short-sighted little telescope, I could not bring her much nearer
than we might actually have been without its aid in a more crowded
neighborhood.
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.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account