Benton of the Royal Mounted: A Tale of the Royal Northwest Mounted Police

by Ralph S. Kendall

CHAPTER XX

The wild hawk to the wind-swept sky,

The deer to the wholesome wold,

And the heart of a man to the heart of a maid

As it was in the days of old.

The heart of a man to the heart of a maid—

Light of my tents, be fleet!

Morning waits at the end of the world;

And the world is all at our feet.

—Kipling

“Wake up, Johnny, yu’ old fool!... don’t yu’ start in to lazy on me or I’ll—”

Here Ellis shrewdly pinched his mount’s withers, causing that animal to flatten his ears and nip playfully at his rider’s knee.

“Look out, doggone it! If I happen to get a bit absent-minded at times, yu’ needn’t follow suit!” he exclaimed sharply, as he jerked his horse away from the edge of a small, but wicked muskeg, around which the trail that led to the Trainors’ ranch circled. “I sure don’t want to be getting in the soup like Jim McCloud did that time, on this day of all days. I’ll hand yu’ over to Mary, begad!... she’ll teach yu’ to ‘soldier,’ yu’ old sucker!”

It was a glorious sunshiny afternoon, and the light cool breeze sent the occasional little tufts of fleecy-white clouds scudding across the turquoise-blue sky, and waved and brushed the surface of the long prairie grass as if with an invisible hand. To the gait of his horse Ellis whistled to himself—happily—half dreamily, as if he voiced some inner thought—an old, long-forgotten air, presently breaking into its words:

“Sae kind, kind and gentle it she,

Kind is my Mary;

The tender blossom on the tree,

Cannot compare wi’ Mary.”

Duly arriving at the ranch, he dropped his lines, and leisurely sauntering up to the familiar dwelling where he perceived the owner and his wife sitting in the shade of the veranda, he hailed them cheerily.

Trainor looked up at the other’s approach and, lowering the paper that he was reading, nodded to him nonchalantly; his spouse gave no salutation whatever, and appeared engrossed in her sewing.

Ellis halted irresolutely, sensing something strange and apathetic in the manner in which he was received—something distant, as it were—and he became slowly conscious of a presentiment that his forebodings had not been without reason, and that all was not well as heretofore, when their usual welcome had been so genuine and unrestrained. With a feeling of vague uneasiness at his heart, he regarded them blankly a moment or two, glancing from one to the other inquiringly; then he said:

“Is anything the matter? What’s wrong?”

Trainor fidgeted nervously in his chair awhile, and then raising his self-conscious eyes to the level of his questioner’s breast, blurted out:

“Well, you see, Benton, it’s like this ... er—”

But words seemed to fail him, and he left the sentence unfinished, relapsing into silence and gazing miserably at his wife, as if seeking her assistance in his explanation. The latter, now for the first time, raised her head and, gravely contemplating the troubled, anxious face of the Sergeant, addressed her husband.

“Best tell him, Dave,” she said, with an inflection of slightly frigid hostility in her tones. “If you won’t, I will!”

Thus adjured, Trainor coughed awkwardly and began afresh:

“Well, now, see here; look! I’ll tell you, Sergeant. It’s about that girl, Mary—Miss O’Malley, I mean. You know how I and Mrs. Trainor love and regard that girl? ... known her since she was a little kiddie, and think as much of her as we do of our own children—”

He stopped, and Ellis nodded silently.

“For over a week now,” continued the rancher, “that girl’s been acting queerly—seems worried—won’t talk, and she’s not looking at all well. This afternoon we simply couldn’t stand it any longer—she was looking miserable, and it made us miserable, too, seeing her like that. We were right here on the veranda, and she came out of the door to go riding. I caught hold of her by the shoulders—half joshingly—‘Mary, my dear!’ I said; ‘what’s wrong? You’re not looking yourself. There’s something the matter—won’t you tell us? You’re not afraid to tell us, are you, my girl?’ She struggled a bit when I had her cornered like that, and tried to get away from me—then she raised those beautiful honest eyes of hers and looked me squarely in the face. She tried to speak, but somehow the words wouldn’t seem to come, and—”

“And then,” broke in Mrs. Trainor, taking up the tale, “she flung away from him and threw her arms around my neck and hid her face against my shoulder. You know, Mr. Benton, she’s the very soul of honesty ... candid and unafraid to a degree—she doesn’t know what evasion or subterfuge means—she’s like a brave, simple child in that respect. She clung to me for a bit, and then she breaks out into that quaint Irish brogue of hers—like she often does when she’s agitated or excited:

“‘Och! ’tis waithin I am for a man to speak!’ she wails out. ‘And, oh, my dear! ... weary waithin ’tis, ochone!’ And then she burst out crying, with great shaking sobs—oh! how that girl did cry—as if her heart was breaking. I talked to her and soothed her the best I could, and by and by she became quieter, dried her eyes, kissed me, and went away to her horse. She didn’t say any more than that and I didn’t ask her—didn’t need to ... for there! ... isn’t that admission enough? D’you think we looking on at this play all this time don’t know who she meant?” Mrs. Trainor continued, eyeing Benton severely. “Haven’t you been coming here regularly, paying her marked attention, taking her out for rides, and all that? D’you think it’s possible to deceive us. If you’ve only been amusing yourself at her expense all these months with no serious intentions, I tell you plainly, Mr. Benton ... I don’t think you’re acting in a proper manner at all. That girl is one in a thousand. Besides—she has refused many good offers of marriage—and all for your sake, too—from men who were in the position to give her a downright good home and all the comforts of life. You may think it’s not our business, but I tell you it is!” she ended, with sparkling eyes. “And we’ve made up our minds this sort of thing shan’t go on any longer—that is, unless you can give us your positive assurance that your intentions are really sincere.... No! you needn’t look at me in that idiotic way!” she cried, arising and stamping her foot angrily. “I mean what I say, and I—”

Benton, with a flash of white teeth, and a broad and rather foolish grin on his—now happy—face, suddenly stepped forward and gripped the indignant lady gently by the shoulders.

“Mrs. Trainor!” he said, with a daring earnestness that almost took the breath away from that scandalized dame as she struggled to free herself. “If you open your mouth to say one word more, I’ll—as sure as you’re the wife of your husband—I’ll kiss you bang in front of him!” And, releasing her, he continued: “What you’ve just told me’s made me the happiest man alive.... I know where I get off at, now ... and I’ll proceed to tell you something!”

And rapidly he acquainted the astonished pair with the news of his unexpected good fortune, apologizing for his seemingly callous conduct with a deep, sincere contrition that impressed them in no little degree and dispelled all their lingering doubts.

Trainor reached out a massive hand. “Sergeant,” he said, with great feeling. “Shake! I’m in wrong! I take it all back how I’ve misjudged you! I might have known you weren’t that kind!”

Ellis, swallowing a little, grasped the offered hand warmly.

“Dave!” he blurted out, “it’s me that’s to blame, all right. It’s mighty good of you and Mrs. Trainor to condone that sure questionable simplicity of mine in the way you have. I should have put myself right with both of you at the start.”

But Mrs. Trainor outdid her husband in impulsive warmth.

“You threatened to kiss me,” she began archly. “Now, I’m going to do more than threaten. There, sir!”

And, suiting the action to the word, she kissed him heartily. Then, womanlike, as the reaction to her happiness—she began to cry. At which Trainor guffawed and caught hold of her teasingly. But, dragging herself away from him, she pushed Ellis towards the path.

“Now you go!” she sobbed, “after her—straightway. And don’t you dare bring her back here until you’ve kissed her tears away and she’s her own happy self again. That is, if you can find her,” she added, with wet, smiling eyes. “I don’t know exactly which way she went.”

“Oh, I’ll find her, all right,” said Ellis cheerfully. “I think I know where she’ll be.”

And, turning, he strode off to the waiting Johnny, mounted, and set off at a brisk lope towards “Lone Butte,” that reared its head in the hazy distance. For it was there that he guessed instinctively she had betaken herself.

Purposely making a wide detour to escape her possible observation, thirty minutes’ brisk riding brought him into a small coulee, dotted with a young growth of Balm o’ Gilead trees and alder bushes, which lay to the rear of the butte and exactly opposite to the side where the regular path to the summit began. Here he dismounted and, leading Johnny, to save a later descent for that animal, commenced to slowly make the ascent.

Pausing to take breath within a few yards of the top, the breeze brought to his ears the unmistakable sounds of somebody whistling carelessly to herself. Yes, that was her whistle, all right, he reflected; so she couldn’t be so very unhappy. Intending to steal up to her unobserved, and calculating from his memory of the position of the big stone, that she would have her back turned towards him, he crept warily to the summit.

Soon, not thirty feet distant on the small plateau, he beheld her seated on the stone and, as he had surmised, facing the West. But her attitude of dejected abandon sobered him somewhat, and the low, monotonous whistle sounded doleful in the extreme. Noiselessly the Sergeant decreased the distance between them, and when within a few feet halted, not wishing to startle her too badly. On account of her wide-brimmed Stetson hat tipped back on the nape of her neck, and the breeze blowing in her ears, she had not thus far been aware of his close approach, the thick, “old-bottom” prairie grass effectually deadening the ring of Johnny’s steel-shod hoofs.

Long and earnestly, with a great love not unmixed with a pang of remorse in his heart, Ellis gazed on the still unconscious girl. Then all at once he gave a violent start, which almost betrayed his presence to her.

For, suddenly, and with the clarity that the great king saw the writing on the wall, again he seemed to behold, and comprehend fully now, the significance of the strange fantasy which had appeared to him in the detachment the previous night.

The dreary whistle ceased, and with her chin resting in her hands she began to idly croon to herself an old-fashioned time-worn ballad, which he vaguely recognized as Whittier’s “Maud Muller.” Lord! what a time it seemed since he’d heard that! he reflected. It took him right back to the scenes of his boyhood again at Shrewsbury—peaceful, gray-spired old-world Shrewsbury. Verse by verse, came the monotonous refrain of the antiquated poem to his ears—just as a little girl will sometimes drone to herself as she sits plaiting her hair in the sun:

Maud Muller looked and sighed. “Ah me!

That I the Judge’s bride might be!

He would dress me up in silks so fine,

And praise and toast me at his wine.”

How the air of a long-forgotten song, a chance phrase in a book, the scent of new-mown hay and of certain flowers, the splendor of a tropical sunrise, the glory of a flaming crimson and gold sunset, or the calm beauty of a moonlight night will ofttimes awaken in us strange old longing memories of other—and, perchance—happier days. Harking back now through all the years came to him, dimly, the recollection that the very last time he had heard that was at a gathering of young hearts held in his old school town, when he was a bright-eyed young sinner of thirteen or thereabouts—“soirees,” as they were called then. Yes, it was at Dr. Pennington’s, and saucy, yet tender-eyed, little Darthea Pennington had recited it. She had cried, too, at its conclusion, he remembered; which spectacle of girlish emotion had prompted him to start in tormenting her with some youthful nonsense, in a well-meant effort to revive her natural gaiety. True, she’d slapped his face as the reward for his impudence, but didn’t she relent later to the extent of allowing him to kiss “friends,” and afterwards take her in to supper?

“And I’d feed the hungry and clothe the poor,

And all should bless me who left our door.”

The Judge looked back at he climbed the hill,

And saw Maud Muller standing still.

With bowed head the listener stood there motionless, whilst a wave of emotion surged through his heart, awakening all the sentiment which, through long years of iron self-repression, had lain dormant in his deep nature.

Whatever had possessed her to hark back to this memory of her girlhood? he mused. Under ordinary circumstances he would no doubt have resorted as heretofore, to his customary badinage—chaffed her about “grinding out Whittier by the yard,” or mimicked her in a mincing falsetto. But now—as he heard it now—the element of absurdity was distinctly lacking ... nay! it was pitiful—almost tragic ... how like a simple child again she seemed, in her unhappiness?

With pathetic, monotonous regularity—as if she were seeking to distract her thoughts from her trouble by repeating some orison—the interminable stanzas rose and fell, with a quavering cadence:

Then she took up her burden of life again,

Saying only. “It might have been.”

Choking back a lump in his throat, Ellis now dropped his horse’s lines and stepped forward.

“Mary!” he called softly.

And, at the sound of his voice the girl, with a slight start and exclamation, turned and looked up at him. With a feeling of deep contrition he remarked her pale, tear-stained face, and the dark shadows under her splendid eyes, denoting mental worry and sleepless nights. Her first surprise over, she settled listlessly back again to her old dejected attitude, but never taking her great weary eyes off his face. Never a word had she uttered yet, but continued to gaze silently on the man before her with a forlorn, wistful expression that cut him to the very heart. Suddenly she began to speak, but her voice seemed to ring strangely lifeless and far away in his ears.

“Oh! ... and are you back again?” came the toneless accents, “to mock me with that handsome, cold face of yours? I was happy enough till you came into my life ... you who’ve laid yourself out to make me love you—for nothing, p’r’aps, except your own amusement ... ’tis through I am with happiness now, I guess ... would to God we’d never known each other.... Oh, go! ... go away, please!... I—I just can’t bear it....”

Before the infinite pathos of her hopeless look and bitter words the strong man shook with his emotion until speech seemed beyond him. For, remorse-stricken though he was, beneath her reproach he glimpsed the evidence of so great a love that he could only stand and regard her with awed amazement. Aye!—well he knew now, that come what would or could, all that love was his, and would be his forever. Suddenly he leaned forward with outstretched arms and struggling, heart-wrung words burst from his lips; a golden gleam from the sinking sun, just then, lighting up and intensifying the manly beauty of his strong, clean-cut features.

“Mary!” he cried hoarsely. “Oh, Mary, my girl. I’ve been thoughtless—I didn’t know!... forget—forgive!...”

Dazedly the girl stared for a moment at the imploring face of the man she loved, her misery-benumbed brain failing at first to grasp the significance of his impassioned appeal. Then a quick, joyful light of comprehension dilated her great weary eyes, and with an unsteady movement she arose from her seat on the stone and swayed towards him, sobbing in her throat. The next minute her round arms were about his neck, her eager lips sought his—and they were quite alone.

Long he held the overstrung girl in his arms, kissing and soothing her with every endearment that a man’s love can command in such ecstasies; smoothing her glorious hair and pressing his cheek to hers with whispered, broken words of affection until she became calmer, and her happy tears ceased.

Then, gently, he told her the news of his changed fortunes and, drawing forth the lawyer’s letter, bade the astonished girl read its contents.

“And now, my dear, I want you to read this, too,” he said. “You have the right to.”

And reverently he handed her the letter of his old dead benefactor, silently watching her face as she perused its contents. He saw the light gradually fade from her eyes, which commenced to fill with tears. Her lips quivered and she began to sob again softly, as she read on, rocking herself to and fro and making no attempt to hide her emotion. Presently she ended the missive and looked across at her lover with glistening eyes.

“Oh! ... the poor old fellow ... that poor old soldier ... oh! this is too pitiful for anything!... How he must have suffered when he lost her—waiting patiently all those years!...”

She continued to gaze silently at him awhile. Then suddenly, with her wet eyes blazing with her great love, she leaned forward and flung her arms around his neck again with passionate abandon, still clutching the letters.

“Fwas ut for money ye waithed, ye foolish man?” she cried, relapsing into her soft Hibernian brogue as she patted his shoulder caressingly. “Och, glory be! but ’tis glad I am ye didn’t tell me—or show me thim letthers till—till afther!... ’Tis little ye must know av th’ heart av a woman loike me!... Och, me bhoy! me bhoy! ... a pauper I’d have married ye ... an’ loved ye still ... for yersilf alane!”

For answer, Ellis tipped her head back on his arm and kissed her fondly.

“Aye!... I guess you would!” he returned, with a grim chuckle. “And then p’r’aps both of us ’ud have been sorry forever after!... No, my dear! ... when Poverty knocks on the door, Love ‘beats it’ out of the window!... I’ve seen too many of these ‘Love in a shack’ businesses ... everything’s all hunkadory at first ... but it don’t last.... You and I’ve worked long enough for the powers that be.... Now that’s all changed.... You shall never know sorrow or worry again—if I can help it, Mary, my girl!”

Cheek to cheek, they were silent awhile, gazing dreamily across at the distant “Rockies.” Then he continued quietly. “First thing I must get my discharge from the Force. I’ll forward an application to ‘purchase’ tomorrow! Special case ... under the circumstances, I think the O.C.’ll recommend it all right, though as a rule he’s dead against this ‘purchasing’ business ... don’t know but what he isn’t about right, too ... anyway, ‘Isch ga bibble!’... I’ll work it somehow within a month. Then we’ll hit for Europe, Mary. A downright good long easy-going trip ... taking our time and lazying around in all the beautiful old places we’ve read or heard about, and never seen.... Rome, Venice, and some of those old Moorish places in Spain. Then when we’re tired of them and want some amusement and change of scene we’ll go to Paris, or London—see all the best plays and hear all the best singers. Later we’ll go on down through the Mediterranean to the north coast of Africa, and see Tunis and Algiers and Cairo. By and by, when we’re tired of running around, we’ll ‘beat it’ for this country again and settle down on a place of our own. It won’t be a ‘rawnch,’ like the Honorable Percy’s, either.... Guess I know how to run one as it should be run. I know of a peach of a place—sou’west of here—right on the Elbow ... pretty place, too—bush all round it and all kinds of good feed range and shelter. It’s an ideal place for either horses or cattle—horses especially. Belongs to old J. G. Robinson. He’s getting on in years now and wants to quit the game. I know he’d sell out to me—I know him well. It’s the open range and the foothills of ‘Sunny Alberta’ for me and you, Mary dear—somewhere in the West, anyway ... where we can look across at the ‘Rockies’—like we’re doing now. We’d never be happy anywhere else. Of course ... you won’t be cooped up on this precious ranch-in-perspective all the year round ... neither of us, for that matter. It won’t be necessary, for I’m going to try and get Barney Gallagher to come to me as my manager. I fancy I can fix things with him.”

The girl, smiling at his enthusiasm with a little happy ejaculation, shook him impulsively.

“Oh, let’s wake up!” she cried. “Are we only dreaming? ... are you sure this isn’t only just a beautiful dream, from which we’ll wake up presently? I can’t realize it’s all true, yet!”

He tilted her chin up and gazed into the glorious hazel eyes lovingly.

“No, my dear,” he murmured, the hard lines of his somber face softened into an expression of dreamy, quiet peace. “It’s no dream this time. I’m done with my hopeless, empty dreams now! I’m a poor man no longer! Oh, Mary, my girl! My great big splendid-looking wife-to-be! ... how I surely do love you! Promise me you’re going to be very, very happy now, and give me another kiss! We’ll have to be getting back. I don’t want to be getting into Mrs. T’s bad books again,” he added, grinning. “She gave me orders ... very peremptory orders ... but I think I can report that I’ve carried ’em out! Now give that kiss!”

What a wonderful change—spiritually and physically—a little love can effect! Gone were all poor Mary’s dark shadows, pallor, and weary despondency. Once again her laughing long-lashed hazel eyes shone with the happy lights of yore. Locked in each other’s arms, for the time being, in a rose-tinted world of their own and completely oblivious to their surroundings, they happened to sway up against Johnny who, turning his head, with a mildly inquiring eye, tucked up his nigh fetlock and nibbled at them for sugar, nickering softly the while.

And Mary’s horse, down on the flat below, whinnied back a responsive “All’s Well.”

Footnote:

[1]	A glossary of South African, and other words will be found at the end.

GLOSSARY

Aasvogel—(Dutch Taal) A species of South African vulture. (Carrion.)

Allemachtig—(Dutch Taal) Almighty!

Adios—(Spanish) Good-by!

Dekho—(Hindustani) Look.

Disselboom—(Dutch Taal) Wagon-tongue.

Dopper—(Dutch Taal) A term generally applied to the Boers in S. A.

Doed—(Dutch Taal) Dead.

Dorp—(Dutch Taal) A small town.

Drink hael—(Dutch Taal) Signifying “Drink hearty!”

Dronk—(Dutch Taal) Drunk.

Eyck! Eyck! Azi-wan-n! Ari-tsemah! Hamba-ke!—(Kaffir expressions, urging on horse, oxen, or mule) Literally—“Get up there! Go on!”

Inspanning—(Dutch Taal) Harnessing up horse, oxen, or mule teams.

Indaba—(Zulu) Talk, language.

I Korner—(Dutch Taal) An expression of incredulity, “understand!”

Intombi—(Zulu) Young woman.

Isch Ga Bibble!—(Yiddish) “I should worry!”

Ja—(Dutch Taal) Yes!

Kinders—(Dutch Taal) Children.

Kopje—(Dutch Taal) Small hill, or butte.

Krantzes—(Dutch Taal) Rocky precipices.

Laager—(Dutch Taal) Camp, abode.

Leugenaar—(Dutch Taal) Liar.

Meerkat—(Dutch Taal) A species of animal like a gigantic gopher which burrows on the veldt.

Myjnheer—(Dutch) Mr.

N’dipe Manzi—(Kaffir) “Give me some water!”

Nee-moyee—(Cree) “No!” (Pronounced “Naz-mo-yer.”)

Outspan—(Dutch Taal) Unharnessing horse, oxen, or mule teams.

Paseur—(Spanish) Walk.

Pronto!—(Spanish) “Quick! Look sharp!”

Salue!—(Signifying) “Here’s luck!”

Saku Bona N’kos!—(Kaffir) “Good day, Chief.”

Saku Bona, Umlungu—(Kaffir) “Good day, White Man!”

Sjambok—(Dutch Taal) Rawhide whip.

“Skiet die Verdoe Schepsel!”—(Dutch Taal) “Shoot the damned rascal!”

Soor—(Hindustani) Swine.

Taal—South African Dutch language.

Trek—(Dutch Taal) March, travel.

Tronk—(Dutch Taal) Gaol.

Uitlander—(Dutch Taal) Outlander. Unfranchised by the S. A. Republic.

“Umbagi!”—(Kaffir) Signifying “Move on there!” “Get along!”

Umfundusi—(Kaffir) Preacher.

Umlungu—(Kaffir) “White man!”

Vierkleur—(Dutch Taal) The flag of the late South African Republics.

“Voertsek, Du Verdomde Schelm!”—(Dutch Taal) “Get out, you damned rascal!”

Vrouw—(Dutch Taal) Wife.

“Wacht-een-bietje!”—(Dutch Taal) “Wait a bit!”

“Wana!”—(Kaffir) “Stop!” “Halt there!”

RALPH CONNOR’S STORIES OF THE NORTHWEST

May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap’s list

THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN’S LAND

The clean-hearted, strong-limbed man of the West leaves his hills and forests to fight the battle for freedom in the old world.

BLACK ROCK

A story of strong men in the mountains of the West.

THE SKY PILOT

A story of cowboy life, abounding in the freshest humor, the truest tenderness and the finest courage.

THE PROSPECTOR

A tale of the foothills and of the man who came to them to lend a hand to the lonely men and women who needed a protector.

THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY

This narrative brings us into contact with elemental and volcanic human nature and with a hero whose power breathes from every word.

GLENGARRY SCHOOL DAYS

In this rough country of Glengarry, Ralph Connor has found human nature in the rough.

THE DOCTOR

The story of a “preacher-doctor” whom big men and reckless men loved for his unselfish life among them.

THE FOREIGNER

A tale of the Saskatchewan and of a “foreigner” who made a brave and winning fight for manhood and love.

CORPORAL CAMERON

This splendid type of the upright, out-of-door man about which Ralph Connor builds all his stories, appears again in this book.

Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York

NOVELS OF FRONTIER LIFE BY

WILLIAM MacLEOD RAINE

May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap’s list.

MAVERICKS

A tale of the western frontier, where the “rustler” abounds. One of the sweetest love stories ever told.

A TEXAS RANGER

How a member of the border police saved the life of an innocent man, followed a fugitive to Wyoming, and then passed through deadly peril to ultimate happiness.

WYOMING

In this vivid story the author brings out the turbid life of the frontier with all its engaging dash and vigor.

RIDGWAY OF MONTANA

The scene is laid in the mining centers of Montana, where politics and mining industries are the religion of the country.

BUCKY O’CONNOR

Every chapter teems with wholesome, stirring adventures, replete with the dashing spirit of the border.

CROOKED TRAILS AND STRAIGHT

A story of Arizona; of swift-riding men and daring outlaws; of a bitter feud between cattle-men and sheep-herders.

BRAND BLOTTERS

A story of the turbid life of the frontier with a charming love interest running through its pages.

STEVE YEAGER

A story brimful of excitement, with enough gun-play and adventure to suit anyone.

A DAUGHTER OF THE DONS

A Western story of romance and adventure, comprising a vivacious and stirring tale.

THE HIGHGRADER

A breezy, pleasant and amusing love Story of Western mining life.

THE PIRATE OF PANAMA

A tale of old-time pirates and of modern love, hate and adventure.

THE YUKON TRAIL

A crisply entertaining love story in the land where might makes right.

THE VISION SPLENDID

In which two cousins are contestants for the same prizes; political honors and the hand of a girl.

THE SHERIFF’S SON

The hero finally conquers both himself and his enemies and wins the love of a wonderful girl.

Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York

*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BENTON OF THE ROYAL MOUNTED ***