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[Illustration: The Figure Springs into the Air--See page 129.]




[Illustration: THE BOYS OWN BOOKSHELF]

OUR HOME IN THE SILVER WEST

A Story of Struggle and Adventure

BY

GORDON STABLES, C.M., M.D., R.N.

AUTHOR OF 'THE CRUISE OF THE SNOWBIRD,' 'WILD ADVENTURES ROUND THE POLE,'
ETC., ETC.

THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY

56, Paternoster Row; 65, St. Paul's Churchyard and 164 Piccadilly




Richard Clay and Sons, Limited,
London and Bungay.




CONTENTS.

CHAPTER                                           PAGE
     I.  The Highland Feud.                         11
    II.  Our Boyhood's Life.                        23
   III.  A Terrible Ride.                           30
    IV.  The Ring and the Book.                     44
     V.  A New Home in the West.                    54
    VI.  The Promised Land at Last.                 64
   VII.  On Shore at Rio.                           77
  VIII.  Moncrieff Relates His Experiences.         86
    IX.  Shopping and Shooting.                     96
     X.  A Journey That Seems Like a Dream.        106
    XI.  The Tragedy at the Fonda.                 115
   XII.  Attack by Pampa Indians.                  125
  XIII.  The Flight and the Chase.                 134
   XIV.  Life on an Argentine Estancia.            146
    XV.  We Build our House and Lay Out Gardens.   155
   XVI.  Summer in the Silver West.                165
  XVII.  The Earthquake.                           175
 XVIII.  Our Hunting Expedition.                   185
   XIX.  In the Wilderness.                        197
    XX.  The Mountain Crusoe.                      209
   XXI.  Wild Adventures on Prairie and Pampas.    221
  XXII.  Adventure With a Tiger.                   231
 XXIII.  A Ride for Life.                          244
  XXIV.  The Attack on the Estancia.               255
   XXV.  The Last Assault.                         266
    XXV  Farewell to the Silver West.              279




LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

                                                    PAGE
The Figure Springs into the Air             Frontispiece
Orla thrusts his Muzzle into my Hand                  10
Ray lay Stark and Stiff                               18
'Look! He is Over!'                                   33
He pointed his Gun at me                              41
'I'll teach ye!'                                      74
Fairly Noosed                                         99
'Ye can Claw the Pat'                                138
Comical in the Extreme                               195
Tries to steady himself to catch the Lasso           203
Interview with the Orang-outang                      214
On the same Limb of the Tree                         236
The Indians advanced with a Wild Shout               268




[Illustration: Orla thrusts his Muzzle into my Hand]




OUR HOME IN THE SILVER WEST


CHAPTER I.

THE HIGHLAND FEUD.


Why should I, Murdoch M'Crimman of Coila, be condemned for a period of
indefinite length to the drudgery of the desk's dull wood? That is the
question I have just been asking myself. Am I emulous of the honour and
glory that, they say, float halo-like round the brow of the author? Have I
the desire to awake and find myself famous? The fame, alas! that authors
chase is but too often an _ignis fatuus_. No; honour like theirs I crave
not, such toil is not incumbent on me. Genius in a garret! To some the
words may sound romantic enough, but--ah me!--the position seems a sad
one. Genius munching bread and cheese in a lonely attic, with nothing
betwixt the said genius and the sky and the cats but rafters and tiles! I
shudder to think of it. If my will were omnipotent, Genius should never
shiver beneath the tiles, never languish in an attic. Genius should be
clothed in purple and fine linen, Genius should---- 'Yes, aunt, come in;
I'm not very busy yet.'

My aunt sails into my beautiful room in the eastern tower of Castle
Coila.

'I was afraid,' she says, almost solemnly, 'I might be disturbing your
meditations. Do I find you really at work?'

'I've hardly arrived at that point yet, dear aunt. Indeed, if the truth
will not displease you, I greatly fear serious concentration is not very
much in my line. But as you desire me to write our strange story, and as
mother also thinks the duty devolves on me, behold me seated at my table
in this charming turret chamber, which owes its all of comfort to your
most excellent taste, auntie mine.'

As I speak I look around me. The evening sunshine is streaming into my
room, which occupies the whole of one story of the tower. Glance where I
please, nothing is here that fails to delight the eye. The carpet beneath
my feet is soft as moss, the tall mullioned windows are bedraped with the
richest curtains. Pictures and mirrors hang here and there, and seem part
and parcel of the place. So does that dark