THE SHE BOSS ***
Produced by Al Haines
[Frontispiece: "He was flailing right and left with a huge pine knot in either hand."]
THE SHE BOSS
A WESTERN STORY
BY
ARTHUR PRESTON HANKINS
AUTHOR OF
THE HERITAGE OF THE HILLS, THE JUBILEE GIRL, ETC.
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS ---------- NEW YORK
Copyright, 1922
By CHELSEA HOUSE
The She Boss
(Printed In the United States of America)
All rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign languages, including the Scandinavian.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I. BEAR VALLEY'S DRONE II. OUT OF THE WOODS III. SAN FRANCISCO IV. TWITTER OR TWEET V. A RIVAL VI. THE FIRE VII. HIRAM, THE BUTTERFLY VIII. LUCY'S AMBITIONS IX. HIRAM WAKES UP X. JERKLINE JO XI. THE RETURN OF JERKLINE JO XII. SKINNERS FROM FRISCO XIII. THE START FOR JULIA XIV. A WIRE TO JULIA XV. MR. TWEET NEGOTIATES A LOAN XVI. TEHACHAPI HANK XVII. IN LETTERS OF BLACK XVIII. GREATER RAGTOWN XIX. WHAT MADE THE WILD CAT XX. DRUMMOND'S PASSENGER XXI. LUCY SEES A PROSPECT XXII. JERKLINE JO'S SURPRISE XXIII. DRUMMOND WEAVES A DREAM XXIV. WHAT HAPPENED AT THE LAKE XXV. JO LOSES HER SUPPORT XXVI. AT THE HAIRPIN CURVE XXVII. UNDER THE DRIPPING TREES XXVIII. FOUR-UP FOR HELP XXIX. THE GENTLE WILD CAT RETURNS XXX. HIRAM TAKES THE TRAIL XXXI. A TALE OF THE DESERT'S DEAD XXXII. LUCY PLANS A COUNTER-ATTACK XXXIII. POCKETED XXXIV. WHILE SPRING APPROACHED XXXV. THE WAY OF LIFE
The She Boss
CHAPTER I
BEAR VALLEY'S DRONE
Spring was manifest in the vast big-timber country of Mendocino County. "Uncle" Sebastian Burris felt the moist warmth of it oozing from the slowly drying road as he trudged along. The smell of it emanated from the white, pale-yellow, and pink fungi that flourished on the soaked and ancient logs along the way. He heard the voice of it in the soft murmuring of the South Fork of the Eel, which went twinkling down Bear Valley through firs and redwoods straight as telegraph poles; in the caress of the soft south wind soughing in the tree-tops. Chipmunks and gray squirrels darted across his path.
A quarter of a mile from Wharton Bixler's store he turned off on a narrow road which led into the deeper forest. He passed through groves of redwoods which towered three hundred feet above him, and whose girth was over sixty feet. A half mile more the old man trudged on sturdily, muttering occasionally to himself. Then he struck a cross trail which paralleled Ripley Creek, and this he followed into the sunshine of an open spot.
Across this, through thickets of whitethorn, manzanita, alder, and bay he limped along, following deer trails. The deeper forest was left behind in the lowlands. A grass-grown bark road, which he eventually found, followed the creek, ascending sharply through shade and sunshine, crossing and recrossing the creek on wooden bridges, twisting, always climbing.
On one of the bridges Uncle Sebastian Burris halted. A great snarl of bleached driftwood had collected just above the bridge, and through it the clear water roared in a dozen tiny cataracts. Beyond the drift Uncle Sebastian had caught a glimpse of some living, moving object. He wiped his watery blue eyes with a red handkerchief, looked once more, then crossed the bridge and wound through a thicket of huckleberry bushes till abreast the drift.
