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Buried Treasure
Buried Treasure
Buried Treasure
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Buried Treasure

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"Buried Treasure" by Stewart Edward White. Published by Good Press. Good Press publishes a wide range of titles that encompasses every genre. From well-known classics & literary fiction and non-fiction to forgotten−or yet undiscovered gems−of world literature, we issue the books that need to be read. Each Good Press edition has been meticulously edited and formatted to boost readability for all e-readers and devices. Our goal is to produce eBooks that are user-friendly and accessible to everyone in a high-quality digital format.
LanguageEnglish
PublisherGood Press
Release dateDec 8, 2020
ISBN4064066428198
Buried Treasure

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    Book preview

    Buried Treasure - Stewart Edward White

    Stewart Edward White

    Buried Treasure

    Published by Good Press, 2022

    goodpress@okpublishing.info

    EAN 4064066428198

    Table of Contents

    I—The Sailor with One Hand

    II—The Murder On the Beach

    III—Pirate Gold

    IV—The Chewed Sugar-Cane

    V—The Calabash Stew

    THE OLD-TIMER'S YARN

    BY

    STEWART EDWARD WHITE

    AUTHOR OF THE BLAZED TRAIL, THE RAWHIDE, THE FOREST, ETC.

    ILLUSTRATED BY P. V. E. IVORY

    WE jogged homewards, our cutting ponies, tired with the quick, sharp work, shuffling knee deep in a dusk that seemed to disengage itself and rise upwards from the surface of the desert. Everybody was hungry and tired. At the chuck wagon we threw off our saddles and turned the mounts into the remuda. Some of the wisest of us, remembering the thunder-clouds, stacked our gear under the veranda roof of the dilapidated and abandoned adobe structure that had once been a ranch house of importance.

    Supper was ready. We seized the tin battery, filled the plates with the meat, bread, and canned corn, and squatted on our heels. The food was good, and we ate hugely in silence. When we could hold no more we lit pipes. Then we had leisure to notice that the storm-cloud was mounting in a portentous silence to the zenith, quenching the brilliant desert stars.

    As soon as we had come to a definite conclusion that it was going to rain, we deserted the camp-fire and went rustling for our blankets. At the end of ten minutes every bed was safe within the doors of the abandoned adobe ranch house, each owner recumbent on the floor claim he had pre-empted, and every man hoping fervently that he had guessed right as to the location of leaks.

    Ordinarily we had depended on the light of camp-fires, so now artificial illumination lacked. Each man was indicated by the alternately glowing and waning lozenge of his cigarette fire. Occasionally some one struck a match, revealing for a moment high-lights on bronzed countenances and the silhouette of a shading hand. Voices spoke disembodied. As the conversation developed, we gradually recognized the membership of our own roomful. I had forgotten to state that the ranch house included four chambers. Outside the rain roared with Arizona ferocity. Inside men congratulated themselves, or swore as leaks developed and localized.

    Naturally we talked first of stampedes. Cows and bears are the two great cattle-country topics. Then we had a mouth-organ solo or two, which naturally led on to songs. My turn came. I struck up the first verse of a sailor chantey as possessing at least the interest of novelty.

    I had just gone so far when I was brought up short by a tremendous oath behind me. At the same instant a match flared. I turned to face a stranger holding the little light above his head and peering with fiery intentness over the group sprawled about the floor.

    He was evidently just in

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