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Samuel R. George

Samuel R. George, Author of Journey to Ansinthe

   Samuel R. George is a graduate of University of Colorado in Boulder. He lives and works in New Orleans. 

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Journey to Absentia by Samuel R. George


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Journey to Absentia by Samuel R. George

    Marvel to the flight of a glider piloted by a pick-pocketing, cigar-smoking chimpanzee. Meet a giant unknown variety of lizard that drinks absinthe. Find out How the Peyote Kid got his name. Follow Smith and Jones as they flee from killers, and then pursue them in an adventure about gold, ancient Sumerian cuneiform seals, and alien crystals. Witness the light-hearted adventure of Romulus; a pet vulture, Kanthaka; a spirited Shetland pony, and Doc’s often belligerent gelding, Herodotus.
   You will become friends with a child who makes horses dance, witness loud smoky gunfights, meet the rich and mysterious Comte de Saint-Germaine; follow the adventures of Old Doc, his sidekick the Peyote Kid, and the woman Doc loves, Miss Charlotte.

   Thrill to amazing escapes from dangerous situations and bad men, but beware; you will encounter hopeless calamities in which the outcome is not always favorable . . .

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File Format: PDF                  Price: $3.99



     The machine needed a pilot who possessed all four limbs. However, the men at this encampment were all veterans of the War Between the States; therefore very few could present more than three. But those very few absolutely refused to go flying in the infernal contraption. It might go tumbling down the mountainside. Not that they doubted it could fly, it was just too unnatural a thing to trust.
     Old Doc looked over the scruffy crew and chuckled to himself. They were good boys, if a little crazy. He had known most of them since the war; had removed quite a few of their missing limbs, as a matter of fact. These fellows hadn’t changed much since those days; they seemed to miss the war. They relived it every day, whereas Doc seldom thought about it, though involuntarily, war images would creep into his thoughts early in the morning before he had his coffee. At these moments, long dead soldiers would pass through his mind. He saluted them all, even the Yankees, even the deserters. The men at this camp, with the exception of Cooper, had retained that one brief moment of American history, the early 1860’s. Cooper, the only Yankee there, wore a straw hat and overalls. The Southerners, although not exactly in uniform, all wore at least one garment from the old Confederacy. Many still had their ageing grey caps. Doc didn’t want to live up here with them, but he liked to visit occasionally; they were a refreshing change of pace.
     Cooper had explained to Doc that the invention was actually a glider; a true flying machine would have its own propulsion. Doc was afraid they might try to cajole him into flying the craft. But no, they had trained a chimpanzee for that.
     “I’ll be damned,” said Doc, truly impressed. “You mean to tell me that a monkey has already flown this device?”
     “That’s right, Doc,” Cooper replied. “Lincoln has an excellent grasp of the controls, and has made dozens of successful landings.” He frowned. “He wrecked it last week, but we repaired the machine, and he knows his mistake now. He had pulled back just a little too early. If he’d stalled her just two feet off the ground instead of ten, everything would have been dandy. Instead he fell like a rock.”
     “I see,” said Doc. “But how did you communicate that to him?”
     “That was Stumpy’s doing. Old Stump had John play his fiddle for ‘Pull!’ or Julius strum his banjo for ‘Push!’ Once Lincoln understood this, we pulled him around until he had the hang of it. He doesn’t need them now, but they stand by with their instruments just in case.”
     “You fellows seem to have it all worked out,” Doc said.
     “This morning we gave her an entire new canvas, the glider is better than ever, Lincoln will not even put a strain on it. But we towed him over level ground. He hasn’t yet taken it over the cliff, which is what we hope to accomplish today.”                                Back to Journey to Absentia