The Lookout Man

The Lookout Man

The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Lookout Man, by B. M. Bower This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net
Title: The Lookout Man
Author: B. M. Bower
Release Date: April 15, 2005 [EBook #15625]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ASCII
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~By B. M. Bower~
* * * * *
GOOD INDIAN THE UPHILL CLIMB THE GRINGOS THE RANCH AT THE WOLVERINE THE FLYING U'S LAST STAND JEAN OF THE LAZY A THE PHANTOM HERD THE HERITAGE OF THE SIOUX STARR, OF THE DESERT THE LOOKOUT MAN
[Illustration: She was, after all, the goddess she looked, he thought whimsically. Frontispiece. See page 122.]

THE LOOKOUT MAN
By B. M. Bower

WITH FRONTISPIECE BY H. WESTON TAYLOR
BOSTON
LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY 1917
Published, August, 1917
VAIL-BALLOU COMPANY BINGHAMTON AND NEW YORK U. S. A.

CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I
SOME TIME!
II "THANKS FOR THE CAR"
III TO THE FEATHER RIVER COUNTRY AND FREEDOM
IV JACK FINDS HIMSELF IN POSSESSION OF A JOB
V "IT'S A LONG WAY TO TIPPERARY," SANG JACK
VI MISS ROSE FORWARD
VII GUARDIAN OF THE FORESTS
VIII IN WHICH A GIRL PLAYS BILLIARDS ON THE MOUNTAIN TOP
IX LIKE THE BOY HE WAS
X WHEN FORESTS ARE ABLAZE
XI SYMPATHY AND ADVICE
XII KATE FINDS SOMETHING TO WORRY OVER
XIII JACK SHOULD HAVE A HIDE-OUT
XIV MURPHY HAS A HUMOROUS MOOD
XV A CAVE DWELLER JACK WOULD BE
XVI MIKE GOES SPYING ON THE SPIES
XVII PENITENCE, REAL AND UNREAL
XVIII HANK BROWN PROVES THAT HE CAN READ TRACKS
XIX TROUBLE ROCKS THE PAN, LOOKING FOR GRAINS OF GOLD
XX IGNORANCE TAKES THE TRAIL OF DANGER
XXI GOLD OF REPENTANCE, SUNLIGHT OF LOVE AND A MAN GONE MAD
XXII THE MISERERE OF MOTHERHOOD
XXIII GRIEF, AND HOPE THAT DIED HARD
XXIV TROUBLE FINDS THE GOLD THAT WAS IN THEM
CHAPTER ONE
SOME TIME!
From the obscurity of vast, unquiet distance the surf came booming in with the heavy impetus of high tide, flinging long streamers of kelp and bits of driftwood over the narrowing stretch of sand where garishly costumed bathers had lately shrieked hilariously at their gambols. Before the chill wind that had risen with the turn of the tide the bathers retreated in dripping, shivering groups, to appear later in fluffs and furs and woollen sweaters; still inclined to hilarity, still undeniably both to leave off their pleasuring at Venice, dedicated to cheap pleasures.
But when the wind blew stronger and the surf boomed louder and nearer, and the faint moon-path stretched farther and farther toward the smudgy sky-line, city-going street-cars began to fill with sunburned passengers, and motors began to purr out of the narrow side streets lined with shoddy buildings which housed the summer sojourners. One more Sunday night's revelry was tapering off into shouted farewells, clanging gongs, honking horns and the shuffling of tired feet hurrying homeward.
In cafes and grills and private dining rooms groups of revelers, whose pleasures were not halted by the nickel alarm-clocks ticking inexorably all over the city and its suburbs, still lingered long after the masses had gone home yawning and counting the fullness of past joys by the present extent of smarting sunblisters.
Automobiles loaded with singing passengers scurried after their own beams of silver light down the boulevards. At first a continuous line of speeding cars; then thinning with long gaps between; then longer gaps with only an occasional car; then the quiet, lasting for minutes unbroken, so that the wind could be heard in the eucalyptus trees that here and there lined the boulevard.
After the last street-car had clanged away from the deserted bunting-draped joy zone that now was stark and joyless, a belated seven-passenger car, painted a rich plum color and splendid in upholstering and silver trim, swept a long row of darkened windows with a brush of light as it swung out from a narrow alley and went purring down to where the asphalt shone black in the night.
Full throated laughter and a medley of shouted jibes and current witticisms went with it. The tonneau squirmed with uproarious youth. The revolving extra seats swung erratically, propelled by energetic hands, while some one barked the stereotyped invitation to the deserted scenic swing, and some one else shouted to the revolving occupants to keep their heads level, and all the others laughed foolishly.
The revolving ones rebelled, and in the scuffle some one lurched forward against the driver at a critical turn in the road, throwing him against the wheel. The big car swerved almost into the ditch, was brought back just in the nick of time and sped on, while Death, who had looked into that tonneau, turned away with a shrug.
The driver, bareheaded and with the wind blowing