Peter Carr, with his usual skills, scattered flies through blazing puddles. And yet not a single fish moved, nor did the slightest rise reward him for all his efforts. Peter walked many miles that day, and the prospect of a quiet evening over the blazing peat fire was clearly pleasant. But before he walked another quarter of a mile, he was awakened by his pleasant reverie of a piercing call for help.
Peter slowly rose to the top. He was in a blue twill suit, his brown shoes were old but well polished, and his soft gray hat looked like a hundred others. If someone tried to watch him, they would take him for a city clerk, enjoying a quiet walk to get that little fresh air that moved on this sinister hot night.
The cold drizzle made Plymouth unhappy, and it was with a sigh of relief that Bruce Carey exchanged the greasy, dirty platform of North Road Station for the warm, well-lit comfort of a first-class night mail coupe for London. At first he thought that he would have a car, but when the train was getting ready to start, a man jumped into it and fell on the seat opposite Bruce. He was breathing heavily, as if running, and Bruce, looking at him, was struck by the expression on his...
Four years of hard work under the tropical sun, a young American invested in this place. He, Dick, had been on it for a whole year. He knew how Dudley liked it, and knew perfectly well that it would be unpleasant for him to refuse him. What was his business when Dudley so quietly perceived all this?
This old science fiction novel, Bridges, describes the Earth, largely devastated and devastated by terrible unrest in the solar system. The story tells about the adventures of seven people sailing in a wonderful airship of the future. There is a mortal battle between the two scientists: one is trying to build a new and better world on the ruins of the old, the other is a villain fighting to create a system that will finally destroy what remains on Earth.
The bottom of the gorge was filled with old lava, black and fragile, like bottle glass, but the rocks that endlessly rose on both sides on an African night were made of limestone. Everything was still like death. Even the jackal did not cry under the stars. For a while no sound was heard except for the gentle shuffling of Nick’s legs as he slowly descended the steep slope. The darkness was terribly frightening for others, but Nick knew the way, and they unconditionally truste...
The boy knew all too well that his father was fighting to preserve the farm. The land was poor and they had three bad seasons. Unable to even pay for the labor, the farmer Holt and his seventeen-year-old son did almost all the work themselves, and sometimes it was hard work. They would not have known their neighbors, but the beasts themselves in the stables and stables lived better than Holt and his son.
The roar of the pampero rattling above the chimneys of the solidly built Estancia drowned the rumble, but the sound was loud enough for Jock and Ned Burnie to jump from their chairs by the fire and run out of the room. At the foot of the stairs on the floor of broken clay lay an old man in a magnificent frame. Jock first got to him and leaned over him.
This spring was the most treasured possession of Kurt, since without him there could not have been a trout farm that gave him life. There was never a day when he did not inspect it, and it was very fashionable to keep a thermometer in it to see that the temperature does not change. He never knew a change of more than four degrees – from thirty-eight degrees to forty-two. When he picked up the thermometer, he noticed a flicker of white in the dark jaws of spring. Something ros...
Jim was a tall boy, taller than Bart and probably a year older, and would have looked nice if not for his conceited expression. His hair was black as ink, he had very dark eyes, and his skin was darker than that of an ordinary Englishman. Behind him was a small plump guy who looked like a groom or nursery. The new arrival looked at his dogs, then turned to Bart.
Fat Mr. Horner might have changed his mind if he could have watched Gilbert’s face as he drove his rattling old motorcycle over the bridge and climbed the steep slope beyond. The young man’s lips were clenched and his eyes were hard. These weekly trips to Taverton were the only gap in the deadly monotony of life in the works of Carnaby Clay, and he hated to return there, like a boy hates to return to school.
The TEA at the Wasperton School was nothing more than thick slices of bread and margarine and an ominous black mixture served in huge metal teapots. The food was so bad that the boys could hardly eat it, but they did not dare to complain, at least as long as they were under the gaze of their master, Mr. Silas Craishaw. Because his eyes were no less rigid than his cane, and not a day passed, but some of them felt a prick of it. Among the forty or so boys who were sitting at tw...
A few minutes passed, and Martin, lazily tapping his pencil on paper, seemed to have little interest in sounds. Then suddenly his attitude changed, his back straightened, and a look of passionate interest illuminated his sharp gray eyes. The door of the large room opened, and a boy came in quickly, a boy about the same age as Martin, but as dark and thin as Martin, tall and bright.
The long table was filled with guys from Overton’s school, everyone was busy with breakfast and talked from sixteen to a dozen. Only two days remained until the end of the summer semester, and everyone was wildly excited about the idea of returning home for a long eight-week vacation. Bruce, being the captain of the hostel, sat at the head of the table, and Clive next to him so that they could read their letters calmly.
Dick traveled halfway around the world to get to this particular house, and despite his pinkish-white appearance, the boy had a lot of courage. Dick saw a heavy, bloated-looking man, with a fat, flabby face and thick, black hair and eyebrows. His clothes were black, so was his tie; even his finger-nails shared in the general mourning. He looked like a funeral mute off duty.
At the Bar-Tor farm in Dartmoor, owned by young Robert Hamlin. Downstairs, on the red land of Devon, a porcelain clay deposit was found, the value of which, although not fantastic, was large enough to make searchers be interested in the possibilities of buying all the property. Their idea was to get it before Robert Hamlin realized that he had a hidden asset that cost a lot more than all of his agricultural land. But they did not outsmart him.
A pair of seventeen-year-old boys leaves the house to make their way to fate in the Far Eastern seas. „It must be my hands that are at fault, then,” replied Clive. „I’ve been trying everywhere for the past three weeks, and can’t get taken on. I came down here to look up Captain Brereton, an old friend of my father’s. He’s skipper and part owner of a tramp steamer, the Sphinx. I hoped to cadge a passage to Australia, where I thought I might find a job.”
Doctor Kildare approached just in time to hear Meg say to the officer, „"I heard a shot outside my apartment, then a crash. When I ran out, this man was lying on the landing... „” „"Whiskey Sour"” (1938) is a Doctor Kildare story that continues the depiction of a „"gangster"” atmosphere surrounding the young doctor as he cared for East Side streets toughs and local political bosses while defying his hospital superiors. Max Brand (1892-1944) is the best-known pen name of widel...
You don’t get a much more evocative opening than that for a Western novella called „Werewolf”, and the story lives up to both its title and that opening in ways you won’t expect from Max Brand who did write some fantastic fiction. On that bitter night Chris Royal walks into Yates Saloon to escape the storm where Cliff Main, gun happy brother of killer Harry Main, is looking for trouble over a girl both like. Words are exchanged, and there is the smell of cordite in the air. C...
Les Burchard owned the local gambling palace, half the town, and most of the surrounding territory, and Walt Devon’s thousand-acre ranch would make him king of the land. The trouble was, Devon didn’t want to sell. In a ruthless bid to claim the spread, Burchard tried everything from poker to murder. But Walt Devon was a betting man by nature, even when the stakes were his life. The way Devon figured, the odds were stacked against him. So he could either die alone... or takes ...
If you like classic animal stories you will like this one for sure. Tucker Crosden bred his dogs to be champions. Yet even by frontiersman’s brutal standards, bull terrier White Wolf was special. Tucker had great plans for the dog until it gave in to the blood-hungry laws of nature. He never thought that his prize animal would run at the head of a wolf pack one day and to be a leader among wolves in the San Jacinto Mountains or that a trick of fate would throw them together i...
Staying alive is worth a thousand dollars a day to Oliver Wilton. That’s what he’s paying Lew Sherry and Pete Long as hired guns to keep him healthy. And after riding the range, the money looks more than just a little inviting. But before Sherry and Long can pocket their first wages, Wilton is murdered. And town men were never so sad to see their boss take a bullet in the brain as Sherry and Long. Soon the pair are riding a vengeance trail – out to catch the low-down killer w...
An exciting saga of danger, adventure, and romance on the Western frontier. Bill Lancaster was a dangerous man that no one dared mess with. He was fast with a gun, deadly with his fists, and a bully who never let you forget who was tougher. Young Dan Cadigan however refused to be pushed. Mistaken for a quiet weakling, no one expected him to stand up to Bill Lancaster. Fighting him with his fists he made Lancaster realize that someone was tougher than he was. Desperate he used...
