The Short Cut

The Short Cut, by Jackson
Gregory,

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Illustrated by Frank Tenney Johnson
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Title: The Short Cut
Author: Jackson Gregory

Release Date: July 31, 2006 [eBook #18950]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
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THE SHORT CUT
by
JACKSON GREGORY
Author of "Under Handicap," "The Outlaw"
With Illustrations by Frank Tenney Johnson

[Frontispiece: Surely the rider was just what the owner of the voice,
half laughing, half crooning, tenderly lilting, must be.]

New York Dodd, Mead and Company 1916 Copyright, 1916 by Dodd,
Mead and Company, Inc.

TO
"MOTHER" McGLASHAN
AND
GENERAL C. F. McGLASHAN

CONTENTS
I THE TRAGEDY II THE SHADOW III SUSPICION IV THE
WHITE HUNTRESS V THE HOME COMING OF RED RECKLESS

VI THE PROMISE OF LITTLE SAXON VII THE GLADNESS
THAT SINGS VIII "BLUFF, AND THE GAMBLER WINS!" IX THE
CONTEMPT OF SLEDGE HUME X SHANDON'S GOLDEN
OPPORTUNITY XI WANDA'S DISCOVERY XII THE TALES OF
MR. WILLIE DART XIII SLEDGE HUME MAKES A CALL AND
LAYS A WAGER XIV IN WANDA'S CAVE XV WILLIE DART
PICKS A LOCK XVI AND SOLVES A FASCINATING MYSTERY
XVII "WHERE'S THAT TWENTY-FIVE THOUSAND?" XVIII THE
TRUTH XIX SHANDON TAKES HIS STAND XX HUME PLAYS A
TRUMP XXI THE SHORT CUT XXII THE FUGITIVE XXIII
HELGA STRAWN PLAYS THE GAME XXIV UNDER THE
SURFACE XXV RED RECKLESS ON LITTLE SAXON XXVI THE
LAUGHTER OF HELGA STRAWN XXVII HUME RIDES THE
ONE OPEN TRAIL XXVIII "IT IS HOME!"

ILLUSTRATIONS
Surely the rider was just what the owner of the voice, half laughing,
half crooning, tenderly lilting, must be.
"I want just to smoke and watch you and listen while you talk."
She made herself as comfortable as she could, drew her camera from its
case, and waited a patient quarter of an hour.
"I call upon you to give yourself up!" he shouted. "Stop, Red, or I shoot
this time!"

THE SHORT CUT
CHAPTER I
THE TRAGEDY
Here was a small stream of water, bright, clear and cool, running its

merry way among the tall pines, hurrying to the dense shade of the
lower valley. The grass on its banks stood tall, lush and faintly odorous,
fresh with the newly come springtime, delicately scented with the
thickly strewn field flowers. The sunlight lay bright and warm over all;
the sky was blue with a depth of colour intensified by the few great
white clouds drifting lazily across it.
No moving thing within all the wide rolling landscape save the
sun-flecked water, the softly stirring grass and rustling forests, the
almost motionless white clouds. For two miles the hills billowed away
gently to the northward, where at last they were swept up into the
thickly timbered, crag-crested mountains. For twice two miles toward
the west one might guess the course of the stream before here, too, the
mountains shut in, leaving only Echo Cañon's narrow gap for the cool
water to slip through. To the south and to the east ridges and hollows
and mountains, and beyond a few fast melting patches of last winter's
snow clinging to the lofty summits, looking like fragments broken
away from the big white clouds and resting for a moment on the line
where land and sky met.
The stillness was too perfect to remain long unbroken. From a trail
leading down into the valley from the east a shepherd dog, running
eagerly, broke through the waving grass, paused a second looking back
expectantly, sniffed and ran on. Then a sound from over the ridge
through the trees, the sound of singing, a young voice lilting wordlessly
in enraptured gladness that life was so bright this morning. And
presently a horse, a dark bay saddle pony moving as lazily as the clouds
above, brought its rider down to the stream.
Surely the rider was just what the owner of the voice, half laughing,
half crooning, tenderly lilting, must be. It seemed that only since the
dawn of today had she become a woman having been a child until the
dusk of yesterday. The wide grey eyes, looking out upon a gentle
aspect of life, were inclined to be merry and musing at the same time,
soft with maidenhood's day dreaming, tender with pleasant thoughts. A
child of the outdoors, her skin