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Informationen zum Autor Louis L'Amour Klappentext This third volume of Louis L'Amour's collected stories gathers twenty-eight tales of the American West in a keepsake edition sure to delight fans old and new. This collection is a thrilling tribute to the unique spirit of our frontier heritage and proves again the enduring popularity of America's favorite storyteller. The essence of Louis L'Amour's timeless appeal can be found in these unforgettable short stories. Filled with men and women who embody the values we cherish most, L'Amour's frontier tales satisfy our longing for the inspiration provided by those who struggle against the odds with justice, honor, and courage. Open this volume anywhere and you'll discover classic stories you'll never forget: like that of the man who finds a gruesome mystery at the site where a friend's ranch has vanished into thin air, or the one about the soft-spoken young suitor accused of cowardice who proves his courage when the guns are against him…without firing a shot. You'll read stories of ordinary people faced with extraordinary circumstances, from the drifter who poses as a murdered man to solve a mystery to the grizzled recluse who protects a runaway from a brutal "guardian" with the law on his side. Whether following the exploits of a couple taking refuge in a cabin with a group of outlaws who don't intend to let them see sunrise or a man on horseback battling sleeplessness, Indians, and a cold-blooded killer in a life-and-death race through a harsh wilderness, these gripping tales all have one thing in common: you won't be able to put them down until the last page. For lovers of great storytelling everywhere, this exciting collection features the unforgettable characters, heart-stopping drama, and careful attention to historical detail that have entertained readers for decades and earned Louis L'Amour a permanent place among our finest American writers.Riding for the Brand He had been watching the covered wagon for more than an hour. There had been no movement, no sound. The bodies of the two animals that had drawn the wagon lay in the grass, plainly visible. Farther away, almost a mile away, stood a lone buffalo bull, black against the gray distance. Nothing moved near the wagon, but Jed Asbury had lived too long in Indian country to risk his scalp on appearances, and he knew an Indian could lie ghost-still for hours on end. He had no intention of taking such a chance, stark naked and without weapons. Two days before, he had been stripped to the hide by Indians and forced to run the gauntlet, but he had run better than they had expected and had escaped with only a few minor wounds. Now, miles away, he had reached the limit of his endurance. Despite little water and less food he was still in traveling condition except for his feet. They were lacerated and swollen, caked with dried blood. Warily, he started forward, taking advantage of every bit of cover and moving steadily toward the wagon. When he was within fifty feet he settled down in the grass to study the situation. This was the scene of an attack. Evidently the wagon had been alone, and the bodies of two men and a woman lay stretched on the grass. Clothing, papers, and cooking utensils were scattered, evidence of a hasty looting. Whatever had been the dreams of these people they were ended now, another sacrifice to the westward march of empire. And the dead would not begrudge him what he needed. Rising from the grass he went cautiously to the wagon, a tall, powerfully muscled young man, unshaven and untrimmed. He avoided the bodies. Oddly, they were not mutilated, which was unusual, and the men still wore their boots. As a last resort he would take a pair for himself. First, he must examine the wagon. If Indians had looted the wagon they had done so hur...
