B. M. Bower

“ Everything's at a dead level. I don't even hunt rattlesnakes with the girl any more—seeing she got crippled and couldn't, and then got stuck on Spider and wouldn't. We haven't caught the fellow that killed her uncle, either. Nobody seems trying to catch him. I've ridden Spook Hills till I'm sick of the sight of them, and I can't find so much as a bear track any more. I found a cave or two, but there was nothing in them but rat nests.
Burney found that old squaw, that I told you folks about seeing, wandering around in the hills, and he brought her in to the ranch. ”

“ And since our editor man thinks that you have heard almost enough about these people of the desert, I may not tell you just what happened after that trip down the bluff, or what Shelton did and thought and wanted to do and couldn't. But I'm going to let you do something rude, just for revenge upon the editor man who refuses to let a story go on and on and never stop: I am going to let you read over the shoulder of Shelton C. Sherman while he writes to "the folks."
He is in the bunk house, writing at one end of the table while Spooky plays solitaire upon the other end. ”

“ A novel?" asked Spooky just then, sweeping the cards together with his palm and speaking in a tone of deep disgust. It always makes Spooky cross to have the game run consistently against him when he is playing "Mex." The clerical industry of Shelton C. Sherman has always roused within him a futile irritation. "Honest to gollies, I should think the hind side of a picture postcard would hold all that happens in this derned desert, but some folks can write all day and never say nothing. What yuh tellin' 'em? Did yuh put in how Spider went and cut yuh out with the girl?" ”

“ The lamp stands between them, and the chimney is foggy for want of washing, so that the light is none too good and Shelton is hunched over with his nose so close to the end of his fountain pen that you will have to lean close also. ”