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Excerpt from Book: There was no shade anywhere. The terrible glare of the summer sun beat down upon the whole length of the wooden platform at Amberley. Hot as was the dry, bracing air, it was incomparable with the blistering intensity of heat reflected from the planking, which burned through to the soles of the feet of the uniformed man who paced its length, slowly, patiently. This sunburnt, gray-eyed man, with his loose, broad shoulders, his powerful, easy-moving limbs, seemed quite indifferent to the irritating climatic conditions of the moment. Even the droning of the worrying mosquitoes…mehr

Produktbeschreibung
Excerpt from Book: There was no shade anywhere. The terrible glare of the summer sun beat down upon the whole length of the wooden platform at Amberley. Hot as was the dry, bracing air, it was incomparable with the blistering intensity of heat reflected from the planking, which burned through to the soles of the feet of the uniformed man who paced its length, slowly, patiently. This sunburnt, gray-eyed man, with his loose, broad shoulders, his powerful, easy-moving limbs, seemed quite indifferent to the irritating climatic conditions of the moment. Even the droning of the worrying mosquitoes had no power to disturb him. Like everything else unpleasant in this distant northwestern land, he accepted these things as they came, and brushed them aside for the more important affairs he was engaged upon. He gazed out across the wide monotony of prairie with its undulating wavelets, a tawny green beneath the scorching summer sun. He was thinking deeply; perhaps dreaming, although dreaming had small enough place in his busy life. His lot was a stern fight against crime, and, in a land so vast, so new, where crime flourished upon virgin soil, it left him little time for the more pleasant avenues of thought. Inspector Stanley Fyles came to a halt at the eastern end of the long platform. Miles of railroad track stretched away in a dead straight line toward the distant, shimmering horizon. For miles ahead the road was unbroken by a single moving object, and, after a long, keen survey, the man abruptly turned his back upon it. In a moment he became aware of a hollow-chested man hurrying toward him. He was coming from the direction of the only building upon the platform-the railroad office, or, as it was grandiloquently called, the "booking hall." Fyles recognized the man as the railroad agent, Huntly, who controlled the affairs of his company in this half-fledged prairie town. He came up in a flurry of unusual excitement. "She's past New Camp, inspector," he cried. "Guess she's in the Broken Hills, an' gettin' near White Point. I'd say she'd be along in an hour-sure."
Autorenporträt
Ridgwell Cullum, born Sidney Groves Burghard (1867-1943), is celebrated for his robust adventure novels set primarily in the wild frontiers of Canada and the American West at the turn of the 20th century. With a literary career that commenced at the end of the Victorian era, Cullum's works resonate with the spirit of that epoch, with 'The Luck of the Kid' being a quintessential example of his storytelling prowess. He lived for a time in the Western United States, and this gave his books the authentic voice of one acquainted with the life there. His narrative style is rife with themes of rugged individualism, survival, and the stark morality of the wilderness. Cullum crafted stories with vivid descriptions of the landscape-a hallmark of his writing, which appealed to readers' desires for escapism and adventure. His writings are more than mere cowboy tales; they delve into the complexities of human nature against the backdrop of the untamed frontier. After moving to Montana, Cullum's personal experiences bred further authenticity into his prose, earning him recognition as a proficient storyteller of the Western genre. His body of work includes over thirty novels, some of which-like 'The Luck of the Kid'-remain evocative exemplars of the adventure narrative.