Written by B. M. Bower
Meadowlark Basin
by B. M. BowerOn the brow of the hill the horse Lark was riding stepped aside from the trail, walked to the very edge of the rim and stood there, gravely looking down into the valley. Where he stood the young grass was cut and crushed into the loose soil with shod hoofprints closely intermingled, proof that the slight detour was a matter of habit born of many pa..
The Ghost in the Red Shirt
by B. M. BowerThe proper way to begin this story would be to assure the reader, first of all, that I have never believed in ghosts; that is the way ghost-stories usually begin, I think. Also, I should say that what I am about to relate is perfectly true—but I won’t begin it like that. As a matter of fact, I don’t care much whether you believe me or not, and I al..
Where Stillwater Runs Deep
by B. M. BowerThe office door opened, admitting six feet of husky young manhood who saluted Murray and snapped into attention while he took in the entire office force with flicking glances of blue eyes that twinkled habitually. It may go on record that the entire office force instinctively patted its blond hair and modestly cast down its eyes of blue—with sundry..
Object, Matrimony
by B. M. BowerWomen are all right—if yuh keep far enough away from them. It’s when yuh take down your rope and commence to widen your loop for one that trouble generally begins; or else when yuh get one, she runs on the rope and keeps yuh guessing other ways.The time I was working for old Shooting-star Wilson, I sure got an object-lesson that I won’t forget in a..
You Ask Anybody
by B. M. BowerFrom Denver to Spokane, from El Paso to Butte, men talk of “Casey” Ryan and smile as they speak his name. Bearded men with the flat tone of age in their voices will suck pipes and cackle reminiscently while they tell you of Casey’s tumultuous youth—time when he drove the fastest six horses in Colorado to the stage line out from Cripple Creek, and w..