US/UK Kindle Classic
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The Rainbow Trail (US Edition) (£0.77 UK Edition) is American author Zane Grey's sequel to his
very successful Western novel, Riders of the Purple Sage. Both books have a plot involving Mormons - a
religion in the news recently because the Republican presidential candidate in
the last election was a Mormon. The
books must be read in light of prejudices and practices of the time.
This is from the forward by the author:
The spell of the desert
comes back to me, as it always will come. I see the veils, like purple smoke,
in the cañon, and I feel the silence. And it seems that again I must try to
pierce both and to get at the strange wild life of the last American
wilderness— wild still, almost, as it ever was. While this romance is an
independent story, yet readers of "Riders of the Purple Sage" will
find in it an answer to a question often asked.
And from the story . . .
"I was stolen from my
mother's hogan and taken to California. They kept me ten years in a mission at
San Bernardino and four years in a school. They said my color and my hair were
all that was left of the Indian in me. But they could not see my heart. They
took fourteen years of my life. They wanted to make me a missionary among my
own people. But the white man's ways and his life and his God are not the
Indian's. They never can be." . . .
That night Shefford lay in
his blankets out under the open sky and the stars. The earth had never meant
much to him, and now it was a bed. He had preached of the heavens, but until
now had never studied them. An Indian slept beside him. And not until the gray
of morning had blotted out the starlight did Shefford close his eyes.
It is an interesting story, but here is where Grey's
heart is, in the description:
It was a valley, a cañon floor, so long that
he could not see the end, and perhaps a quarter of a mile wide. The air was
hot, still, and sweetly odorous of unfamiliar flowers. Piñon and cedar trees
surrounded the little log and stone houses, and along the walls of the cañon
stood sharp-pointed, dark-green spruce-trees. These walls were singular of
shape and color. They were not imposing in height, but they waved like the
long, undulating swell of a sea. Every foot of surface was perfectly smooth,
and the long curved lines of darker tinge that streaked the red followed the
rounded line of the slope at the top. Far above, yet overhanging, were great
yellow crags and peaks, and between these, still higher, showed the
pine-fringed slope of Navajo Mountain with snow in the sheltered places, and
glistening streams, like silver threads, running down.
He may be the most celebrated writer of "Westerns," but I think
he was a painter at heart.
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