Uncle Abner: Master of Mysteries

ISBN-13: 9781940425405 / Angielski / Twarda / 2015 / 226 str.

Melville Davisson Post; Craig Johnson

Opis

Book may have numerous typos, missing text, images, or index. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. 1918. Excerpt: ... CHAPTER III: The 'Angel of the Lord I ALWAYS thought my father took a long chance, but somebody had to take it and certainly I was the one least likely to be suspected. It was a wild country. There were no banks. We had to pay for the cattle, and somebody had to carry the money. My father and my uncle were always being watched. My father was right, I think. "Abner," he said, "I'm going to send Martin. No one will ever suppose that we would trust this money to a child." My uncle drummed on the table and rapped his heels on the floor. He was a bachelor, stern and silent. But he could talk . . . and when he did, he began at the beginning and you heard him through; and what he said--well, he stood behind it. "To stop Martin," my father went on, "would be only to lose the money; but to stop you would be to get somebody killed." I knew what my father meant. He meant that no one would undertake to rob Abner until after he had shot him to death. I ought to say a word about my Uncle Abner. He was one of those austere, deeply religious men who were the product of the Reformation. He always carried a Bible in his pocket and he read it where he pleased. Once the crowd at Roy's Tavern tried to make sport of him when he got his book out by the fire; but they never tried it again. When the fight was over Abner paid Roy eighteen silver dollars for the broken chairs and the table--and he was the only man in the tavern who could ride a horse. Abner belonged to the church militant, and his God was a war lord. So that is how they came to send me. The money was in greenbacks in packages. They wrapped it up in newspaper and put it into a pair of saddle-bags, and I set out. I was about nine years old. No, it was not as bad as you think. I could ride a horse all day when I was nine years old--most any kind...