章节正文
expected. Windy Bill brought us to consciousness by a wild yell.
Consciousness reported to us a strange, hurried sound like the
long roll on a drum. Investigation showed us that this cave,
too, had sprung a leak; not with any premonitory drip, but all at
once, as though someone had turned on a faucet. In ten seconds a
very competent streamlet six inches wide had eroded a course down
through the guano, past the fire and to the outer slope. And by
the irony of fate that one--and only one--leak in all the roof
expanse of a big cave was directly over one end of our tiny
ledge. The Cattleman laughed.
"Reminds me of the old farmer and his kind friend," said he.
"Kind friend hunts up the old farmer in the village.
"'John,' says he, 'I've bad news for you. Your barn has burned
up.'
"'My Lord!' says the farmer.
"'But that ain't the worst. Your cow was burned, too.'
"'My Lord!' says the farmer.
"'But that ain't the worst. Your horses were burned.'
"'My Lord!' says the farmer.
"'But, that ain't the worst. The barn set fire to the house, and
it was burned--total loss.'
"'My Lord!' groans the farmer.
"'But that ain't the worst. Your wife and child were killed,
too.'
"'At that the farmer began to roar with laughter.
"'Good heavens, man!' cries his friend, astonished, 'what in
the world do you find to laugh at in that?'
"'Don't you see?' answers the farmer. 'Why, it's so darn
COMPLETE!'
"Well," finished the Cattleman, "that's what strikes me about
our case; it's so darn complete!"
"What time is it?" asked Windy Bill.
"Midnight," I announced.
"Lord! Six hours to day!" groaned Windy Bill. "How'd you like to
be doin' a nice quiet job at gardenin' in the East where you
could belly up to the bar reg'lar every evenin', and drink a
pussy cafe and smoke tailor-made cigareets?"
"You wouldn't like it a bit," put in the Cattleman with decision;
whereupon in proof he told us the following story:
Windy has mentioned Gentleman Tim, and that reminded me of the
first time I ever saw him. He was an Irishman all right, but he
had been educated in England, and except for his accent he was
more an Englishman than anything else. A freightoutfit brought
him into Tucson from Santa Fe and dumped him down on the plaza,
where at once every idler in town gathered to quiz him.
Certainly he was one of the greenest specimens I ever saw in this
country. He had on a pair of balloon pants and a Norfolk jacket,
and was surrounded by a half-dozen baby trunks. His face was
red-cheeked and aggressively clean, and his eye limpid as a
child's. Most of those present thought that indicated
childishness; but I could see that it was only utter
self-unconsciousness.
It seemed that he was out for big game, and intended to go after
silver-tips somewhere in these very mountains. Of course he was
offered plenty of advice, and would probably have made
engagements much to be regretted had I not taken a strong fancy
to him.
"My friend," said I, drawing him aside, "I don't want to be
inquisitive, but what might you do when you're home?"
"I'm a younger son," said he. I was green myself in those days,
and knew nothing of primogeniture.
"That is a very interesting piece of family history," said I,
"but it does not answer my question."
He smiled.
"Well now, I hadn't thought of that," said he, "but in a manner
of speaking, it does. I do nothing."
"Well," said I, unabashed, "if you saw me trying to be a younger
son and likely to forget myself and do something without meaning
to, wouldn't you be apt to warn me?"
"Well, 'pon honour, you're a queer chap. What do you mean?"
"I mean that if you hire any of those men to guide you in the
mountains, you'll be outrageously cheated, and will be lucky if
you're not gobbled by Apaches."
"Do you do any guiding yourself, now?" he asked, most innocent of
manner.
But I flared up.
"You damn ungrateful pup," I said, "go to the devil in your
own way," and turned square on my heel.
But the young man was at my elbow, his hand on my shoulder.
"Oh, I say now, I'm sorry. I didn't rightly understand. Do
wait one moment until I dispose of these boxes of mine, and then
I want the honour of your further acquaintance."
He got some Greasers to take his trunks over to the hotel, then
linked his arm in mine most engagingly.
"Now, my dear chap," said he, "let's go somewhere for a B & S,
and find out about each other."
We were both young and expansive. We exchanged views, names,
and confidences, and before noon we had arranged to hunt
together, I to collect the outfit.
The upshot of the matter was that the Honourable Timothy Clare
and I had a most excellent month's excursion, shot several good
bear, and returned to Tucson the best of friends.
At Tucson was Schiefflein and his stories of a big strike down
in the Apache country. Nothing would do but that we should both
go to see for ourselves. We joined the second expedition; crept
in the gullies, tied bushes about ourselves when monumenting
corners, and so helped establish the town of Tombstone. We made
nothing, nor attempted to. Neither of us knew anything of
mining, but we were both thirsty for adventure, and took a
schoolboy delight in playing the game of life or death with the
Chiricahuas.
In fact, I never saw anybody take to the wild life as eagerly as
the Honourable Timothy Clare. He wanted to attempt everything.
With him it was no sooner see than try, and he had such an
abundance of enthusiasm that he generally succeeded. The balloon
pants soon went. In a month his outfit was irreproachable. He
used to study us by the hour, taking in every detail of our
equipment, from the smallest to the most important. Then he
asked questions. For all his desire to be one of the country, he
was never ashamed to acknowledge his ignorance.
"Now, don't you chaps think it silly to wear such high heels to
your boots?" he would ask. "It seems to me a very useless sort
of vanity."
"No vanity about it, Tim," I explained. "In the first place, it
keeps your foot from slipping through the stirrup. In the second
place, it is good to grip on the ground when you're roping
afoot."
"By Jove, that's true!" he cried.
So he'd get him a pair of boots. For a while it was enough to
wear and own all these things. He seemed to delight in his
six-shooter and his rope just as ornaments to himself and horse.
But he soon got over that. Then he had to learn to use them.
For the time being, pistol practice, for instance, would absorb
all his thoughts. He'd bang away at intervals all day, and
figure out new theories all night.
"That bally scheme won't work," he would complain. "I believe if
I extended my thumb along the cylinder it would help that side
jump."
He was always easing the trigger-pull, or filing the sights. In
time he got to be a fairly accurate and very quick shot.
The same way with roping and hog-tying and all the rest.
"What's the use?" I used to ask him. "If you were going to be a
buckeroo, you couldn't go into harder training."
"I like it," was always his answer.
He had only one real vice, that I could see. He would gamble.
Stud poker was his favourite; and I never saw a Britisher yet who
could play poker. I used to head him off, when I could, and he
was always grateful, but the passion was strong.
After we got back from founding Tombstone I was busted and had to
go to work.
"I've got plenty," said Tim, "and it's all yours."
"I know, old fellow," I told him, "but your money wouldn't do for
me."
Buck Johnson was just seeing his chance then, and was preparing
to take some breeding cattle over into the Soda Springs Valley.
Everybody laughed at him--said it was right in the line of the
Chiricahua raids, which was true. But Buck had been in there
with Agency steers, and thought he knew. So he collected a trail
crew, brought some Oregon cattle across, and built his home ranch
of three-foot adobe walls with portholes. I joined the trail
crew; and somehow or another the Honourable Timothy got
permission to go along on his own hook.
The trail was a long one. We had thirst and heat and stampedes
and some Indian scares. But in the queer atmospheric conditions
that prevailed that summer, I never saw the desert more
wonderful. It was like waking to the glory of God to sit up at
dawn and see the colours change on the dry ranges.
At the home ranch, again, Tim managed to get permission to stay
on. He kept his own mount of horses, took care of them, hunted,
and took part in all the cow work. We lost some cattle from
Indians, of course, but it was too near the Reservation for them
to do more than pick up a few stray head on their way through.
The troops were always after them full jump, and so they never
had time to round up the beef. But of course we had to look out
or we'd lose our hair, and many a cowboy has won out to the home
ranch in an almighty exciting race. This was nuts for the
Honourable Timothy Clare, much better than hunting silver-tips,
and he enjoyed it no limit.
Things went along that way for some time, until one evening as
I was turning out the horses a buckboard drew in, and from it
descended Tony Briggs and a dapper little fellow dressed all
in black and with a plug hat.
"Which I accounts for said hat reachin' the ranch, because it's
Friday and the boys not in town," Tony whispered to me.
As I happened to be the only man in sight, the stranger addressed
me.
"I am looking," said he in a peculiar, sing-song manner I have
since learned to be English, "for the Honourable Timothy Clare.
Is he here?"
"Oh, you're looking for him are you?" said I. "And who might you
be?"
You see, I liked Tim, and I didn't intend to deliver him over
into trouble.
The man picked a pair of eye-glasses off his stomach where they
dangled at the end of a chain, perched them on his nose, and
stared me over. I must have looked uncompromising, for after a
few seconds he abruptly wrinkled his nose so that the glasses
fell promptly to his stomach again, felt his waistcoat pocket,
and produced a card. I took it, and read:
JEFFRIES CASE, Barrister.
"A lawyer!" said I suspiciously.
"My dear man," he rejoined with a slight impatience, "I am not
here to do your young friend a harm. In fact, my firm have been
his family solicitors for generations."
"Very well," I agreed, and led the way to the one-room adobe that
Tim and I occupied.
If I had expected an enthusiastic greeting for the boyhood friend
from the old home, I would have been disappointed. Tim was
sitting with his back to the door reading an old magazine. When
we entered he glanced over his shoulder.
"Ah, Case," said he, and went on reading. After a moment he said
Consciousness reported to us a strange, hurried sound like the
long roll on a drum. Investigation showed us that this cave,
too, had sprung a leak; not with any premonitory drip, but all at
once, as though someone had turned on a faucet. In ten seconds a
very competent streamlet six inches wide had eroded a course down
through the guano, past the fire and to the outer slope. And by
the irony of fate that one--and only one--leak in all the roof
expanse of a big cave was directly over one end of our tiny
ledge. The Cattleman laughed.
"Reminds me of the old farmer and his kind friend," said he.
"Kind friend hunts up the old farmer in the village.
"'John,' says he, 'I've bad news for you. Your barn has burned
up.'
"'My Lord!' says the farmer.
"'But that ain't the worst. Your cow was burned, too.'
"'My Lord!' says the farmer.
"'But that ain't the worst. Your horses were burned.'
"'My Lord!' says the farmer.
"'But, that ain't the worst. The barn set fire to the house, and
it was burned--total loss.'
"'My Lord!' groans the farmer.
"'But that ain't the worst. Your wife and child were killed,
too.'
"'At that the farmer began to roar with laughter.
"'Good heavens, man!' cries his friend, astonished, 'what in
the world do you find to laugh at in that?'
"'Don't you see?' answers the farmer. 'Why, it's so darn
COMPLETE!'
"Well," finished the Cattleman, "that's what strikes me about
our case; it's so darn complete!"
"What time is it?" asked Windy Bill.
"Midnight," I announced.
"Lord! Six hours to day!" groaned Windy Bill. "How'd you like to
be doin' a nice quiet job at gardenin' in the East where you
could belly up to the bar reg'lar every evenin', and drink a
pussy cafe and smoke tailor-made cigareets?"
"You wouldn't like it a bit," put in the Cattleman with decision;
whereupon in proof he told us the following story:
Windy has mentioned Gentleman Tim, and that reminded me of the
first time I ever saw him. He was an Irishman all right, but he
had been educated in England, and except for his accent he was
more an Englishman than anything else. A freightoutfit brought
him into Tucson from Santa Fe and dumped him down on the plaza,
where at once every idler in town gathered to quiz him.
Certainly he was one of the greenest specimens I ever saw in this
country. He had on a pair of balloon pants and a Norfolk jacket,
and was surrounded by a half-dozen baby trunks. His face was
red-cheeked and aggressively clean, and his eye limpid as a
child's. Most of those present thought that indicated
childishness; but I could see that it was only utter
self-unconsciousness.
It seemed that he was out for big game, and intended to go after
silver-tips somewhere in these very mountains. Of course he was
offered plenty of advice, and would probably have made
engagements much to be regretted had I not taken a strong fancy
to him.
"My friend," said I, drawing him aside, "I don't want to be
inquisitive, but what might you do when you're home?"
"I'm a younger son," said he. I was green myself in those days,
and knew nothing of primogeniture.
"That is a very interesting piece of family history," said I,
"but it does not answer my question."
He smiled.
"Well now, I hadn't thought of that," said he, "but in a manner
of speaking, it does. I do nothing."
"Well," said I, unabashed, "if you saw me trying to be a younger
son and likely to forget myself and do something without meaning
to, wouldn't you be apt to warn me?"
"Well, 'pon honour, you're a queer chap. What do you mean?"
"I mean that if you hire any of those men to guide you in the
mountains, you'll be outrageously cheated, and will be lucky if
you're not gobbled by Apaches."
"Do you do any guiding yourself, now?" he asked, most innocent of
manner.
But I flared up.
"You damn ungrateful pup," I said, "go to the devil in your
own way," and turned square on my heel.
But the young man was at my elbow, his hand on my shoulder.
"Oh, I say now, I'm sorry. I didn't rightly understand. Do
wait one moment until I dispose of these boxes of mine, and then
I want the honour of your further acquaintance."
He got some Greasers to take his trunks over to the hotel, then
linked his arm in mine most engagingly.
"Now, my dear chap," said he, "let's go somewhere for a B & S,
and find out about each other."
We were both young and expansive. We exchanged views, names,
and confidences, and before noon we had arranged to hunt
together, I to collect the outfit.
The upshot of the matter was that the Honourable Timothy Clare
and I had a most excellent month's excursion, shot several good
bear, and returned to Tucson the best of friends.
At Tucson was Schiefflein and his stories of a big strike down
in the Apache country. Nothing would do but that we should both
go to see for ourselves. We joined the second expedition; crept
in the gullies, tied bushes about ourselves when monumenting
corners, and so helped establish the town of Tombstone. We made
nothing, nor attempted to. Neither of us knew anything of
mining, but we were both thirsty for adventure, and took a
schoolboy delight in playing the game of life or death with the
Chiricahuas.
In fact, I never saw anybody take to the wild life as eagerly as
the Honourable Timothy Clare. He wanted to attempt everything.
With him it was no sooner see than try, and he had such an
abundance of enthusiasm that he generally succeeded. The balloon
pants soon went. In a month his outfit was irreproachable. He
used to study us by the hour, taking in every detail of our
equipment, from the smallest to the most important. Then he
asked questions. For all his desire to be one of the country, he
was never ashamed to acknowledge his ignorance.
"Now, don't you chaps think it silly to wear such high heels to
your boots?" he would ask. "It seems to me a very useless sort
of vanity."
"No vanity about it, Tim," I explained. "In the first place, it
keeps your foot from slipping through the stirrup. In the second
place, it is good to grip on the ground when you're roping
afoot."
"By Jove, that's true!" he cried.
So he'd get him a pair of boots. For a while it was enough to
wear and own all these things. He seemed to delight in his
six-shooter and his rope just as ornaments to himself and horse.
But he soon got over that. Then he had to learn to use them.
For the time being, pistol practice, for instance, would absorb
all his thoughts. He'd bang away at intervals all day, and
figure out new theories all night.
"That bally scheme won't work," he would complain. "I believe if
I extended my thumb along the cylinder it would help that side
jump."
He was always easing the trigger-pull, or filing the sights. In
time he got to be a fairly accurate and very quick shot.
The same way with roping and hog-tying and all the rest.
"What's the use?" I used to ask him. "If you were going to be a
buckeroo, you couldn't go into harder training."
"I like it," was always his answer.
He had only one real vice, that I could see. He would gamble.
Stud poker was his favourite; and I never saw a Britisher yet who
could play poker. I used to head him off, when I could, and he
was always grateful, but the passion was strong.
After we got back from founding Tombstone I was busted and had to
go to work.
"I've got plenty," said Tim, "and it's all yours."
"I know, old fellow," I told him, "but your money wouldn't do for
me."
Buck Johnson was just seeing his chance then, and was preparing
to take some breeding cattle over into the Soda Springs Valley.
Everybody laughed at him--said it was right in the line of the
Chiricahua raids, which was true. But Buck had been in there
with Agency steers, and thought he knew. So he collected a trail
crew, brought some Oregon cattle across, and built his home ranch
of three-foot adobe walls with portholes. I joined the trail
crew; and somehow or another the Honourable Timothy got
permission to go along on his own hook.
The trail was a long one. We had thirst and heat and stampedes
and some Indian scares. But in the queer atmospheric conditions
that prevailed that summer, I never saw the desert more
wonderful. It was like waking to the glory of God to sit up at
dawn and see the colours change on the dry ranges.
At the home ranch, again, Tim managed to get permission to stay
on. He kept his own mount of horses, took care of them, hunted,
and took part in all the cow work. We lost some cattle from
Indians, of course, but it was too near the Reservation for them
to do more than pick up a few stray head on their way through.
The troops were always after them full jump, and so they never
had time to round up the beef. But of course we had to look out
or we'd lose our hair, and many a cowboy has won out to the home
ranch in an almighty exciting race. This was nuts for the
Honourable Timothy Clare, much better than hunting silver-tips,
and he enjoyed it no limit.
Things went along that way for some time, until one evening as
I was turning out the horses a buckboard drew in, and from it
descended Tony Briggs and a dapper little fellow dressed all
in black and with a plug hat.
"Which I accounts for said hat reachin' the ranch, because it's
Friday and the boys not in town," Tony whispered to me.
As I happened to be the only man in sight, the stranger addressed
me.
"I am looking," said he in a peculiar, sing-song manner I have
since learned to be English, "for the Honourable Timothy Clare.
Is he here?"
"Oh, you're looking for him are you?" said I. "And who might you
be?"
You see, I liked Tim, and I didn't intend to deliver him over
into trouble.
The man picked a pair of eye-glasses off his stomach where they
dangled at the end of a chain, perched them on his nose, and
stared me over. I must have looked uncompromising, for after a
few seconds he abruptly wrinkled his nose so that the glasses
fell promptly to his stomach again, felt his waistcoat pocket,
and produced a card. I took it, and read:
JEFFRIES CASE, Barrister.
"A lawyer!" said I suspiciously.
"My dear man," he rejoined with a slight impatience, "I am not
here to do your young friend a harm. In fact, my firm have been
his family solicitors for generations."
"Very well," I agreed, and led the way to the one-room adobe that
Tim and I occupied.
If I had expected an enthusiastic greeting for the boyhood friend
from the old home, I would have been disappointed. Tim was
sitting with his back to the door reading an old magazine. When
we entered he glanced over his shoulder.
"Ah, Case," said he, and went on reading. After a moment he said
- investigation [in,vesti´geiʃən]
n.调查(研究) (初中英语单词) - accent [´æksənt, æk´sent] n.重音；口音 vt.重读 (初中英语单词)
- freight [freit] n.运货 vt.运送；充满 (初中英语单词)
- innocent [´inəsənt] a.无罪的；单纯的 (初中英语单词)
- dispose [di´spəuz] v.处置；安排；布置 (初中英语单词)
- honourable [´ɔnərəbəl] a.荣誉的；正直的 (初中英语单词)
- expedition [,ekspi´diʃən] n.远征；探险；迅速 (初中英语单词)
- eagerly [´i:gəli] ad.渴望地，急切地 (初中英语单词)
- enthusiasm [in´θju:ziæzəm] n.热心；狂热；爱好 (初中英语单词)
- ashamed [ə´ʃeimd] a.惭愧；不好意思 (初中英语单词)
- acknowledge [ək´nɔlidʒ] vt.(公开)承认；感谢 (初中英语单词)
- useless [´ju:sləs] a.无用的，无价值的 (初中英语单词)
- vanity [´væniti] n.虚荣；自负；空虚 (初中英语单词)
- pistol [´pistl] n.手枪 vt.用手枪射击 (初中英语单词)
- instance [´instəns] n.例子，实例，例证 (初中英语单词)
- scheme [ski:m] n.计划；阴谋，诡计 (初中英语单词)
- complain [kəm´plein] vi.抱怨，叫屈；控诉 (初中英语单词)
- accurate [´ækjurət] a.准确的；精密的 (初中英语单词)
- grateful [´greitful] a.感谢的；令人愉快的 (初中英语单词)
- passion [´pæʃən] n.激情；激怒；恋爱 (初中英语单词)
- agency [´eidʒənsi] n.代理商；机构；代理 (初中英语单词)
- thirst [θə:st] n.渴，口渴；渴望 (初中英语单词)
- indian [´indiən] a.印度的 n.印度人 (初中英语单词)
- permission [pə´miʃən] n.允许；同意；许可 (初中英语单词)
- peculiar [pi´kju:liə] a.特有的；奇异的 (初中英语单词)
- stomach [´stʌmək] n.胃；胃口，食欲 (初中英语单词)
- abruptly [ə´brʌptli] ad.突然地；粗鲁地 (初中英语单词)
- promptly [´prɔmptli] ad.敏捷地；即时地 (初中英语单词)
- reading [´ri:diŋ] n.(阅)读；朗读；读物 (初中英语单词)
- consciousness [´kɔnʃəsnis] n.意识；觉悟；知觉 (高中英语单词)
- hurried [´hʌrid] a.仓促的，慌忙的 (高中英语单词)
- sprung [sprʌŋ] spring的过去分词 (高中英语单词)
- competent [´kɔmpitənt] a.能干的，有资格的 (高中英语单词)
- outfit [´aut,fit] n.装备 vt.供给；装备 (高中英语单词)
- balloon [bə´lu:n] n.气球 (高中英语单词)
- cylinder [´silində] n.圆柱体；汽缸 (高中英语单词)
- seeing [si:iŋ] see的现在分词 n.视觉 (高中英语单词)
- oregon [´ɔrigən] n.俄勒冈 (高中英语单词)
- reservation [,rezə´veiʃən] n.保留；储备；预定 (高中英语单词)
- learned [´lə:nid] a.有学问的，博学的 (高中英语单词)
- enthusiastic [inθju:zi´æstik] a.热情的，热心的 (高中英语单词)
- boyhood [´bɔihud] n.少年时代(期) (高中英语单词)
- drawing [´drɔ:iŋ] n.画图；制图；图样 (英语四级单词)
- trying [´traiiŋ] a.难堪的；费劲的 (英语四级单词)
- rightly [´raitli] ad.正义地；正确地 (英语四级单词)
- excursion [ik´skə:ʃən] n.短途旅行，游览；离题 (英语四级单词)
- stirrup [´stirəp] n.马蹬；镫形具 (英语四级单词)
- breeding [´bri:diŋ] n.饲养，教养 (英语四级单词)
- atmospheric [,ætməs´ferik] a.大气的；有...气氛的 (英语四级单词)
- almighty [ɔ:l´maiti] a.万能的；全能的 (英语四级单词)
- impatience [im´peiʃəns] n.不耐烦，急躁 (英语四级单词)
- irishman [´aiəriʃmən] n.爱尔兰人 (英语六级单词)
- speaking [´spi:kiŋ] n.说话 a.发言的 (英语六级单词)
- taking [´teikiŋ] a.迷人的 n.捕获物 (英语六级单词)
- extended [iks´tendid] a.伸长的；广大的 (英语六级单词)
- cowboy [´kaubɔi] n.牧童；牛仔 (英语六级单词)
- hunting [´hʌntiŋ] n.打猎 (英语六级单词)
- waistcoat [´weskət, ´weiskəut] n.背心，马甲 (英语六级单词)
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