Wednesday, June 29, 2016

FREE WATCH LOUIS L'AMOUR MOVIE - TREASURE OF THE RUBY HILLS

FREE "TREASURE OF THE RUBY HILLS" WESTERN MOVIE  BASED ON LOUIS L'AMOUR'S NOVEL "RIDER OF THE RUBY HILLS"
Starring Zachary Scott, Lola Albright, Barton MacLane, Raymond Hatton, Lee Van Cleef, and Glenn Strange.





CLICK HERE TO READ L'AMOUR'S ORIGINAL, UNCUT MAGAZINE VERSION THAT INSPIRED THE MOVIE - ONLY $2.99 IN KINDLE



READ CHAPTER 1 OF "THE RIDER OF THE RUBY HILLS" L'AMOUR NOVEL THAT INSPIRED THE MOVIE



THE RIDER OF THE RUBY HILLS

Chapter One


There was a lonely place where the trail ran up to the sky. It turned sharply left on the very point of a lofty promontory overlooking the long sweep of the valley below. Here the trail offered to the passerby a vision at this hour. Rosy-tipped peaks and distant purple mountains could be seen, beyond the far reach of the tall-grass range. Upon the very lip of the rocky shelf sat a solitary horseman. He was a man tall in the saddle, astride a strangely marked horse. Its head was held high, its ears were pricked forward with attention riveted upon the valley, as though in tune with the thoughts of its rider. Thoughts that said there lay a new country, with new dangers, new rewards, and new trails.
The rider was a tall man, narrow-hipped and powerful of chest and shoulder. His features were blunt and rugged, so that a watcher might have said: “Here is a man who is not handsome, but a fighter.” Yet he was good-looking in his own hard, confident way. He looked now as Cortez might have looked upon a valley in Mexico.
He came alone and penniless, but he did not come as one seeking favors. He did not come hunting a job. He came as a conqueror. For Ross Haney had made his decision. At twenty-seven he was broke. He sat in the middle of all he owned, a splendid Appaloosa gelding, a fine California saddle, a .44 Winchester rifle, and two walnut-stocked Colt .44 pistols. These were his all. Behind him was a life that had taken him from a cradle in a covered wagon to the hurricane deck of many a hardheaded bronco.
It was a life that had left him rich in experience, but poor in goods of the world. The experience was the hard-fisted experience of cold winters, dry ranges, and the dusty bitterness of cattle drives. He had fought Comanches and rustlers, hunted buffalo and horse thieves. Now he was going to ride for himself, to fight for himself.
His keen, dark eyes from under the flat black brim of his hat studied the country below with speculative glint. His judgment of terrain would have done credit to a general, and in his own way Ross Haney was a general. His arrival in the Ruby Valley country was in its way an invasion.
He was a young man with a purpose. He did not want wealth but a ranch, a well-watered ranch in a good stock country. That his pockets were empty did not worry him, for he had made up his mind, and, as men had discovered before this, Ross Haney with his mind made up was a force to be reckoned with. Nor was he riding blindly into a strange land. Like a good tactician he had gathered his information carefully, judged the situation, the terrain, and the enemy before he began his move.
This was a new country to him, but he knew the landmarks and the personalities. He knew the strength and the weaknesses of its rulers, knew the economic factors of their existence, knew the stresses and the strains within it. He knew that he rode into a valley at war – that blood had been shed, and that armed men rode its trails day and night. Into this land he rode a man alone, determined to have his own from the country, come what may, letting the chips fall where they might.
With a movement of his body he turned the gelding left down the trail into the pines, a trail where at this late hour it would soon be dark, a trail somber, majestic in its stillness under the columned trees.
As he moved under the trees, he removed his hat and rode slowly. It was good country, a country where a man could live and grow, and where, if he was lucky, he might have sons to grow tall and straight beside him. This he wanted. He wanted his own hearth fire, the creak of his own pump, the heads of his own horses looking over the gate bars for his hand to feed them. He wanted peace, and for it he came to a land at war.
A flicker of light caught his eye, and the faint smell of wood smoke. He turned the gelding toward the fire, and, when he was near, he swung down. The sun’s last rays lay bright through the pines upon this spot. The earth was trampled by hoofs, and in the fire itself the ashes were gray but for one tiny flame that thrust a bright spear upward from the end of a stick.
Studying the scene, his eyes held for an instant on one place where the parched grass had been blackened in a perfect ring. His eyes glinted with hard humor. A cinch-ring artist. Dropped her there to cool and she singed the grass. A pretty smooth gent, I’d say. Not slick enough, of course. A smarter man, or a less confident one, would have pulled up that handful of blackened grass and tossed it into the flames.
There had been two men here, his eyes told him. Two men and two horses. One of the men had been a big man with small feet. The impressions of his feet were deeper and he had mounted the largest horse.
Curious, he studied the scene. This was a new country for him and it behooved a man to know the local customs. He grinned at the thought. If cinch-ring branding was one of the local customs, it was a strange one. In most sections of the country the activity was frowned upon, to say the least. If an artist was caught pursuing his calling, he was likely to find himself at the wrong end of a hair rope with nothing under his feet.
The procedure was simple enough. One took a cinch ring from his own saddle gear and, holding it between a couple of sticks, used it when red-hot like any other branding iron. A good hand with a cinch ring could easily duplicate any known brand, depending only upon his degree of skill.
Ross rolled and lighted a smoke. If he were found on the spot, it would require explaining, and at the moment he had no intention of explaining anything. He swung his leg over the saddle and turned the gelding down trail once more.
Not three miles away lay the cow town known as Soledad. To his right, and about six miles away, was an imposing cluster of buildings shaded beneath a splendid grove of old cottonwoods. Somewhat nearer, and also well-shaded, was a smaller ranch.
Beyond the rocky ridge that stretched an anxious finger into the lush valley was Walt Pogue’s Box N spread. The farther ranch belonged to Chalk Reynolds, his RR outfit being easily the biggest in the Ruby Hills country. The nearer ranch belonged to Bob and Sherry Vernon.
“When thieves fall out,” Ross muttered aloud, “honest men get their dues. Or that’s what they say. Now I’m not laying any claim to being so completely honest, but there’s trouble brewing in this valley. When the battle smoke blows away, Ross Haney is going to be top dog on one of those ranches. They’ve got it all down there. They have range, money, power. They have gun hands riding for them, but you and me, Rio, we’ve only got each other.”
He was a lone wolf on the prowl. Down there they ran in packs, and he would circle the packs, alone. When the moment came, he would close in.
“There’s an old law, Rio, that only the strong survive,” he said. “Those ranches belong to men who were strong, and some of them still are. They were strong enough to take them from other men, from smaller men, weaker men. That’s the story of Reynolds and Pogue. They rustled cows until they grew big and now they sit on the housetops and crow. Or they did until they began fightin’ one another.”
“Your reasoning” – the cool, quiet voice was feminine – “is logical, but dangerous. I might suggest that, when you talk to your horse, you should be sure his are the only ears!”
She sat well in the saddle, poised and alert. There was a quirk of humor at the corners of her mouth, and nothing of coyness or fear in her manner. Every inch of her showed beauty, care, and consideration of appearances that were new to him, but beneath them there were both fire and steel – and quality.
“That’s good advice,” he agreed, measuring her with his eyes. “Very good advice.”
“Now that you’ve looked me over,” she suggested coolly, “would you like to examine my teeth for age?”
He grinned, unabashed. “No, but now that I’ve looked you over, I’d say you are pretty much of a woman. The kind that’s made for a man!”
She returned his glance, then smiled as if the remark had pleased her. So she changed the subject. “Just which ranch do you plan to be top dog on when the fighting is over?”
“I haven’t decided,” he said frankly. “I’m a right choosy sort of man when it comes to horses, ranches, and women!”
“Yes?” She glanced at the gelding. “I’d say your judgment of horses isn’t obvious by that one. Not that he isn’t well-shaped, and I imagine he could run, but you could do better.”
“I doubt it.” He glanced at her fine, clean-limbed thoroughbred. “I’d bet a little money he can outrun that beauty of yours, here to Soledad.”
Her eyes flashed. “Why, you idiot! Flame is the fastest horse in this country. He comes of racing stock!”
“I don’t doubt it,” Haney agreed. “He’s a fine horse. But I’ll bet my saddle against a hundred dollars that this Appaloosa will kick dust in his face before we get to Soledad!”
She laughed scornfully, and her head came up. “You’re on!” she cried, and her red horse gave a great bound and hit the trail running. That jump gave the bay the start, but Ross knew his gelding.
Leaning over, he yelled into the horse’s ear as they charged after the bay: “Come on, boy! We’ve got to beat that bay! We need the money!” And Rio, seeming to understand, stretched his legs and ran like a scared rabbit.
As they swept into the main road and in full sight of Soledad, the bay was leading by three lengths, but despite the miles behind it, the Appaloosa loved to run, and he was running now.
The gelding had blood of Arabians in his veins, and he was used to off-hand, cow camp style racing. The road took a small jog, but Ross did not swing the gelding around it, but took the desert and mountain-bred horse across the stones and through the mesquite, hitting the road scarcely a length behind the big red horse.
Men were gathering in the street and on the edge of town now and shouting about the racing horses. With a half mile to go the big red horse was slowing. He was a sprinter, but he had been living too well with too little running. The gelding was just beginning to run. Neck stretched, Ross leaning far forward to cut the wind resistance and lend impetus with his weight, the mustang thundered alongside the bay horse, and neck and neck they raced up to the town. Then, with the nearest building only a short jump ahead, Ross Haney spoke to the Appaloosa: “Now, Rio! Now!”
With a lunge, the spotted horse was past and went racing into the street leading by a length.
Ross eased back on the reins and let the horse run on down the street abreast of the big red horse. They slowed to a canter, then a walk. The girl’s eyes were wide and angry.
“You cheated! You cut across that bend!”
Ross chuckled. “You could have, miss! And you got off to a running start. Left me standing still!”
“I thought you wanted a race!” she protested scornfully. “You cheated me!”
Ross Haney drew up sharply, and his eyes went hard. “I reckon, ma’am,” he said, “you come from a long line of sportsmen! You can forget the bet!”
The sarcasm in his voice cut like a whip. She opened her mouth to speak, but he had turned the Appaloosa away and was walking it back toward the center of town.
For an instant, she started to follow, and then with a toss of her head, she let him go.



CLICK HERE TO CONTINUE READING L'AMOUR'S ORIGINAL, UNCUT MAGAZINE VERSION THAT INSPIRED THE MOVIE - ONLY $2.99 IN KINDLE


FREE WATCH LOUIS L'AMOUR MOVIE - TREASURE OF THE RUBY HILLS

FREE "TREASURE OF THE RUBY HILLS" WESTERN MOVIE  BASED ON LOUIS L'AMOUR'S NOVEL "RIDER OF THE RUBY HILLS"
Starring Zachary Scott, Lola Albright, Barton MacLane, Raymond Hatton, Lee Van Cleef, and Glenn Strange.





CLICK HERE TO READ L'AMOUR'S ORIGINAL, UNCUT MAGAZINE VERSION THAT INSPIRED THE MOVIE - ONLY $2.99 IN KINDLE



READ CHAPTER 1 OF "THE RIDER OF THE RUBY HILLS" L'AMOUR NOVEL THAT INSPIRED THE MOVIE



THE RIDER OF THE RUBY HILLS

Chapter One


There was a lonely place where the trail ran up to the sky. It turned sharply left on the very point of a lofty promontory overlooking the long sweep of the valley below. Here the trail offered to the passerby a vision at this hour. Rosy-tipped peaks and distant purple mountains could be seen, beyond the far reach of the tall-grass range. Upon the very lip of the rocky shelf sat a solitary horseman. He was a man tall in the saddle, astride a strangely marked horse. Its head was held high, its ears were pricked forward with attention riveted upon the valley, as though in tune with the thoughts of its rider. Thoughts that said there lay a new country, with new dangers, new rewards, and new trails.
The rider was a tall man, narrow-hipped and powerful of chest and shoulder. His features were blunt and rugged, so that a watcher might have said: “Here is a man who is not handsome, but a fighter.” Yet he was good-looking in his own hard, confident way. He looked now as Cortez might have looked upon a valley in Mexico.
He came alone and penniless, but he did not come as one seeking favors. He did not come hunting a job. He came as a conqueror. For Ross Haney had made his decision. At twenty-seven he was broke. He sat in the middle of all he owned, a splendid Appaloosa gelding, a fine California saddle, a .44 Winchester rifle, and two walnut-stocked Colt .44 pistols. These were his all. Behind him was a life that had taken him from a cradle in a covered wagon to the hurricane deck of many a hardheaded bronco.
It was a life that had left him rich in experience, but poor in goods of the world. The experience was the hard-fisted experience of cold winters, dry ranges, and the dusty bitterness of cattle drives. He had fought Comanches and rustlers, hunted buffalo and horse thieves. Now he was going to ride for himself, to fight for himself.
His keen, dark eyes from under the flat black brim of his hat studied the country below with speculative glint. His judgment of terrain would have done credit to a general, and in his own way Ross Haney was a general. His arrival in the Ruby Valley country was in its way an invasion.
He was a young man with a purpose. He did not want wealth but a ranch, a well-watered ranch in a good stock country. That his pockets were empty did not worry him, for he had made up his mind, and, as men had discovered before this, Ross Haney with his mind made up was a force to be reckoned with. Nor was he riding blindly into a strange land. Like a good tactician he had gathered his information carefully, judged the situation, the terrain, and the enemy before he began his move.
This was a new country to him, but he knew the landmarks and the personalities. He knew the strength and the weaknesses of its rulers, knew the economic factors of their existence, knew the stresses and the strains within it. He knew that he rode into a valley at war – that blood had been shed, and that armed men rode its trails day and night. Into this land he rode a man alone, determined to have his own from the country, come what may, letting the chips fall where they might.
With a movement of his body he turned the gelding left down the trail into the pines, a trail where at this late hour it would soon be dark, a trail somber, majestic in its stillness under the columned trees.
As he moved under the trees, he removed his hat and rode slowly. It was good country, a country where a man could live and grow, and where, if he was lucky, he might have sons to grow tall and straight beside him. This he wanted. He wanted his own hearth fire, the creak of his own pump, the heads of his own horses looking over the gate bars for his hand to feed them. He wanted peace, and for it he came to a land at war.
A flicker of light caught his eye, and the faint smell of wood smoke. He turned the gelding toward the fire, and, when he was near, he swung down. The sun’s last rays lay bright through the pines upon this spot. The earth was trampled by hoofs, and in the fire itself the ashes were gray but for one tiny flame that thrust a bright spear upward from the end of a stick.
Studying the scene, his eyes held for an instant on one place where the parched grass had been blackened in a perfect ring. His eyes glinted with hard humor. A cinch-ring artist. Dropped her there to cool and she singed the grass. A pretty smooth gent, I’d say. Not slick enough, of course. A smarter man, or a less confident one, would have pulled up that handful of blackened grass and tossed it into the flames.
There had been two men here, his eyes told him. Two men and two horses. One of the men had been a big man with small feet. The impressions of his feet were deeper and he had mounted the largest horse.
Curious, he studied the scene. This was a new country for him and it behooved a man to know the local customs. He grinned at the thought. If cinch-ring branding was one of the local customs, it was a strange one. In most sections of the country the activity was frowned upon, to say the least. If an artist was caught pursuing his calling, he was likely to find himself at the wrong end of a hair rope with nothing under his feet.
The procedure was simple enough. One took a cinch ring from his own saddle gear and, holding it between a couple of sticks, used it when red-hot like any other branding iron. A good hand with a cinch ring could easily duplicate any known brand, depending only upon his degree of skill.
Ross rolled and lighted a smoke. If he were found on the spot, it would require explaining, and at the moment he had no intention of explaining anything. He swung his leg over the saddle and turned the gelding down trail once more.
Not three miles away lay the cow town known as Soledad. To his right, and about six miles away, was an imposing cluster of buildings shaded beneath a splendid grove of old cottonwoods. Somewhat nearer, and also well-shaded, was a smaller ranch.
Beyond the rocky ridge that stretched an anxious finger into the lush valley was Walt Pogue’s Box N spread. The farther ranch belonged to Chalk Reynolds, his RR outfit being easily the biggest in the Ruby Hills country. The nearer ranch belonged to Bob and Sherry Vernon.
“When thieves fall out,” Ross muttered aloud, “honest men get their dues. Or that’s what they say. Now I’m not laying any claim to being so completely honest, but there’s trouble brewing in this valley. When the battle smoke blows away, Ross Haney is going to be top dog on one of those ranches. They’ve got it all down there. They have range, money, power. They have gun hands riding for them, but you and me, Rio, we’ve only got each other.”
He was a lone wolf on the prowl. Down there they ran in packs, and he would circle the packs, alone. When the moment came, he would close in.
“There’s an old law, Rio, that only the strong survive,” he said. “Those ranches belong to men who were strong, and some of them still are. They were strong enough to take them from other men, from smaller men, weaker men. That’s the story of Reynolds and Pogue. They rustled cows until they grew big and now they sit on the housetops and crow. Or they did until they began fightin’ one another.”
“Your reasoning” – the cool, quiet voice was feminine – “is logical, but dangerous. I might suggest that, when you talk to your horse, you should be sure his are the only ears!”
She sat well in the saddle, poised and alert. There was a quirk of humor at the corners of her mouth, and nothing of coyness or fear in her manner. Every inch of her showed beauty, care, and consideration of appearances that were new to him, but beneath them there were both fire and steel – and quality.
“That’s good advice,” he agreed, measuring her with his eyes. “Very good advice.”
“Now that you’ve looked me over,” she suggested coolly, “would you like to examine my teeth for age?”
He grinned, unabashed. “No, but now that I’ve looked you over, I’d say you are pretty much of a woman. The kind that’s made for a man!”
She returned his glance, then smiled as if the remark had pleased her. So she changed the subject. “Just which ranch do you plan to be top dog on when the fighting is over?”
“I haven’t decided,” he said frankly. “I’m a right choosy sort of man when it comes to horses, ranches, and women!”
“Yes?” She glanced at the gelding. “I’d say your judgment of horses isn’t obvious by that one. Not that he isn’t well-shaped, and I imagine he could run, but you could do better.”
“I doubt it.” He glanced at her fine, clean-limbed thoroughbred. “I’d bet a little money he can outrun that beauty of yours, here to Soledad.”
Her eyes flashed. “Why, you idiot! Flame is the fastest horse in this country. He comes of racing stock!”
“I don’t doubt it,” Haney agreed. “He’s a fine horse. But I’ll bet my saddle against a hundred dollars that this Appaloosa will kick dust in his face before we get to Soledad!”
She laughed scornfully, and her head came up. “You’re on!” she cried, and her red horse gave a great bound and hit the trail running. That jump gave the bay the start, but Ross knew his gelding.
Leaning over, he yelled into the horse’s ear as they charged after the bay: “Come on, boy! We’ve got to beat that bay! We need the money!” And Rio, seeming to understand, stretched his legs and ran like a scared rabbit.
As they swept into the main road and in full sight of Soledad, the bay was leading by three lengths, but despite the miles behind it, the Appaloosa loved to run, and he was running now.
The gelding had blood of Arabians in his veins, and he was used to off-hand, cow camp style racing. The road took a small jog, but Ross did not swing the gelding around it, but took the desert and mountain-bred horse across the stones and through the mesquite, hitting the road scarcely a length behind the big red horse.
Men were gathering in the street and on the edge of town now and shouting about the racing horses. With a half mile to go the big red horse was slowing. He was a sprinter, but he had been living too well with too little running. The gelding was just beginning to run. Neck stretched, Ross leaning far forward to cut the wind resistance and lend impetus with his weight, the mustang thundered alongside the bay horse, and neck and neck they raced up to the town. Then, with the nearest building only a short jump ahead, Ross Haney spoke to the Appaloosa: “Now, Rio! Now!”
With a lunge, the spotted horse was past and went racing into the street leading by a length.
Ross eased back on the reins and let the horse run on down the street abreast of the big red horse. They slowed to a canter, then a walk. The girl’s eyes were wide and angry.
“You cheated! You cut across that bend!”
Ross chuckled. “You could have, miss! And you got off to a running start. Left me standing still!”
“I thought you wanted a race!” she protested scornfully. “You cheated me!”
Ross Haney drew up sharply, and his eyes went hard. “I reckon, ma’am,” he said, “you come from a long line of sportsmen! You can forget the bet!”
The sarcasm in his voice cut like a whip. She opened her mouth to speak, but he had turned the Appaloosa away and was walking it back toward the center of town.
For an instant, she started to follow, and then with a toss of her head, she let him go.



CLICK HERE TO CONTINUE READING L'AMOUR'S ORIGINAL, UNCUT MAGAZINE VERSION THAT INSPIRED THE MOVIE - ONLY $2.99 IN KINDLE


Friday, June 5, 2015

The Biggest LouisLAmour Bargain Ever! Four Complete Western Novels For Just $3.99!


Four full-length novels by the king of western tales, Louis L'Amour, reprinted from his original magazine versions before his paperback publishers demanded changes.

This quartet contains four of Louis L'Amour's earliest novels, books that earned him an enviable reputation as the best western writer since Zane Grey and Max Brand. They helped pave the way for the phenomenal success and career that made him a household name.

RIDERS OF THE DAWN - When gunman Matt Sabre tries to make peace he finds the only way is through the liberal use of gunsmoke.

LIT A SHUCK FOR TEXAS - A collection of the early Western tales that drew on his own intimate knowledge of the frontier. Men and women fighting to build a life in a lawless world.

TRAIL TO CRAZY MAN - Honor leads Rafe Caradec into deadly danger against the greatest odds he has ever faced

SHOWDOWN TRAIL - Only the lone rider they hate can save a wagon train from destruction.Filmed as The Tall Stranger with Joel McCrea, Virginia Mayo and Michael Ansara.

The biggest bargain in L'Amour books ever.

Friday, November 14, 2014

GREAT REVIEW FOR OUR HOLLYWOOD COWBOY DETECTIVES SERIES

Mystery at Movie Ranch by Darryle Purcell
 A Buckskin Editions Western
 Reviewed by Jonathan G. Jensen at The Adventure Continues Blog


 This first turned up in my emails wanting me, ME! To do a review of it.  Well, hell, why not, I mean I like western pulp stories as well as the next guy or gal.  I mean I write about plenty of the ones I get out there, so why not?  As it turns out, I don't like reading BOOKS on line, yet that is, so I asked for a print edition of it and got sent one.  Pretty cool, I must say on their part.  I just like having the thing in hand, its that collector of paper in me that's the culprit!  I'm excited about reading my first "new" pulp story, OK, I have read some in Planetary Stories and have drawn some illo's for same, and yeah, guilty of reading on line, you can read them also at Planetarystories.com   Back to Darryle's story. As
it turns out Darryle is a retired reporter for a LA newspaper and  political cartoonist to boot!  He did the cover and several illustrations for the interior, not too shabby!  I would like to see a beautiful babe on the cover, like Earl Bergey would have done for say Startling Stories, brass bra's and all!  But, that's me and my pulp tastes, a cowboy, smoking gun, Bi-plane, and strange monster, will do the job nicely!  Suffice it to say there is no brass bra-ed woman in the story, but boy is there everything else!
 Seems to me that Mr Purcell was out to write only one pulp western as he has everything going into this one from flying-saucers to the FBI and the mafia.  Its everything a pulp story has going for it, wild situations, oh, and a beautiful love interest too, gotta have one of those, but usually not in the pulps as a rule.  It reads like a story from Ray Palmers' Fantastic Adventures, a little humor: "That's me-Sean Woods ( the Hollywood in- house press dude/detective in the story).  Everyone calls me Curly because, well, they're assholes."  And, a lot of action, it starts right out with Ken Maynard ( yup that KM) falling out on his face, dead drunk, so much for slam-bang action, that will start tomorrow on the movie set.  Just in the first few pages alone, fast cars, snipers, the posse, movie making descriptions of a low budget outfit, fights and woman! 
 I enjoyed his descriptions of how movies are made in different sequences and assembled later to fit the continuity.  His (Ken Maynard in the story) conversation of movie horses was pretty cool in and of itself, how they could make any cowboy look good, stop on their marks and smile for the camera too!
 Can order the Kindle edition or possibly the print edition also.
 I find overall that the print edition was well done, I especially appreciate the the large print size helps me plenty!  I think too, that it lives up to being a real page turner, very easy to read, love the guest appearances by Hoot Gibson, Thelma Todd and others of that era.   I had a good time reading this, recommend it to you all who like old western movies and serials too.


Monday, September 8, 2014

FREE WATCH SIX GREAT RANDOLPH SCOTT WESTERNS FREE - NO CATCHES OR MEMBERSHIP

Buckskin Editions, publishers of new and legendary western novels in the classic style, is proud to present for your entertainment 6 of this movie legend's finest rangeland films. Randolph Scott, more than a quarter century after his death, remains one of the most popular and enduring western stars of all time. The quality of the movies he starred in, scripting, directing, photography, was consistently higher than than that of any other western actor, even John Wayne, many of whose later films were intended to be merely pleasant time-passers. But not so Randolph Scott. We can guarantee you will enjoy each and every one of these films. just click on one of the "play" buttons below and start watching now. Whether you are just discovering Scott, or a longtime fan, there are hours of frontier viewing pleasure ahead. If you enjoy these movies, we hope you will want to explore our select catalog of western novels by such famed masters as Max Brand, Louis L'Amour, and Zane Grey, plus new western masterpieces by Darryle Purcelle, Charles Lee Jackson II, and others.






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We hope you enjoy all these movies, and that you will visit our catalog page and look over our selection of Louis L'Amour, Zane Grey and Max Brand western novels.

And if you love B-movie westerns, you may want to check out Darryle Purcell's mystery-western mashups, the Hollywood Cowboy Detectives' novels, featuring famed real-life stars Ken Maynard and Hoot Gibson as they fight mobsters and mad men in 1930s Los Angeles. 

http://buckskineditions.blogspot.com/2014/09/free-chapters-mystery-at-movie-ranch.html

Read a Free Sample Chapter now!