Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. Cowmen and Rustlers: A Story of the Wyoming Cattle Ranges by Edward Sylvester Ellis (the little red hen read aloud .txt) 📖
- Author: Edward Sylvester Ellis
Book online «Cowmen and Rustlers: A Story of the Wyoming Cattle Ranges by Edward Sylvester Ellis (the little red hen read aloud .txt) 📖». Author Edward Sylvester Ellis
"It is good advice, mother; you can lie down, and when it is necessary I will call you. Come, please."
She could not decline, and the stalwart son, who seemed to have forgotten all about his wounded arm, almost carried her up the short stairs and to her room. He was so familiar with the interior that he needed no light, and deposited her as gently as an infant on the bed, kissed her an affectionate good-night, and promised to listen and come to her on hearing the slightest movement in her apartment.
"How does she seem to be?" asked Capt. Asbury, as Fred came down the stairs.
"As well as ever; but the little rest will be grateful. She has had enough to try the strongest person within the last few days."
"True indeed. I presume Vesey will soon be back with some ugly message from Inman and Cadmus, but we have delayed matters so long that I'm hopeful of keeping it up a while longer. Suppose, when this enterprising rustler shows himself, you allow me to do the talking, Fred. There is a good deal, you know, in the way you put things."
"I understand," replied the other, with a smile. "It will come, perhaps, more appropriately from you than me."
It was apparent from the manner of the captain that he felt considerable hope of success through the efforts of Miss Whitney or Sterry, or both. Time was the great factor. It would seem that three or four hours ought to bring the cattlemen, if either of the messengers succeeded in getting through the lines. While there was little doubt of the ability of the besieged being able to stand off their assailants for a much longer time, yet there was every reason to strain to the utmost the fortunate delay already secured.
A conflict was certain to result in a number of deaths to each side. Not only that, but it would intensify the bitterness already prevailing through many portions of Wyoming and Montana between the cowmen and rustlers, and postpone and increase the difficulty of the adjustment of the quarrel.
A full half-hour passed, during which the captain kept his place at the rear door, ready to admit Sterry should he make a dash for it. He did not appear, and when the fastenings of the structure were returned to their place the leader's heart was more hopeful than ever. He had just made a remark to that effect when a knocking was heard again on the front door, accompanied by Duke Vesey's announcement that it was himself who claimed admission.
The captain drew back the fastenings and the rustler stepped inside, his face showing great agitation.
"This is a fine state of things," he said, addressing young Whitney, Hawkridge and the captain.
"To what do you refer?" asked Whitney.
"You sent Mont Sterry out awhile ago, and the rustlers have caught him; he's in their hands and will be shot at daybreak. Capt. Inman sent me to you with that message, and to say that the fight will open in a few minutes. You can't play your tricks any longer on us."
It was apparent that Duke Vesey was in a rage over the mishap that had befallen his friend.
Capt. Asbury quietly placed himself between the fellow and the door by which he had entered.
"What is the meaning of that?" demanded the rustler, turning his head; "I'm here under a flag of truce."
"Where is it? You haven't shown any, and you can't. I shall hold you as a hostage for the safety of Mont Sterry; whatever harm is visited upon him shall descend upon your head!"
CHAPTER XXXIII. — THE PRISONER.
It may be said that Monteith Sterry's main hope for the success of his perilous scheme lay in its boldness.
It was not to be supposed that the rustlers, surrounding the besieged on every hand, would forget the probability of just such an attempt as he made. The stockmen could not expect to slip away one by one, or in a body; nor was there anything to tempt such an effort, even if it offered a fair prospect of success; for, of necessity, they would have to depart on foot, and with the coming of daylight their situation would be worse than now, with a strong shelter above and around them.
But it was known among the defenders that two of their number were doomed, if they fell into the hands of the rustlers. It was probable, therefore, that one or both of these individuals would try to get away.
Whether or not the leaders held any distrust of Vesey cannot be known; but his little scheme for befriending Monteith Sterry was nipped in the bud by his being retained at the front of the building, where, as has been shown, he acted as the bearer of messages between Inman and Capt. Asbury.
There were men closely watching the building from the moment darkness closed over the scene. Had Sterry attempted to steal along the side of the house and then dodge away, he would have been detected and halted at once. On the contrary, he moved with his usual gait in a diagonal direction toward the stables. His object was to learn the likeliest method of leaving the place.
He had perhaps walked fifty feet, when some one advanced from the gloom and called, in an undertone:
"Halloo, who is that?"
"It's I, Smith; who are you?"
The name, of course, was a venture, but it was not uncommon, as the reader knows, and more likely to be right than any other. The best of it was, it seemed to satisfy the other, who, without announcing his own, asked:
"What are you doing?"
"I've been looking around to see what I could learn."
"Anything new?"
"No, not as far as I can discover; they seem to have a light burning in there, but are waiting for us."
"I wonder they didn't give you a shot; Vesey says they are desperate, and he brought back word that they would shoot the first of us seen prowling about the place. I wonder you didn't catch it."
"I took good care. When do you suppose the fight will open?"
"Pretty soon; I s'pose you are as tired of this dallying as the rest of us."
"Well, it strikes me as best to wait until sure everything is ready."
Sterry was anxious to end this pointless conversation, for the stranger had approached quite near and peered into his face, as though not free from suspicion. The darkness was deep, but on the other side of the ridge a small fire was burning, from fragments brought from the stables. Of this the adventurer meant to keep clear at all hazards. More than
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