I want to state right at the start that I am writing this story twenty years after it happened solely because my wife and Senor Buck Johnson insist on it. Myself, I don't think it a good yarn. It hasn't any love story in it; and there isn't any plot. Things just happened, one thing after the other. There ought to be a yarn in it somehow, and I suppose if a fellow wanted to lie a little he could make a tail-twister out of it. Anyway, here goes; and if you don't like it, you know you can quit at any stage of the game. It happened when I was a kid and didn't know any better than to do such things. They dared me to go up to Hooper's ranch and stay all night; and as I had no information on either the ranch or its owner, I saddled up and went. It was only twelve miles from our Box Springs ranch-a nice easy ride. I should explain that heretofore I had ridden the Gila end of our range, which is so far away that only vague rumours of Hooper had ever reached me at all. He was reputed a tough old devil with horrid habits; but that meant little to me. The tougher and horrider they came, the better they suited me-so I thought. Just to make everything entirely clear I will add that this was in the year of 1897 and the Soda Springs valley in Arizona.
From about 1900 until about 1922, he wrote fiction and non-fiction about adventure and travel, with an emphasis on natural history and outdoor living. Starting in 1922, he and his wife Elizabeth "Betty" Grant White wrote numerous books they claimed were received through channelling with spirits. They also wrote of their travels around the state of California. White died in Hillsborough, California.
An odd, eclectic collection of short stories tacked into the namesake novella, “The Killer”. I don’t know what to make of it. The novella, “The Killer” is an unusual mixture of thriller, horror and comedy. The authentic Old Arizona details are captivating; the prose very well wrought. The second story, “The Road Agent” is a hilarious, tightly drawn, Western prank tale. The third story is a wistful, elegy to the tides of time, chronicling Westward expansion through three generations of a California pioneer family.
It all goes downhill from here...
The remaining stories are tedious travelogues (likely biographical) chronicling in monotonous detail the author’s exploits on goat and duck hunting trips: each entirely devoid of a storyline. How these dry depictions of game hunting made it into a Western short-story collection will ever remain a mystery. Likely, the publisher just pressured the author to add additional content in order to turn the namesake novella into a full length book for publication.
Enjoy the first half of the book, and then put it back on the shelf. Life’s too short to continue with the rest. Better still, read the duck hunting exploits when you’re suffering from a bout of insomnia -instant cure, guaranteed.