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Excerpt from The Adventures of a Woman Hobo That is what Dr. Graves said to me today and he is in a position to know what he is talking about. But I can't believe it! Why, I can do the work of two women. Haven't I supported myself since I was fifteen years old, worked my way through Medi cal College and built up a city practice by my own, unaided efforts? Besides, every one says I am the picture of health. My five feet eight of energised muscle, my high colour, my breadth of shoulder, all seem to give such, a diagnosis the lie. About the Publisher Forgotten Books publishes hundreds of thousands of rare and classic books. Find more at www.forgottenbooks.com This book is a reproduction of an important historical work. Forgotten Books uses state-of-the-art technology to digitally reconstruct the work, preserving the original format whilst repairing imperfections present in the aged copy. In rare cases, an imperfection in the original, such as a blemish or missing page, may be replicated in our edition. We do, however, repair the vast majority of imperfections successfully; any imperfections that remain are intentionally left to preserve the state of such historical works.

This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can usually download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1917 edition. Excerpt: ... ELEVEN Aboard a Modern Prairie Schooner. Dates are a thing of the past along with newspapers, street cars, electric lights, the hope of a speedy arrival in California, and last, but not least, our faithful companion, the stout, green tandem. And it came about thus: We had reached a country of great level stretches, with grazing cattle and raw looking farms, of infrequent water and distant ranges of bare, blue mountains. Following a barbed wire fence, our road turned at right angles to the north, whereas the way should have been open straight into the west where a more fertile region was blazoned forth in masses of green and long strips of yellow. We stopped at a rude cabin which crouched, mouse-like, at the turn in the road, to fill the canteen. A woman, withered and sunbrowned and worn by pathetically futile efforts to maintain a home in an unfriendly land, answered my knock. She informed us that the fenced range that blocked our path was part of a great holding to the south, which projected a long tentacle to enfold a source of lifegiving water far to the north. Thus, we needs must make a great detour to reach the point to the west of us where the highway again took up its march toward the setting sun. This strip, it appeared, was but a scant three miles in width, and we were at once filled with the idea of walking across instead of riding so far around. After some manoeuvring, we succeeded in crowding the wheel beneath the barbed strands and set off across the prairie, which was almost as hard and bare as the county road. We had not gone far when a group of cattle caught sight of us and moved up to inspect the strange intruders. These were followed by others, which seemed a signal to hundreds. Soon a dense mass was tagging at our...