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A Princess of Mars | The Pink Classics
A Princess of Mars | The Pink Classics
A Princess of Mars | The Pink Classics
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A Princess of Mars | The Pink Classics

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A Princess of Mars is a science fantasy novel by Edgar Rice Burroughs, the first of his Barsoom series. It was first serialized in the pulp magazine All-Story Magazine from February–July, 1912. Full of swordplay and daring feats, the novel is considered a classic example of 20th-century pulp fiction. It is also a seminal instance of the planetary romance, a subgenre of science fantasy that became highly popular in the decades following its publication. Its early chapters also contain elements of the Western. The story is set on Mars, imagined as a dying planet with a harsh desert environment. This vision of Mars was based on the work of the astronomer Percival Lowell, whose ideas were widely popularized in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. The Barsoom series inspired a number of well-known 20th-century science fiction writers, including Jack Vance, Ray Bradbury, Arthur C. Clarke, Robert A. Heinlein, and John Norman. The series was also inspirational for many scientists in the fields of space exploration and the search for extraterrestrial life, including Carl Sagan, who read A Princess of Mars when he was a child. John Carter, a Confederate veteran of the American Civil War, goes prospecting in Arizona immediately after the war's end. Having struck a rich vein of gold, he runs afoul of the Apaches. While attempting to evade pursuit by hiding in a sacred cave, he is mysteriously transported to Mars, called "Barsoom" by its inhabitants. Carter finds that he has great strength and superhuman agility in this new environment as a result of its lesser gravity and lower atmospheric pressure. He soon falls in with a nomadic tribe of Green Martians, or Tharks, as the planet's warlike, six-limbed, green-skinned inhabitants are known. Thanks to his strength and martial prowess, Carter rises to a high position in the tribe and earns the respect and eventually the friendship of Tars Tarkas, one of the Thark chiefs.
LanguageEnglish
Release dateSep 7, 2017
ISBN9783962552299
A Princess of Mars | The Pink Classics
Author

Edgar Rice Burroughs

Edgar Rice Burroughs (1875-1950) is the creator of Tarzan, one of the most popular fictional characters of all time, and John Carter, hero of the Barsoom science fiction series. Burroughs was a prolific author, writing almost 70 books before his death in 1950, and was one of the first authors to popularize a character across multiple media, as he did with Tarzan’s appearance in comic strips, movies, and merchandise. Residing in Hawaii at the time of the attack on Pearl Harbour in 1941, Burroughs was drawn into the Second World War and became one of the oldest war correspondents at the time. Edgar Rice Burroughs’s popularity continues to be memorialized through the community of Tarzana, California, which is named after the ranch he owned in the area, and through the Burrough crater on Mars, which was named in his honour.

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Rating: 3.567324124356775 out of 5 stars
3.5/5

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  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    Ignoring the fact that we've disproved some of the myths of "Mars," actually quite a good read.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    Edgar Rice Burroughs' 1912 novel "A Princess of Mars" is a brilliant, wonderful piece of literature. That it is still just as good one hundred years after it was written is testament to just how good a writer Burroughs was. What would it be like to be transported to another planet without a spaceship, guns, or even clothes? What would it be like to be plopped all alone in an alien culture with nothing to rely on but one's wits, strength, agility, courage, and ethics? What would that world be like if it was dried up planet with mere canals to provide water and its mighty seas were dried up? What if that planet had an ancient culture that had vanished with the drying up of the seas and all that remained were dead seas and hordes of savages roaming the dead sea bottoms? What if these savages did not even give birth as we do but laid eggs and placed them in incubators for five long years? These are the questions Burrough must have asked before writing this terrific novel that spawned generation after generation of science fiction novels.

    At root, if you put aside the alien planet, it is a story of a mighty swordsman and a beautiful princess and the swordsman, blundering though he may be in the ways of women, has sworn to save this damsel in distress though a million swords be arrayed against him. It is a story of a gallant Virginia gentleman and his love story to rescue over and over again his princess, Dejah Thoris. It is at times chivalry like the knights of the round table or the three musketeers.

    Burroughs, back in 1912, gave his swordfighting warriors of Mars a few technological details, such as fliers that hovered above the seabeds and ray guns, but they preferred to fight with swords and fists and wear little but harnesses to hold their weapons. The people of Burroughs' Mars had an atmospheric plant that kept the thin atmosphere breathable and navigation systems on their fliers, but they were, even the red martians, in numerous little city-states forever at war with each other.
    Burroughs wrote this story of chivalry and derring-do for a readership that craved adventure, but he gave them far more than just adventure. He created mighty kingdoms and history and a whole culture that is just stupendous. No one before or since has created a sword and planet story quite as good as Burroughs did and this the first of the eleven Martian books was the best of all.
  • Rating: 1 out of 5 stars
    1/5
    Really??? head-->desk
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    For years I intended to read this novel. I heard over and over again how it's classic scifi, influencer of many books, movies, tv shows we love today. Published in 1917, it's the great-granddaddy of them all.

    Then Disney happened. 'John Carter of Mars' is Disney's film version of 'A Princess of Mars'. Dunno why they didn't call the movie by the book's title, unless it goes along with the company trying to get away from anything 'Princess' (thus titles like 'Tangled,' 'Brave,' and 'Frozen'). At first, I was happy a movie was being made of the book. I thought, maybe, it'd give me a taste of the novel, so I'd know what to expect. But then, I'll be honest, I didn't go see the movie because the reviews were so bad. Everyone seemed to be so mad at Disney for created something so stupid. I kept wondering if Disney didn't do the book justice or the reviewers hated the book, too. No one ever said. No one mentioned that it was classic scifi novel in the public domain...and although Disney lost money, it wasn't like it was an original Disney work they poured their hearts out over.

    Curious how bad the movie could be, the husband and I watched it. It's NOT that bad. I've endured much worse blockbusters. The pacing in the beginning is slow, but ultimately the film improves later on. Dunno if the pacing/bad editing in the beginning turned people away, or if they didn't like the mix of scifi and fantasy. In today's world, scifi can be very scientific. If the theories in the story aren't kinda maybe possible, people will pick them apart (Scientists on NPR covering Jurassic World for example). We want our scifi to be almost real.

    John Carter is a Civil War veteran who finds a cave that takes him to Mars. It's not extremely scientific, it's more magical. He suddenly finds that he also has super human powers on Mars. He befriends a local tribe of green people, gets caught up in politics (that are about as interesting as the Star Wars prequels), and falls in love with a captive humanoid princess. Like any super hero, he saves the day and gets the girl. The book ends on a sad note, but sets the story up for its many sequels.

    The story is told by John Carter and really shows its age. Indians are out to get you old-West-style. John Carter is a Confederate gentleman who never forgets his genteel manners no matter what's happening to him. Everyone is either super good or bad. The princess is objectified and needs saving. John Carter suddenly notices that she's humanoid and is instantly in love with her. He turns kinda "Me Tarzan, You Jane" on her. So, it doesn't stand the test of time. When reading (or watching the movie) you've really got to consider the time frame it was published. It's very imaginative for its time. The book rightly belongs on the shelf with other old timers like Tarzan (also by Burroughs) and The Prisoner of Zenda, Still not a bad read if you're a scifi nerd, into classics, or both.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    Wonderful pulpy goodness.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    This is the first of Burroughs Mars series, not as well known as Tarzan but fairly good. It is frankly pulp fiction and makes no pretense of serious science: John Carter, a Confederate veteran (but apparently immortal --he has no memory of his birth), while escaping from Indians in the southwest, wishes to be on Mars and is there, a Mars based loosely on Percival Lowell, with drylands stretching between canals on which are ancient cities. The first is captured by the barbaric nomad green martians, giants with four arms, but later wins the love of a red Martian princess, fully human aside from laying eggs. While they are waiting for their first child to hatch, the machine that maintains the Martian atmosphere breaks down; Carter saves it but loses consciousness ad wakes on earth, where he tells his story to a young Burroughs and then vanishes, presumably back to Mars (where the second volume picks up.)
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    audiobook - Pretty cheesy, but fun. My narrator had this really crazy old-school Southern accent which grated on my nerves a bit, but I knew it was appropriate. Due to the cheese-factor I expected a happy ending (but didn't get one), but then I remembered that this is old-school science fiction, so of course it has a true science fiction ending in which the main story is not actually resolved.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    I read a couple of the later books when I was a teenager.Burroughs knows how to mix high adventure and romance. A lot of the relationship interactions are very out dated but then again this was written in early 1900s. If you can get past that then you can sit back and enjoy a very action packed adventure. I'm looking forward to reading the second Barsoom John Carter book.
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    For now, anyway, I'm just going to rip off something I already wrote in the comments below. Sorry, I know that's terribly lazy.

    "Princess of Mars" is a direct response to HG Wells' "War of the Worlds," in a lot of ways: in the latter, Wells talks about the effect of our heavier Earth gravity on the Martians, and in this book John Carter is basically Superman on Mars because of their lower gravity, and there are some other fun nods to WotW. But also ideologically: everyone knows Wells is a socialist, so when Burroughs says shit like this about the bad guys:Owning everything in common, even to your women and children, has resulted in your owning nothing in common. You hate each other as you hate all others except yourselves. (p. 54)it certainly seems like he's trying to engage Wells. But he's writing pretty simple wish-fulfillment stuff here: guy magically appears in magic place where he has magic powers and the hottest girl there is totally into him. At least on the evidence of this book, Burroughs just isn't a match for Wells.

    Still fun to read them both together, though.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    The first three books of the series are in fact a complete trilogy. One that has endured for a century, and rightfully so, but if action and adventure novels are common enough, what is the lasting appeal of these books? Simple: Honour & loyalty. Essential qualities of character. I am finding in the home brood that the internet generation are missing, and lacking, these seeds. Books like these, themes like these, have shaped me. Read them. Put them into your kid's hands and no, they won't die if the iPod goes away for hours each day, forcing them to grow roots into self evaluation, meaning, and notions about character, loyalty, service.
    Okay and it's fun. Hot chicks, swords, wild landscapes and wilder humanoids. You gotta love it.
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    Imaginative to say the least, it's easy to see how this tale became the precursor for the space operas and space Westerns we all know and love today.
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    A fast-paced book, narrated in a leisurely fashion. Not as imaginative as "Tarzan of the Apes", written a year later. Some things were known about Mars at the time this book was written and these find there way into the narrative, things like the ice caps and Mars's rapidly moving inner moon, Phobos. Enjoyable, and far better than the movie. However, as the love story unfolds and the fighting goes on John Carter becomes completely unscrupulous and doesn't even seem to notice. John Carter explicitly prizes the more tender emotions, and his more gentle actions always have good consequences, a positive, but unrealistic message.Like Rafael Sabatini, Burroughs derived a lot of his leisurely style from Sir Walter Scott. Unlike Scott he eschewed all humour and dialect.That John Carter can interbreed with a member of a species that lays eggs is hilarious.The narration was in a quite pleasant southern accent, appropriate since John Carter is a former Confederate officer.The cover images vary wildly. Some are pretty awful "Conan the Barbarian" style beefcake, but the "Vox Libris" cover is excellent.
  • Rating: 2 out of 5 stars
    2/5
    True Pulp Fiction! An really hero is transported to Mars, expedience many adventures, wins the heart ofa Martian Princess and generally saves the day! Good fun.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    Fun space Opera. Burroughs knows how to keep a story moving. He is one of the early masters of the Space Opera. Great imagination.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    It reads like every 1950's Martian movie, but that's only because it set the standard for Martian stories. It is the original story of a man going to Mars and interacting with the alien civilizations he finds there. At times the hero is a bit too dashing, but that adds to the campy aspect of the read. It's enjoyable pulp, with a twist ending that's a bit like "what happens after the fairy tale is over?" The racial aspects of the story, red men and green men as savage warring civilizations, was laid on a bit too thick at times. Burroughs is writing from the perspective of early 20th Century America, where the Western frontier was quickly closing as white America was bringing an end to their destruction of the "red man", and at times it felt like he let his prejudices slip into the story. Overall, though, a very fun read.
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    “A Princess of Mars” is the first in Burroughs’ eleven book “Barsoon” series, following the continued adventures of John Carter.John Carter, a Civil War veteran is prospecting in Arizona when attacked by Indians, taking cover in a cave he encounters some strange events, then he finds himself on the planet Mars and a prisoner of the Green Men of Thark, Dejah Thoris, a red Martian princess, is also a prisoner of the Green Men. John Carter has impressive skills, due to the difference in gravity between Mars and Earth and his being a combat veteran. This is important because he must fight for his and Dejah Thoris freedom. And later to save the planet from destruction.This was a fun easy read. Heavy on the action, lots of fighting and sword play, light on plot and character development. All in all an enjoyable and entertaining read.
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    How awesome are the green women of Mars? Engineers, trauma surgeons, armorers, blacksmiths, teachers and more. What are the green men of Mars? Naked dudes with weapons.

    How does John Carter win the people's ovation and fame forever on Barsoom? Cuddles, people. He wins it with cuddles and kindness. Were he just a guy from a planet with higher gravity, he would still win the fights he fought and won, but he would not have won the affection and loyalty of Woola, his faithful toothy hound, and the thoats, and he would not have Sola and Dejah Thoris as his allies, all key at various points to his survival on Mars.

    Mars needs cuddles, my friends. Mars needs cuddles.

    I love this book. It is vibrant and silly and earnest and purportedly about manly business but every page is about the awesomeness of the ladies. Ok, sure, Dejah Thoris could do a bit more rescuing of herself and a bit less swanning about being sternly princessly and stiff upper lipped. She does save the day once, I suppose. I'd like to see more of her being awesome in subsequent books.

    My major complaint is being robbed of the reunion of Sola and Tars Tarkas. Books and books about Sola would be very fine indeed.

    In an epic display of juvenile behaviour, I found myself giggling every time I remembered that all the characters were naked but for jewellery and weapons. I find it hilarious that all the cover illustrations are over-dressing!
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    It took a while for me to warm up to this 1912 classic but in the end it is a surprisingly good adventure & love story that happens to take place on Mars. This type of sci fi (aliens and weird creatures) is generally not what I care for but if you can accept the one giant leap of faith - how John Carter gets to Mars is inexplicable even to himself - Burroughs does a good job. And this book is the origin of the stereotype that men from Mars are green (which survived in the original Star Trek with the Klingons), although John Carter's love interest is a woman from the red people of Mars!
  • Rating: 2 out of 5 stars
    2/5
    OK, I give up…(checking)…81% of the way through. Bag this book.

    I grabbed Princess of Mars on Gutenberg.org, because it was in the Top Downloads chart, and because I’d never read any Burroughs before. (I realized a day or two later that it was being downloaded heavily because there’s a film adaptation out now.)

    Having recently read a ton of fiction from the century spanning roughly 1820-1920, including a lot of pioneering science fiction, and having enjoyed most of it, I expected about the same from Princess of Mars: an enjoyable story rich with references to its time, probably loaded with amusingly quaint touches like hokey science and corny dialogue. And it didn’t disappoint on the “hokey” front, what with the chariot-riding, pistol toting Martians and all. But it failed to grab me, and ultimately I bogged down out of sheer boredom. It read almost like a (mediocre) Western novel in which the places and people had been hastily switched at the last minute to create a “Martian” setting. (I understand this was not the case, just saying that’s how it felt.) I can definitely tell this stuff must have been an influence on L. Ron Hubbard.

    Having given this book an honest try, I don’t think I’ll be finishing it, let alone picking up one of the apparently 317 sequels. If I want my old-school fix, I’ll stick to Wells-Verne-Stevenson-Stoker and company.
  • Rating: 2 out of 5 stars
    2/5
    While I respect the place this novel has in early science fiction, and the influence it had on some of the later greats of science fiction, and while I understand that all fiction is a product of the time and the place it's written, I will always find it difficult to respect speculative works in which it was easier to imagine aliens on Mars than women being treated as equals. As well, Mary Sue Carter really got to be a bit MUCH.
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    Having recently seen the film John Carter, I thought I'd download this classic from Gutenberg. It was OK but glad I saw the film first as the book is even more one fight after the next. It is also short so can be safely read on a phone in spare minutes.I have downloaded Gods of Mars too so will use spare minutes on that too.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    This was my first foray into any kind of classic sci-fi / fantasy and it was a breath of fresh air in regards to what I had been reading before hand. There is a frank, no-nonsense story telling to this novel which was easy to read and follow. Often times I would laugh out loud at the polar opposites of that stoic story telling that was then flip on its head by over the moon pronunciations of love.Very male :DGood novel, I would be interested in reading more by Burroughs.
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    A Princess of Mars is more of a swashbuckling adventure on Mars than a sci-fi story, at least as the genre is understood today. You can not deny its influence - the Barsoom series evidently inspired Bradbury, Clarke, Heinlein and Carl Sagan. Burroughs certainly has a way with words, but I found the plot patently ridiculous and would recommend it only to someone interested in exploring the history of the genre.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    In the post-Civil War era, John Carter enters an Arizona cave and is unexpectedly whisked away to Mars. There, he witnesses the depravity of a "highly developed" race of people who, because medicine helps them to live long lives, they perform population control by warring with each other. In some ways, though, they're happier than people on Earth, because they have no lawyers. John Carter takes Mars (and a Princess's heart) by storm. I'm not a huge fan of pulp fiction, so I expected very little out of this book. Because of that, I was impressed at how "not bad" it was. Actually, it was sort of interesting in a history-of-science-fiction sort of way. It did have some rather racist comments about Native Americans (an artifact of when it was written), and the Princess was a weak annoying little thing whose only virtues were rare beauty and a penchant for getting into trouble so that we could witness the excitement of her rescue (this is an artifact of being pulp). Overall, not too shabby. But not literature, either. I DID wonder whether John Carter was meant to be some sort of pulpy Christ figure. He was very good at saving people. And he had the right initials. ;)
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    Having recently seen the John Carter film at the theater and on DVD it seemed like a good time to revisit a favorite book from my youth. Like a million other people I really enjoyed growing up with Edgar Rice Burroughs' adventure stories. I originally read most of the 11 Mars stories later than the Tarzan novels, finishing them up in my early 20's. Princess of Mars I have always recalled as a favorite. I'm glad I revisited the story. This was a very seminal novel for the genre. The film adaptation changed a number of things, many for the better for a modern film audience. However, the original story in "A Princess of Mars" has quite a different storyline and there is much that is missing in the film. Each version has it's strengths. For a story written 100 years ago, it is pretty imaginative and amazing. These were called "scientific romances" for good reason. For today it is still very enjoyable and I'd just say it was a very fun read. I know I shall be re-reading some more of these old stories in the coming years.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    I was surprised at how well this book holds up considering it was written 95 years ago! I find the John Carter stories much more interesting than Tarzan. Brian Holsopple read the audiobook I listened to and he does a good job of making the older text more exciting. Good, classic sci-fi!
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    John Carter is a prospector in the US shortly after the civil war. He finds himself magically transported to Mars, and so begins an adventure with the 2 races of intelligent being, the red and the green peoples. The plot tends to support colonialism, where the white man has a civilising influence on other races and proves to be their salvation. The red people are even directly compared with Native Americans. The writing style is like much early science fiction, using many words where few would suffice. I found the love story a little too much, but then I don't really like romances. An good book, unashamedly copied by many later writers.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    First line:~ In submitting Captain Carter's strange manuscript to you in book form, I believe that a few words relative to this remarkable personality will be of interest ~Overall, I found this an interesting if not entirely enjoyable read. It was one of my first forays into pulp fiction and it is considered to be one of the best examples from that time. Edgar Rice Burroughs has a thoroughly gifted imagination and creates a very different world for the setting of this early science fiction / science fantasy story. This is also one of the first planetary romances.I did, however, find the characters a little hard to take. John Carter just a bit TOO good and the Princess - just a bit TOO in need of rescuing all the time! No feminism there!Would I recommend this? Probably if you are a true sci-fi fan and want to delve into the early history of the genre. And for a little light reading. Just don't expect modern sensibilities and you should enjoy the romp!3.5 stars
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    Though seemingly far fetched from today's viewpoint it is an excellent adventure story.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    I read this book at the age of eleven, and couldn't stop reading until I had read all eleven books of the series. Aged fifty-four now, I still remember my fascination. This book launched a lifetime of reading sci fi and fantasy. At a young age I would have given the book six stars. Now, it has too little complexity and meaning to warrant five, though it is still a great adventure story. But were I at that young age again, I am certain I would again give it the maximum score, and on that basis, and with a fond memory, I rate the book five stars.The paperbacks I read had no illustrations. This edition illustrated by David Burton is really wonderful.

Book preview

A Princess of Mars | The Pink Classics - Edgar Rice Burroughs

Burroughs.

CHAPTER I

ON THE ARIZONA HILLS

I am a very old man; how old I do not know. Possibly I am a hundred, possibly more; but I cannot tell because I have never aged as other men, nor do I remember any childhood. So far as I can recollect I have always been a man, a man of about thirty. I appear today as I did forty years and more ago, and yet I feel that I cannot go on living forever; that some day I shall die the real death from which there is no resurrection. I do not know why I should fear death, I who have died twice and am still alive; but yet I have the same horror of it as you who have never died, and it is because of this terror of death, I believe, that I am so convinced of my mortality.

And because of this conviction I have determined to write down the story of the interesting periods of my life and of my death. I cannot explain the phenomena; I can only set down here in the words of an ordinary soldier of fortune a chronicle of the strange events that befell me during the ten years that my dead body lay undiscovered in an Arizona cave.

I have never told this story, nor shall mortal man see this manuscript until after I have passed over for eternity. I know that the average human mind will not believe what it cannot grasp, and so I do not purpose being pilloried by the public, the pulpit, and the press, and held up as a colossal liar when I am but telling the simple truths which some day science will substantiate. Possibly the suggestions which I gained upon Mars, and the knowledge which I can set down in this chronicle, will aid in an earlier understanding of the mysteries of our sister planet; mysteries to you, but no longer mysteries to me.

My name is John Carter; I am better known as Captain Jack Carter of Virginia. At the close of the Civil War I found myself possessed of several hundred thousand dollars (Confederate) and a captain's commission in the cavalry arm of an army which no longer existed; the servant of a state which had vanished with the hopes of the South. Masterless, penniless, and with my only means of livelihood, fighting, gone, I determined to work my way to the southwest and attempt to retrieve my fallen fortunes in a search for gold.

I spent nearly a year prospecting in company with another Confederate officer, Captain James K. Powell of Richmond. We were extremely fortunate, for late in the winter of 1865, after many hardships and privations, we located the most remarkable gold-bearing quartz vein that our wildest dreams had ever pictured. Powell, who was a mining engineer by education, stated that we had uncovered over a million dollars worth of ore in a trifle over three months.

As our equipment was crude in the extreme we decided that one of us must return to civilization, purchase the necessary machinery and return with a sufficient force of men properly to work the mine.

As Powell was familiar with the country, as well as with the mechanical requirements of mining we determined that it would be best for him to make the trip. It was agreed that I was to hold down our claim against the remote possibility of its being jumped by some wandering prospector.

On March 3, 1866, Powell and I packed his provisions on two of our burros, and bidding me good-bye he mounted his horse, and started down the mountainside toward the valley, across which led the first stage of his journey.

The morning of Powell's departure was, like nearly all Arizona mornings, clear and beautiful; I could see him and his little pack animals picking their way down the mountainside toward the valley, and all during the morning I would catch occasional glimpses of them as they topped a hog back or came out upon a level plateau. My last sight of Powell was about three in the afternoon as he entered the shadows of the range on the opposite side of the valley.

Some half hour later I happened to glance casually across the valley and was much surprised to note three little dots in about the same place I had last seen my friend and his two pack animals. I am not given to needless worrying, but the more I tried to convince myself that all was well with Powell, and that the dots I had seen on his trail were antelope or wild horses, the less I was able to assure myself.

Since we had entered the territory we had not seen a hostile Indian, and we had, therefore, become careless in the extreme, and were wont to ridicule the stories we had heard of the great numbers of these vicious marauders that were supposed to haunt the trails, taking their toll in lives and torture of every white party which fell into their merciless clutches.

Powell, I knew, was well armed and, further, an experienced Indian fighter; but I too had lived and fought for years among the Sioux in the North, and I knew that his chances were small against a party of cunning trailing Apaches. Finally I could endure the suspense no longer, and, arming myself with my two Colt revolvers and a carbine, I strapped two belts of cartridges about me and catching my saddle horse, started down the trail taken by Powell in the morning.

As soon as I reached comparatively level ground I urged my mount into a canter and continued this, where the going permitted, until, close upon dusk, I discovered the point where other tracks joined those of Powell. They were the tracks of unshod ponies, three of them, and the ponies had been galloping.

I followed rapidly until, darkness shutting down, I was forced to await the rising of the moon, and given an opportunity to speculate on the question of the wisdom of my chase. Possibly I had conjured up impossible dangers, like some nervous old housewife, and when I should catch up with Powell would get a good laugh for my pains. However, I am not prone to sensitiveness, and the following of a sense of duty, wherever it may lead, has always been a kind of fetich with me throughout my life; which may account for the honors bestowed upon me by three republics and the decorations and friendships of an old and powerful emperor and several lesser kings, in whose service my sword has been red many a time.

About nine o'clock the moon was sufficiently bright for me to proceed on my way and I had no difficulty in following the trail at a fast walk, and in some places at a brisk trot until, about midnight, I reached the water hole where Powell had expected to camp. I came upon the spot unexpectedly, finding it entirely deserted, with no signs of having been recently occupied as a camp.

I was interested to note that the tracks of the pursuing horsemen, for such I was now convinced they must be, continued after Powell with only a brief stop at the hole for water; and always at the same rate of speed as his.

I was positive now that the trailers were Apaches and that they wished to capture Powell alive for the fiendish pleasure of the torture, so I urged my horse onward at a most dangerous pace, hoping against hope that I would catch up with the red rascals before they attacked him.

Further speculation was suddenly cut short by the faint report of two shots far ahead of me. I knew that Powell would need me now if ever, and I instantly urged my horse to his topmost speed up the narrow and difficult mountain trail.

I had forged ahead for perhaps a mile or more without hearing further sounds, when the trail suddenly debouched onto a small, open plateau near the summit of the pass. I had passed through a narrow, overhanging gorge just before entering suddenly upon this table land, and the sight which met my eyes filled me with consternation and dismay.

The little stretch of level land was white with Indian tepees, and there were probably half a thousand red warriors clustered around some object near the center of the camp. Their attention was so wholly riveted to this point of interest that they did not notice me, and I easily could have turned back into the dark recesses of the gorge and made my escape with perfect safety. The fact, however, that this thought did not occur to me until the following day removes any possible right to a claim to heroism to which the narration of this episode might possibly otherwise entitle me.

I do not believe that I am made of the stuff which constitutes heroes, because, in all of the hundreds of instances that my voluntary acts have placed me face to face with death, I cannot recall a single one where any alternative step to that I took occurred to me until many hours later. My mind is evidently so constituted that I am subconsciously forced into the path of duty without recourse to tiresome mental processes. However that may be, I have never regretted that cowardice is not optional with me.

In this instance I was, of course, positive that Powell was the center of attraction, but whether I thought or acted first I do not know, but within an instant from the moment the scene broke upon my view I had whipped out my revolvers and was charging down upon the entire army of warriors, shooting rapidly, and whooping at the top of my lungs. Singlehanded, I could not have pursued better tactics, for the red men, convinced by sudden surprise that not less than a regiment of regulars was upon them, turned and fled in every direction for their bows, arrows, and rifles.

The view which their hurried routing disclosed filled me with apprehension and with rage. Under the clear rays of the Arizona moon lay Powell, his body fairly bristling with the hostile arrows of the braves. That he was already dead I could not but be convinced, and yet I would have saved his body from mutilation at the hands of the Apaches as quickly as I would have saved the man himself from death.

Riding close to him I reached down from the saddle, and grasping his cartridge belt drew him up across the withers of my mount. A backward glance convinced me that to return by the way I had come would be more hazardous than to continue across the plateau, so, putting spurs to my poor beast, I made a dash for the opening to the pass which I could distinguish on the far side of the table land.

The Indians had by this time discovered that I was alone and I was pursued with imprecations, arrows, and rifle balls. The fact that it is difficult to aim anything but imprecations accurately by moonlight, that they were upset by the sudden and unexpected manner of my advent, and that I was a rather rapidly moving target saved me from the various deadly projectiles of the enemy and permitted me to reach the shadows of the surrounding peaks before an orderly pursuit could be organized.

My horse was traveling practically unguided as I knew that I had probably less knowledge of the exact location of the trail to the pass than he, and thus it happened that he entered a defile which led to the summit of the range and not to the pass which I had hoped would carry me to the valley and to safety. It is probable, however, that to this fact I owe my life and the remarkable experiences and adventures which befell me during the following ten years.

My first knowledge that I was on the wrong trail came when I heard the yells of the pursuing savages suddenly grow fainter and fainter far off to my left.

I knew then that they had passed to the left of the jagged rock formation at the edge of the plateau, to the right of which my horse had borne me and the body of Powell.

I drew rein on a little level promontory overlooking the trail below and to my left, and saw the party of pursuing savages disappearing around the point of a neighboring peak.

I knew the Indians would soon discover that they were on the wrong trail and that the search for me would be renewed in the right direction as soon as they located my tracks.

I had gone but a short distance further when what seemed to be an excellent trail opened up around the face of a high cliff. The trail was level and quite broad and led upward and in the general direction I wished to go. The cliff arose for several hundred feet on my right, and on my left was an equal and nearly perpendicular drop to the bottom of a rocky ravine.

I had followed this trail for perhaps a hundred yards when a sharp turn to the right brought me to the mouth of a large cave. The opening was about four feet in height and three to four feet wide, and at this opening the trail ended.

It was now morning, and, with the customary lack of dawn which is a startling characteristic of Arizona, it had become daylight almost without warning.

Dismounting, I laid Powell upon the ground, but the most painstaking examination failed to reveal the faintest spark of life. I forced water from my canteen between his dead lips, bathed his face and rubbed his hands, working over him continuously for the better part of an hour in the face of the fact that I knew him to be dead.

I was very fond of Powell; he was thoroughly a man in every respect; a polished southern gentleman; a staunch and true friend; and it was with a feeling of the deepest grief that I finally gave up my crude endeavors at resuscitation.

Leaving Powell's body where it lay on the ledge I crept into the cave to reconnoiter. I found a large chamber, possibly a hundred feet in diameter and thirty or forty feet in height; a smooth and well-worn floor, and many other evidences that the cave had, at some remote period, been inhabited. The back of the cave was so lost in dense shadow that I could not distinguish whether there were openings into other apartments or not.

As I was continuing my examination I commenced to feel a pleasant drowsiness creeping over me which I attributed to the fatigue of my long and strenuous ride, and the reaction from the excitement of the fight and the pursuit. I felt comparatively safe in my present location as I knew that one man could defend the trail to the cave against an army.

I soon became so drowsy that I could scarcely resist the strong desire to throw myself on the floor of the cave for a few moments' rest, but I knew that this would never do, as it would mean certain death at the hands of my red friends, who might be upon me at any moment. With an effort I started toward the opening of the cave only to reel drunkenly against a side wall, and from there slip prone upon the floor.

CHAPTER II

THE ESCAPE OF THE DEAD

A sense of delicious dreaminess overcame me, my muscles relaxed, and I was on the point of giving way to my desire to sleep when the sound of approaching horses reached my ears. I attempted to spring to my feet but was horrified to discover that my muscles refused to respond to my will. I was now thoroughly awake, but as unable to move a muscle as though turned to stone. It was then, for the first time, that I noticed a slight vapor filling the cave. It was extremely tenuous and only noticeable against the opening which led to daylight. There also came to my nostrils a faintly pungent odor, and I could only assume that I had been overcome by some poisonous gas, but why I should retain my mental faculties and yet be unable to move I could not fathom.

I lay facing the opening of the cave and where I could see the short stretch of trail which lay between the cave and the turn of the cliff around which the trail led. The noise of the approaching horses had ceased, and I judged the Indians were creeping stealthily upon me along the little ledge which led to my living tomb. I remember that I hoped they would make short work of me as I did not particularly relish the thought of the innumerable things they might do to me if the spirit prompted them.

I had not long to wait before a stealthy sound apprised me of their nearness, and then a war-bonneted, paint-streaked face was thrust cautiously around the shoulder of the cliff, and savage eyes looked into mine. That he could see me in the dim light of the cave I was sure for the early morning sun was falling full upon me through the opening.

The fellow, instead of approaching, merely stood and stared; his eyes bulging and his jaw dropped. And then another savage face appeared, and a third and fourth and fifth, craning their necks over the shoulders of their fellows whom they could not pass upon the narrow ledge. Each face was the picture of awe and fear, but for what reason I did not know, nor did I learn until ten years later. That there were still other braves behind those who regarded me was apparent from the fact that the leaders passed back whispered word to those behind them.

Suddenly a low but distinct moaning sound issued from the recesses of the cave behind me, and, as it reached the ears of the Indians, they turned and fled in terror, panic-stricken. So frantic were their efforts to escape from the unseen thing behind me that one of the braves was hurled headlong from the cliff to the rocks below. Their wild cries echoed in the canyon for a short time, and then all was still once more.

The sound which had frightened them was not repeated, but it had been sufficient as it was to start me speculating on the possible horror which lurked in the shadows at my back. Fear is a relative term and so I can only measure my feelings at that time by what I had experienced in previous positions of danger and by those that I have passed through since; but I can say without shame that if the sensations I endured during the next few minutes were fear, then may God help the coward, for cowardice is of a surety its own punishment.

To be held paralyzed, with one's back toward some horrible and unknown danger from the very sound of which the ferocious Apache warriors turn in wild stampede, as a flock of sheep would madly flee from a pack of wolves, seems to me the last word in fearsome predicaments for a man who had ever been used to fighting for his life with all the energy of a powerful physique.

Several times I thought I heard faint sounds behind me as of somebody moving cautiously, but eventually even these ceased, and I was left to the contemplation of my position without interruption. I could but vaguely conjecture the cause of my paralysis, and my only hope lay in that it might pass off as suddenly as it had fallen upon me.

Late in the afternoon my horse, which had been standing with dragging rein before the cave, started slowly down the trail, evidently in search of food and water, and I

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