ADVENTURE books online

Reading books adventure Nowadays a big variety of genres are exist. In our electronic library you can choose any book that suits your mood, request and purpose. This website is full of free ebooks. Reading online is very popular and become mainstream. This website can provoke you to be smarter than anyone. You can read between work breaks, in public transport, in cafes over a cup of coffee and cheesecake.
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Today let's analyze the genre adventure. Genre adventure is a reference book for adults and children. But it serve for adults and children in different purposes. If a boy or girl presents himself as a brave and courageous hero, doing noble deeds, then an adult with pleasure can be a little distracted from their daily worries.


A great interest to the reader is the adventure of a historical nature. For example, question: Ā«Who discovered America?Ā»
Today there are quite interesting descriptions of the adventures of Portuguese sailors, who visited this continent 20 years before Columbus.




It should be noted the different quality of literary works created in the genre of adventure. There is an understandable interest of generations of people in the classic adventure. At the same time, new works, which are created by contemporary authors, make classic works in the adventure genre quite worthy competition.
The close attention of readers to the genre of adventure is explained by the very essence of man, which involves constant movement, striving for something new, struggle and achievement of success. Adventure genre is very excited
Heroes of adventure books are always strong and brave. And we, off course, want to be like them. Unfortunately, book life is very different from real life.But that doesn't stop us from loving books even more.

Read books online Ā» Adventure Ā» Smoke Bellew by Jack London (chrome ebook reader txt) šŸ“–

Book online Ā«Smoke Bellew by Jack London (chrome ebook reader txt) šŸ“–Ā». Author Jack London



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fixed us. Perfect cure. All her familyā€™s dead. Wouldnā€™t listen to us.

ā€œThen we jumped cities for keeps. Knocked around on the Pacific coast and southern Oregon looked good to us. We settled in the Rogue River Valleyā€”apples. Thereā€™s a big future there, only nobody knows it. I got my landā€”on time, of courseā€”for forty an acre. Ten years from now itā€™ll be worth five hundred.

ā€œWeā€™ve done some almighty hustling. Takes money, and we hadnā€™t a cent to start with, you knowā€”had to build a house and barn, get horses and plows, and all the rest. She taught school two years. Then the boy came. But weā€™ve got it. You ought to see those trees we plantedā€”a hundred acres of them, almost mature now. But itā€™s all been outgo, and the mortgage working overtime. Thatā€™s why Iā€™m here. Sheā€™d ā€˜aā€™ come along only for the kids and the trees. Sheā€™s handlinā€™ that end, and here I am, a goshdanged expensive millionaireā€”in prospect.ā€

He looked happily across the sun-dazzle on the ice to the green water of the lake along the farther shore, took a final look at the photograph, and murmured:

ā€œSheā€™s some woman, that. Sheā€™s hung on. She just wouldnā€™t die, though she was pretty close to skin and bone all wrapped around a bit of fire when she went out with the sheep. Oh, sheā€™s thin now. Never will be fat. But itā€™s the prettiest thinness I ever saw, and when I get back, and the trees begin to bear, and the kids get going to school, she and I are going to do Paris. I donā€™t think much of that burg, but sheā€™s just hankered for it all her life.ā€

ā€œWell, hereā€™s the gold that will take you to Paris,ā€ Smoke assured him. ā€œAll weā€™ve got to do is to get our hands on it.ā€

Carson nodded with glistening eyes. ā€œSayā€”that farm of ours is the prettiest piece of orchard land on all the Pacific coast. Good climate, too. Our lungs will never get touched again there. Ex-lungers have to be almighty careful, you know. If youā€™re thinking of settling, well, just take a peep in at our valley before you settle, thatā€™s all. And fishing! Say!ā€”did you ever get a thirty-five-pound salmon on a six-ounce rod? Some fight, boā€™, some fight!ā€

 

ā€œIā€™m lighter than you by forty pounds,ā€ Carson said. ā€œLet me go first.ā€

They stood on the edge of the crevasse. It was enormous and ancient, fully a hundred feet across, with sloping, age-eaten sides instead of sharp-angled rims. At this one place it was bridged by a huge mass of pressure-hardened snow that was itself half ice. Even the bottom of this mass they could not see, much less the bottom of the crevasse. Crumbling and melting, the bridge threatened imminent collapse. There were signs where recent portions had broken away, and even as they studied it a mass of half a ton dislodged and fell.

ā€œLooks pretty bad,ā€ Carson admitted with an ominous head-shake. ā€œAnd it looks much worse than if I wasnā€™t a millionaire.ā€

ā€œBut weā€™ve got to tackle it,ā€ Smoke said. ā€œWeā€™re almost across. We canā€™t go back. We canā€™t camp here on the ice all night. And thereā€™s no other way. Shorty and I explored for a mile up. It was in better shape, though, when we crossed.ā€

ā€œItā€™s one at a time, and me first.ā€ Carson took the part coil of rope from Smokeā€™s hand. ā€œYouā€™ll have to cast off. Iā€™ll take the rope and the pick. Gimme your hand so I can slip down easy.ā€

Slowly and carefully he lowered himself the several feet to the bridge, where he stood, making final adjustments for the perilous traverse. On his back was his pack outfit. Around his neck, resting on his shoulders, he coiled the rope, one end of which was still fast to his waist.

ā€œIā€™d give a mighty good part of my millions right now for a bridge-construction gang,ā€ he said, but his cheery, whimsical smile belied the words. Also, he added, ā€œItā€™s all right; Iā€™m a cat.ā€

The pick, and the long stick he used as an alpenstock, he balanced horizontally after the manner of a rope-walker. He thrust one foot forward tentatively, drew it back, and steeled himself with a visible, physical effort.

ā€œI wish I was flat broke,ā€ he smiled up. ā€œIf ever I get out of being a millionaire this time, Iā€™ll never be one again. Itā€™s too uncomfortable.ā€

ā€œItā€™s all right,ā€ Smoke encouraged. ā€œIā€™ve been over it before. Better let me try it first.ā€

ā€œAnd you forty pounds to the worse,ā€ the little man flashed back. ā€œIā€™ll be all right in a minute. Iā€™m all right now.ā€ And this time the nerving-up process was instantaneous. ā€œWell, here goes for Rogue River and the apples,ā€ he said, as his foot went out, this time to rest carefully and lightly while the other foot was brought up and past. Very gently and circumspectly he continued on his way until two-thirds of the distance was covered. Here he stopped to examine a depression he must cross, at the bottom of which was a fresh crack. Smoke, watching, saw him glance to the side and down into the crevasse itself, and then begin a slight swaying.

ā€œKeep your eyes up!ā€ Smoke commanded sharply. ā€œNow! Go on!ā€

The little man obeyed, nor faltered on the rest of the journey. The sun-eroded slope of the farther edge of the crevasse was slippery, but not steep, and he worked his way up to a narrow ledge, faced about, and sat down.

ā€œYour turn,ā€ he called across. ā€œBut just keep a-coming and donā€™t look down. Thatā€™s what got my goat. Just keep a-coming, thatā€™s all. And get a move on. Itā€™s almighty rotten.ā€

Balancing his own stick horizontally, Smoke essayed the passage. That the bridge was on its last legs was patent. He felt a jar under foot, a slight movement of the mass, and a heavier jar. This was followed by a single sharp crackle. Behind him he knew something was happening. If for no other reason, he knew it by the strained, tense face of Carson. From beneath, thin and faint, came the murmur of running water, and Smokeā€™s eyes involuntarily wavered to a glimpse of the shimmering depths. He jerked them back to the way before him. Two-thirds over, he came to the depression. The sharp edges of the crack, but slightly touched by the sun, showed how recent it was. His foot was lifted to make the step across, when the crack began slowly widening, at the same time emitting numerous sharp snaps. He made the step quickly, increasing the stride of it, but the worn nails of his shoe skated on the farther slope of the depression. He fell on his face, and without pause slipped down and into the crack, his legs hanging clear, his chest supported by the stick which he had managed to twist crosswise as he fell.

His first sensation was the nausea caused by the sickening up-leap of his pulse; his first idea was of surprise that he had fallen no farther. Behind him was crackling and jar and movement to which the stick vibrated. From beneath, in the heart of the glacier, came the soft and hollow thunder of the dislodged masses striking bottom. And still the bridge, broken from its farthest support and ruptured in the middle, held, though the portion he had crossed tilted downward at a pitch of twenty degrees. He could see Carson, perched on his ledge, his feet braced against the melting surface, swiftly recoiling the rope from his shoulders to his hand.

ā€œWait!ā€ he cried. ā€œDonā€™t move, or the whole shooting-match will come down.ā€

He calculated the distance with a quick glance, took the bandana from his neck and tied it to the rope, and increased the length by a second bandana from his pocket. The rope, manufactured from sled-lashings and short lengths of plaited rawhide knotted together, was both light and strong. The first cast was lucky as well as deft, and Smokeā€™s fingers clutched it. He evidenced a hand-over-hand intention of crawling out of the crack. But Carson, who had refastened the rope around his own waist, stopped him.

ā€œMake it fast around yourself as well,ā€ he ordered.

ā€œIf I go Iā€™ll take you with me,ā€ Smoke objected.

The little man became very peremptory.

ā€œYou shut up,ā€ he ordered. ā€œThe sound of your voice is enough to start the whole thing going.ā€

ā€œIf I ever start goingā€”ā€ Smoke began.

ā€œShut up! You ainā€™t going to ever start going. Now do what I say. Thatā€™s rightā€”under the shoulders. Make it fast. Now! Start! Get a move on, but easy as you go. Iā€™ll take in the slack. You just keep a-coming. Thatā€™s it. Easy. Easy.ā€

Smoke was still a dozen feet away when the final collapse of the bridge began. Without noise, but in a jerky way, it crumbled to an increasing tilt.

ā€œQuick!ā€ Carson called, coiling in hand-over-hand on the slack of the rope which Smokeā€™s rush gave him.

When the crash came, Smokeā€™s fingers were clawing into the hard face of the wall of the crevasse, while his body dragged back with the falling bridge. Carson, sitting up, feet wide apart and braced, was heaving on the rope. This effort swung Smoke in to the side wall, but it jerked Carson out of his niche. Like a cat, he faced about, clawing wildly for a hold on the ice and slipping down. Beneath him, with forty feet of taut rope between them, Smoke was clawing just as wildly; and ere the thunder from below announced the arrival of the bridge, both men had come to rest. Carson had achieved this first, and the several pounds of pull he was able to put on the rope had helped bring Smoke to a stop.

Each lay in a shallow niche, but Smokeā€™s was so shallow that, tense with the strain of flattening and sticking, nevertheless he would have slid on had it not been for the slight assistance he took from the rope. He was on the verge of a bulge and could not see beneath him. Several minutes passed, in which they took stock of the situation and made rapid strides in learning the art of sticking to wet and slippery ice. The little man was the first to speak.

ā€œGee!ā€ he said; and, a minute later, ā€œIf you can dig in for a moment and slack on the rope, I can turn over. Try it.ā€

Smoke made the effort, then rested on the rope again. ā€œI can do it,ā€ he said. ā€œTell me when youā€™re ready. And be quick.ā€

ā€œAbout three feet down is holding for my heels,ā€ Carson said. ā€œIt wonā€™t take a moment. Are you ready?ā€

ā€œGo on.ā€

It was hard work to slide down a yard, turn over and sit up; but it was even harder for Smoke to remain flattened and maintain a position that from instant to instant made a greater call upon his muscles. As it was, he could feel the almost perceptible beginning of the slip when the rope tightened and he looked up into his companionā€™s face. Smoke noted the yellow pallor of sun-tan forsaken by the blood, and wondered what his own complexion was like. But when he saw Carson, with shaking fingers, fumble for his sheath-knife, he decided the end had come. The man was in a funk and was going to cut the rope.

ā€œDonā€™t m-mind m-m-me,ā€ the little man chattered. ā€œI ainā€™t scared. Itā€™s only my nerves, goshdang them. Iā€™ll b-b-be all right in a minute.ā€

And Smoke watched him, doubled over, his shoulders between his knees, shivering and awkward, holding a slight tension on the rope with one hand while with the other he hacked and gouged holes for his heels in the ice.

ā€œCarson,ā€ he breathed up to him, ā€œyouā€™re some bear, some bear.ā€

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