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قراءة كتاب The Gringos A Story Of The Old California Days In 1849
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THE GRINGOS

AUTHOR'S NOTE
I wish to make public acknowledgment of the assistance I have received from George W. Lee, a "Forty-niner" who has furnished me with data, material, and color which have been invaluable in the writing of this story.
CONTENTS
- THE BEGINNING OF IT
- THE VIGILANTES
- THE THING THEY CALLED JUSTICE
- WHAT HAPPENED AT THE OAK
- HOSPITALITY
- THE VALLEY
- THE LORD OF THE VALLEY
- DON ANDRES WANTS A MAJORDOMO
- JERRY SIMPSON, SQUATTER
- THE FINEST LITTLE WOMAN IN THE WORLD
- AN ILL WIND
- POTENTIAL MOODS
- BILL WILSON GOES VISITING
- RODEO TIME
- WHEN CAMP-FIRES BLINK
- "FOR WEAPONS I CHOOSE RIATAS"
- A FIESTA WE SHALL HAVE
- WHAT IS LOVE WORTH?
- ANTICIPATION
- LOST! TWO HASTY TEMPERS
- FIESTA DAY
- THE BATTLE OF BEASTS
- THE DUEL OF RIATAS
- FOR LOVE AND A MEDAL
- ADIOS
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
"Gringos Are Savages and Worse Than Savages."
He Twisted in the Saddle and Sent Leaden Answer to The Spiteful Barking of the Guns.
Mrs. Jerry Took the Señorita's Hand and Smiled up At Her.
"An Accident It Must Appear to Those Who Watch"
The Gringos
CHAPTER I
If you would glimpse the savage which normally lies asleep, thank God, in most of us, you have only to do this thing of which I shall tell you, and from some safe sanctuary where leaden couriers may not bear prematurely the tidings of man's debasement, watch the world below. You may see civilization swing back with a snap to savagery and worse—because savagery enlightened by the civilization of centuries is a deadly thing to let loose among men. Our savage forebears were but superior animals groping laboriously after economic security and a social condition that would yield most prolifically the fruit of all the world's desire, happiness; to-day, when we swing back to something akin to savagery, we do it for lust of gain, like our forebears, but we do it wittingly. So, if you would look upon the unlovely spectacle of civilized men turned savage, and see them toil painfully back to lawful living, you have but to do this:
Seek a spot remote from the great centers of our vaunted civilization, where Nature, in a wanton gold-revel of her own, has sprinkled her river beds with the shining dust, hidden it away under ledges, buried it in deep canyons in playful miserliness and salved with its potent glow the time-scars upon the cheeks of her gaunt mountains. You have but to find a tiny bit of Nature's gold, fling it in the face of civilization and raise the hunting cry.