The Lookout Man

By B. M. Bower

"The Lookout Man" is a 1917 novel by American author B. M. Bower. One man discovers how the Law in the Wild West can be bent, broken, and even beaten. A fantastic example of classic Western fiction, "The Lookout Man" is a must-read for all fans of the genre. Bertha Muzzy Sinclair or Sinclair-Cowan (1871 - 1940), more commonly known as B. M. Bower, was an American author famous for her novels, short stories, and screenplays set in the American Old West. Other notable works by this author include: "Casey Ryan", (1921), "The Long Loop" (1931), and "Chip of the Flying U" (1906). Many vintage books such as this are becoming increasingly scarce and expensive. We are republishing this volume now in an affordable, modern, high-quality edition complete with a specially commissioned new introduction and biography of the author.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Classic Western Fiction Library
• Release date: Jul 19, 2017
• ISBN: 9781473346253

Book preview

1.png

THE LOOKOUT MAN

By

B. M. Bower

Copyright © 2016 Read Books Ltd.

This book is copyright and may not be

reproduced or copied in any way without

the express permission of the publisher in writing

British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data

A catalogue record for this book is available from

the British Library

Contents

B. M. Bower

The History of Western Fiction

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

B. M. Bower

Bertha Muzzy Bower was born Bertha Muzzy on 15 November 1871 in Otter Tail Country, Minnesota. In 1889, she moved with her family to a dryland homestead near Great Falls, Montana. Shortly before her eighteenth birthday, she began working as a school teacher in Milligan Valley. She worked there for one term before returning home, but used her experiences when describing school teachers in her novels.

In December 1890, she surprised her family by eloping with Clayton J Bower. The marriage was an unhappy one. After living with her family and in Great Falls, they finally settled in Big Sandy, Montana in 1898. It was living in Big Sandy that gave Bower an intimate knowledge of cowboy life and the open range. They had three children: Bertha Grace (1891), Harold Clayton (1893) and Roy Noel (1896). The family moved to a hayfield cabin, which Bower unhappily nicknamed Bleak Cabin. To afford the rent, the family took in Bill Sinclair, with whom Bower began a relationship. She lent him books and helped him with his writing, and he taught her about cowboy life and critiqued her early work.

Her first marriage deteriorated after she published Chip of the Flying U (1906). Her husband began calling her his ‘little red-headed gold mine’. The marriage ended after he returned home in a drunken rage. Using money lent to her by Sinclair and money she had earned from her writing, she moved to Tacoma, Washington to stay with her brother. The divorce was finalised in 1905, Clayton took custody of the elder children, and Bower received custody of Roy, with whom she returned to Great Falls. During this time, her career continued to blossom and she signed her first short story writing contract for Popular Magazine in January 1905.

Bower married Sinclair in August 1905 and had a daughter, Della Frances Sinclair, during a blizzard in January 1907. This same winter destroyed their breeding horse herd in eastern Valley Country and ruined their plans to move there in the spring. Instead, they moved to Santa Cruz, California. By 1911, the relationship between them had waned and they separated, Bower moving to San Jose, California. She also changed publishers and signed with the prestigious company, Little, Brown & Company.

In 1920, Bower moved to Hollywood where she married Robert ‘Bud’ Cowan, a cowboy she had met in Big Sandy. In 1921, they reopened a silver mine in Nevada and ran it until the Great Depression compelled them to move to Depoe Bay, Oregon. Their marriage lasted until Cowan’s death in 1939.

Bower claimed she began writing to survive her first marriage and to gain financial independence. Her first novel, published locally, was Strike of the Deadpan Brigade (1901), and her first short story published nationally was Ghost in the Red Shirt (1904). Later that year her first Western novel, Chip of the Flying U, was published as a serial in Popular Magazine. It depicted life on Flying U Ranch and the relationship between the cowboy, Chip, and Dr Della Whitmore. The book was so successful that in 1906, it was republished in hardcover with three watercolour illustrations by Charlie Russell. The book made her famous and she went on to write a series set within the Flying U Ranch.

Bower wrote 57 Western novels. The titles included: Cow Country (1921), The Lonesome Trail (1909), and Pirates of the Ranch (1937). Her novels accurately portrayed cowboy life and she wrote factually, using her first-hand knowledge. Her novels were light-hearted, humorous and contained little violence. Due to their popularity, some of her novels were adapted in Hollywood. Chip of the Flying U was adapted four times and each adaptation changed her narrative. She also collaborated with director, Colin Campbell, writing short stories and screenplays under the name Bertha Muzzy Sinclair. She used her experiences working in studios as a source for several of her novels, including Jean of the Lonely A (1915) and The Phantom Herd (1915).

Bower died on 23 July 1940 in Los Angeles, California at age 68. By the time of her death, she had sold more than two million copies of her novels, not including her short stories or articles.

The History of Western Fiction

Western fiction is a genre which focuses on life in the American Old West. It was popularised through novels, films, magazines, radio, and television and included many staple characters, such as the cowboy, the gunslinger, the outlaw, the lawman and the damsel in distress. The genre’s popularity peaked in the early twentieth century due to dime novels and Hollywood adaptations of Western tales, such as The Virginian, The Great Moon Rider and The Great K.A. Train Robbery. Western novels remained popular through the 1960s, however readership began to dwindle during the 1970s.

The term the American Old West (the Wild West) usually refers to the land west of the Mississippi River and the Frontier between the settled and civilised and the open, lawless lands that resulted as the United States expanded to the Pacific Ocean. This area was largely unknown and little populated until the period between the 1860s and the 1890s when, after the American Civil War, settlement and the frontier moved west.

The Western novel was a relatively new genre which developed from the adventure and exploration novels that had appeared before it. Two predecessors of popular Western fiction writers were Meriweather Lewis (1774-1809) and William Clarke (1770-1838). Both men were explorers and were the first to make travel and the frontier a central theme of their work. Perhaps the most popular predecessor of Western fiction was James Fenimore Cooper (1789-1851). His west was idealised and romantic and his popular Leatherstockings series depicted the fight between the citizens of the frontier and the harsh wilderness that surrounded them. His titles included: The Last of the Mohicans (1826), The Pathfinder (1840) and The Deerslayer (1841). His tales were often set on the American frontier, then in the Appalachian Mountains and in the land to the west of that. His protagonists lived off the land, were loyal, free, skilled with weapons, and avoided civilised society as best they could. His most famous novel, The Last of the Mohicans, also idealised the Native American.

During the 1860s and 1870s, a new generation of Western writers appeared, such as Mark Twain (1835-1910) Roughing It (1872) and Bret Harte (1836-1902) The Luck of Roaring Camp (1868). Both writers had spent time living in the west and continued to promote its appeal through their literature. Harte is often credited with developing many of the cult Western’s stock characters, such as the honest and beautiful dance hall girl, the suave conman and the honourable outlaw. These characters went on to be firm favourites in popular, mass produced Western fiction. At the end of the nineteenth century, thousands of people were undergoing the treacherous journey to the west to make a new life for themselves and the fictional stories and legends of heroes and villains who had survived in this wild landscape captured the imagination of the public.

Western novels became popular in England and throughout America through ‘Penny Dreadfuls’ and Dime Novels. These appeared in the late 1800s and were texts that could be bought cheaply (for either a penny or a dime – ten cents) as they were often cheaply printed on a large scale by publishers such as Irwin P. Beadle. Malaeska; the Indian Wife of the White Hunter (1860) by Ann S Stephens (1810-1886) is considered by many critics to be the first dime novel. These sensationalist dime and penny novels capitalised on stories of outlaws, lawmen, cowboys, and mountain men taming the western frontier. Many were fictional, but some were based on real heroes of the west such as Buffalo Bill (the scout, bison hunter and performer), Jesse James (the American outlaw, robber, gang leader and murderer) and Billy the Kid (the American gunfighter). By 1877, these Western characters were a recurring feature of the dime novel. The hero was often a man of action who saved damsels in distress and righted the wrongs of the villains that he faced. For this hero, honour was the most important thing and it was something that the dime heroes never relinquished.

In the 1900s, Pulp magazines helped relay these tales over to Europe where non-Americans also picked up the genre, such as the German writer, Karl May (1842-1912). Pulp magazines were a descendent of the dime novel and their content was largely aimed at a mass market. As their popularity grew, they were able to specialise and there were Pulp magazines devoted specifically to Westerns, such as Cowboy Stories, Ranch Romances, and Star Western. The popularity for these magazines and for Western films in the 1920s made the genre a popular phenomenon.

The status of the genre in the early twentieth century was also enhanced by particular novels by different writers. One of the most influential Western novels was The Virginians (1902) by Owen Wister (1860-1938) which was considered to be a ground breaking literary Western. Wister dismissed the traditional idea of the solitary pioneer conquering new lands and making a new life for himself, and replaced this traditional character with the cowboy. The cowboy was a mix of cultural ideals, such as southern chivalry, western primitivism and stout independence. These were characteristics that many Americans cherished. Wister contrasted the lawlessness of the West to the order and civilisation of the East. He introduced new characters, such as savages and bandits who attacked the more civilised Eastern characters. His cowboy heroes shared many features with the medieval knights – they rode horses, carried weapons, fought duals and valued their honour above all other attributes. Zane Grey’s (1872-1939) Riders of the Purple Sage (1912) was also a popular Western novel. Grey was a prolific writer and wrote over ninety books which helped shape Western fiction. He changed Wister’s cowboy into a gunslinger who was feared by criminals and held in awe by other civilians. Other popular Western writers in this period include Andy Adams (1859-1935) whose titles include The Outlet (1905) and A Texas Matchmaker (1904), Edward S Ellis (1840-1916) who wrote Seth Jones, or The Captives of the Frontier (1860) and The Steam Man of the Prairies (1868), and Bertha Muzzy Bower (1871-1940) who wrote Chip of the Flying U (1906) and The Dry Ridge Gang (1935).

The Western hero lived in an environment where climate, natives and the terrain could be his enemies, and it was his job to tame the wilderness around him, but in doing so he determined his own extinction. In bringing forward civilisation and settlement, they brought about their own demise and their reason for existing. Western heroes could only exist on the frontier. Rebels were popular heroes in the Western novel and these heroes were often compassionate to those less fortunate than themselves and fought for the downtrodden. They were loyal, idealistic, independent, and knew the difference between right and wrong. They fought for the good and made personal sacrifices in order that good would triumph. The hostile setting of the Wild West transformed the characters into survivors as they were forced to alter themselves in order to live in this new setting. The Old Wild West captured the attention of many as it exemplified the spirit of freedom, individualism, adventure and unspoiled nature. It depicted a world that was separate from organised, urban society and showed the life of the wilderness, frontier and its inhabitants. The Western romanticised American history and the treacherous, mysterious and otherworldly Old West.

CHAPTER ONE

SOME TIME!

From the obscurity of vast, unquiet distance the surf came booming in with the heavy impetus of high tide, flinging long streamers of kelp and bits of driftwood over the narrowing stretch of sand where garishly costumed bathers had lately shrieked hilariously at their gambols. Before the chill wind that had risen with the turn of the tide the bathers retreated in dripping, shivering groups, to appear later in fluffs and furs and woollen sweaters; still inclined to hilarity, still undeniably both to leave off their pleasuring at Venice, dedicated to cheap pleasures.

But when the wind blew stronger and the surf boomed louder and nearer, and the faint moon-path stretched farther and farther toward the smudgy sky-line, city-going street-cars began to fill with sunburned passengers, and motors began to purr out of the narrow side streets lined with shoddy buildings which housed the summer sojourners. One more Sunday night’s revelry was tapering off into shouted farewells, clanging gongs, honking horns and the shuffling of tired feet hurrying homeward.

In cafes and grills and private dining rooms groups of revelers, whose pleasures were not halted by the nickel alarm-clocks ticking inexorably all over the city and its suburbs, still lingered long after the masses had gone home yawning and counting the fullness of past joys by the present extent of smarting sunblisters.

Automobiles loaded with singing passengers scurried after their own beams of silver light down the boulevards. At first a continuous line of speeding cars; then thinning with long gaps between; then longer gaps with only an occasional car; then the quiet, lasting for minutes unbroken, so that the wind could be heard in the eucalyptus trees that here and there lined the boulevard.

After the last street-car had clanged away from the deserted bunting-draped joy zone that now was stark and joyless, a belated seven-passenger car, painted a rich plum color and splendid in upholstering and silver trim, swept a long row of darkened windows with a brush of light as it swung out from a narrow alley and went purring down to where the asphalt shone black in the night.

Full throated laughter and a medley of shouted jibes and current witticisms went with it. The tonneau squirmed with uproarious youth. The revolving extra seats swung erratically, propelled by energetic hands, while some one barked the stereotyped invitation to the deserted scenic swing, and some one else shouted to the revolving occupants to keep their heads level, and all the others laughed foolishly.

The revolving ones rebelled, and in the scuffle some one lurched forward against the driver at a critical turn in the road, throwing him against the wheel. The big car swerved almost into the ditch, was brought back just in the nick of time and sped on, while Death, who had looked into that tonneau, turned away with a shrug.

The driver, bareheaded and with the wind blowing his thick mop of wavy hair straight back from his forehead, glanced back with swift disfavor at the scuffling bunch.

Hey—you want to go in the ditch? he expostulated, chewing vigorously upon gum that still tasted sweet and full-flavored. You wanta cut out that rough stuff over this way!

All right, Jackie, old boy, anything to please! chanted the offender, cuffing the cap off the fellow next him. Some time, he added with vague relish. S-o-m-e time! What?

Some time is right! came the exuberant chorus. Hey, Jack! You had some time, all right—you and that brown-eyed queen that danced like Mrs. Castle. Um-um! Floatin’ round with your arms full of sunshine—oh, you thought you was puttin’ something over on the rest of us—what?

Cut it out! Jack retorted, flinging the words over his shoulder. Don’t talk to me. Road’s flopping around like a snake with its head cut off— He laughed apologetically, his eyes staring straight ahead over the lowered windshield.

Aw, step on her, Jack! Show some class, boy—show some class! Good old boat! If you’re too stewed to drive ‘er, she knows the way home. Say, Jackie, if this old car could talk, wouldn’t momma get an ear-full on Monday, hey? What if she—

Cut it out—or I’ll throw you out! came back over Jack’s shirt-clad shoulder. He at least had the wit to use what little sense he had in driving the car, and he had plenty of reason to believe that he could carry out his threat, even if the boulevard did heave itself up at him like the writhings of a great snake. If his head was not fit for the job, his trained muscles would still drive with automatic precision. Only his vision was clouded; not the mechanical skill necessary to pilot his mother’s big car safely into the garage.

Whim held the five in the rear seats absorbed in their own maudlin comicalities. The fellow beside Jack did not seem to take any interest in his surroundings, and the five gave the front seat no further attention. Jack drove circumspectly, leaning a little forward, his bare arms laid up across the wheel and grasping the top of it. Brown as bronze, those arms, as were his face and neck and chest down to where the open V of his sport shirt was held closed with the loose knot of a crimson tie that whipped his shoulder as he drove. A fine looking fellow he was, sitting there like the incarnation of strength and youth and fullblooded optimism. It was a pity that he was drunk—he would have been a perfect specimen of young manhood, else.

The young man on the front seat beside him turned suddenly on those behind. The lower half of his face was covered with a black muffler. He had a gun, and he cut down on the group with disconcerting realism.

Hands up! he intoned fearsomely. I am the mysterious lone bandit of the boulevards. Your jewels are the price of your lives! The six-shooter wavered, looking bleakly at one and then another.

After the first stunned interval, a shout of laughter went up from those behind. Good! Good idea! one approved. And another, having some familiarity with the mechanics of screen melodrama, shouted, Camera!

Lone bandit nothing! We’re all mysterious auto bandits out seeking whom we may devour! cried a young man with a naturally attractive face and beautiful teeth, hastily folding his handkerchief cornerwise for a mask, and tying it behind his head—to the great discomfort of his neighbors, who complained bitterly at having their eyes jabbed out with his elbows.

The bandit play caught the crowd. For a few tumultuous minutes elbows were up, mufflers and handkerchiefs flapping. There emerged from the confusion six masked bandits, and three of them flourished six-shooters with a recklessness that would have given a Texas man cold chills down his spine. Jack, not daring to take his eyes off the heaving asphalt, or his hands off the wheel, retained his natural appearance until some generous soul behind him proceeded, in spite of his impatient Cut it out, fellows! to confiscate his flapping, red tie and bind it across his nose; which transformed Jack Corey into a speeding fiend, if looks meant anything. Thereafter they threw themselves back upon the suffering upholstery and commented gleefully upon their banditish qualifications.

That grew tame, of course. They thirsted for mock horrors, and two glaring moons rising swiftly over a hill gave the psychological fillip to their imaginations.

Come on-let’s hold ‘em up! cried the young man on the front seat. Naw-I’ll tell you! Slow down, Jack, and everybody keep your faces shut. When we’re just past I’ll shoot down at the ground by a hind wheel. Make ‘em think they’ve got a blowout—get the idea?

Some idea! promptly came approval, and the six subsided immediately.

The coming car neared swiftly, the driver shaving as close to the speed limit as he dared. Unsuspectingly he swerved to give plenty of space in passing, and as he did so a loud bang startled him. The brake squealed as he made an emergency stop. Blowout, by thunder! they heard him call to his companions, as he piled out and ran to the wheel he thought had suffered the accident.

Jack obligingly slowed down so that the six, leaning far out and craning back at their victims, got the full benefit of their joke. When he sped on they fell back into their seats and howled with glee.

It was funny. They laughed and slapped one another on the backs, and the more they laughed the funnier it seemed. They rocked with mirth, they bounced up and down on the cushions and whooped.

All but Jack. He kept his eyes on the still-heaving asphalt, and chewed gum and grinned while he drove, with the persistent sensation that he was driving a hydro-aeroplane across a heaving ocean. Still, he knew what the fellows were up to, and he was perfectly willing to let them have all the fun they wanted, so long as they didn’t interfere with his driving.

In the back of his mind was a large, looming sense of responsibility for the car. It was his mother’s car, and it was new and shiny, and his mother liked to drive flocks of fluttery, middle-aged ladies to benefit teas and the like. It had taken a full hour of coaxing to get the car for the day, and Jack knew what would be the penalty if anything happened to mar its costly beauty. A scratch would be almost as much as his life was worth. He hoped dazedly that the fellows would keep their feet off the cushions, and that they would refrain from kicking the back seat.

Mrs. Singleton Corey was a large, firm woman who wore her white hair in a marcelled pompadour, and frequently managed to have a flattering picture of herself in the Sunday papers—on the Society-and-Club-Doings page, of course. She figured prominently in civic betterment movements, and was loud in her denunciation of Sunday dances and cabarets and the frivolities of Venice and lesser beach resorts. She did a lot of worrying over