The Killer - White, Stewart Edward
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I want to state right at the start that I am writing this story twenty years after it happened solely because my wife and Senor Buck Johnson insist on it. Myself, I don't think it a good yarn. It hasn't any love story in it; and there isn't any plot. Things just happened, one thing after the other. There ought to be a yarn in it somehow, and I suppose if a fellow wanted to lie a little he could make a tail-twister out of it. Anyway, here goes; and if you don't like it, you know you can quit at any stage of the game. It happened when I was a kid and didn't know any better than to do such…mehr

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Produktbeschreibung
I want to state right at the start that I am writing this story twenty years after it happened solely because my wife and Senor Buck Johnson insist on it. Myself, I don't think it a good yarn. It hasn't any love story in it; and there isn't any plot. Things just happened, one thing after the other. There ought to be a yarn in it somehow, and I suppose if a fellow wanted to lie a little he could make a tail-twister out of it. Anyway, here goes; and if you don't like it, you know you can quit at any stage of the game. It happened when I was a kid and didn't know any better than to do such things. They dared me to go up to Hooper's ranch and stay all night; and as I had no information on either the ranch or its owner, I saddled up and went. It was only twelve miles from our Box Springs ranch-a nice easy ride. I should explain that heretofore I had ridden the Gila end of our range, which is so far away that only vague rumours of Hooper had ever reached me at all. He was reputed a tough old devil with horrid habits; but that meant little to me. The tougher and horrider they came, the better they suited me-so I thought. Just to make everything entirely clear I will add that this was in the year of 1897 and the Soda Springs valley in Arizona.
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Autorenporträt
Stewart Edward White was an American author, dramatist, and spiritualist who was born March 12, 1873, and died September 18, 1946. Known wall painter Gilbert White was his brother. His mother was Mary E. Danielell and his father was a lumberjack named Thomas Stewart White. White was born in Grand Rapids, Michigan. He graduated from Grand Rapids High School and the University of Michigan with a B.A. in 1895 and an M.A. in 1903. In the years between 1900 and 1922, he wrote both fiction and non-fiction about travel and adventure, with a focus on natural history and life outside. He and his wife Elizabeth "Betty" Grant White wrote many books starting in 1922. They said they got the ideas for the books from talking to ghosts. Besides that, they wrote about their trips in California. It was September 18, 1946, when White died in Hillsborough, California. He was 73 years old. People liked White's books at a time when America was losing its wild places. He was very aware of the beauty in both nature and people, and he could write about them in a simple way. Based on his own life, he wrote funny and clever things about building cabins, canoeing, logging, gold hunting, guns, fishing, hunting, and camping in both his camping diaries and Westerns.