I. Pan of the Desert
II. The Panther
III. Silent Shoots
IV. Something Yellow
V. Four in the Air
VI. Laughter
VII. The Mute Messenger
VIII. Red Writing
IX. The Phantom Rider
X. The Strength of Women
XI. Silent Bluffs
XII. Partners
XIII. The Lone Riders Entertain
XIV. Delilah
XV. The Cross Roads
XVI. The Three of us
XVII. The Panther’s Paw
XVIII. Cain
XIX. Real Men
XX. One Trail Ends
XXI. One Way Out
XXII. The Woman’s Way
XXIII. Hell Starts
XXIV. The Rescue
XXV. The Long Ride
XXVI. Black Bart Turns Nurse
XXVII. Nobody Laughs
XXVIII. Whistling Dan, Desperado
XXIX. “Werewolf”
XXX. “The Manhandling”
XXXI. “Laugh, Damn it!”
XXXII. Those who See in the Dark
XXXIII. The Song of the Untamed
XXXIV. The Coward
XXXV. Close in!
XXXVI. Fear
XXXVII. Death
XXXVIII. The Wild Geese
PAN OF THE DESERT
Even to a high-flying bird this was a country to be
passed over quickly. It was burned and brown,
littered with fragments of rock, whether vast or small,
as if the refuse were tossed here after the making
of the world. A passing shower drenched the bald
knobs of a range of granite hills and the slant morning
sun set the wet rocks aflame with light. In a
short time the hills lost their halo and resumed their
brown. The moisture evaporated. The sun rose
higher and looked sternly across the desert as if
he searched for any remaining life which still struggled
for existence under his burning course.
And he found life. Hardy cattle moved singly
or in small groups and browsed on the withered bunch
grass. Summer scorched them, winter humped their
backs with cold and arched up their bellies with famine,
but they were a breed schooled through generations
for this fight against nature. In this junk-shop
of the world, rattlesnakes were rulers of the soil.
Overhead the buzzards, ominous black specks pendant
against the white-hot sky, ruled the air.
It seemed impossible that human beings could live
in this rock-wilderness. If so, they must be
to other men what the lean, hardy cattle of the hills
are to the corn-fed stabled beeves of the States.
Over the shoulder of a hill came a whistling which
might have been attributed to the wind, had not this
day been deathly calm. It was fit music for such
a scene, for it seemed neither of heaven nor earth,
but the soul of the great god Pan come back to earth
to charm those nameless rocks with his wild, sweet
piping. It changed to harmonious phrases loosely
connected. Such might be the exultant improvisations
of a master violinist.
