章节正文
buy that with ten thou'--aye, or an hundred times ten thou'?
No, no, Harry, that fortune would cost me too dear. I have
seen and done and been too much. I've come back to the Big
Country, where the pay is poor and the work is hard and the
comfort small, but where a man and his soul meet their Maker face
to face."
The Cattleman had finished his yarn. For a time no one spoke.
Outside, the volume of rain was subsiding. Windy Bill reported
a few stars shining through rifts in the showers. The chill that
precedes the dawn brought us as close to the fire as the
smouldering guano would permit.
"I don't know whether he was right or wrong," mused the
Cattleman, after a while. "A man can do a heap with that much
money. And yet an old 'alkali' is never happy anywhere else.
However," he concluded emphatically, "one thing I do know: rain,
cold, hunger, discomfort, curses, kicks, and violent deaths
included, there isn't one of you grumblers who would hold that
gardening job you spoke of three days!"
CHAPTER FOUR
THE CATTLE RUSTLERS
Dawn broke, so we descended through wet grasses to the canon.
There, after some difficulty, we managed to start a fire, and
so ate breakfast, the rain still pouring down on us. About
nine o'clock, with miraculous suddenness, the torrent stopped.
It began to turn cold. The Cattleman and I decided to climb to
the top of the butte after meat, which we entirely lacked.
It was rather a stiff ascent, but once above the sheer cliffs we
found ourselves on a rolling meadow tableland a half-mile broad
by, perhaps, a mile and a half in length. Grass grew high;
here and there were small live oaks planted park-like; slight and
rounded ravines accommodated brooklets. As we walked back, the
edges blended in the edges of the mesa across the canon. The
deep gorges, which had heretofore seemed the most prominent
elements of the scenery, were lost. We stood, apparently, in
the middle of a wide and undulating plain, diversified by little
ridges, and running with a free sweep to the very foot of the
snowy Galiuros. It seemed as though we should be able to ride
horseback in almost any given direction. Yet we knew that ten
minutes' walk would take us to the brink of most stupendous
chasms--so deep that the water flowing in them hardly seemed to
move; so rugged that only with the greatest difficulty could a
horseman make his way through the country at all; and yet so
ancient that the bottoms supported forests, rich grasses, and
rounded, gentle knolls. It was a most astonishing set of double
impressions.
We succeeded in killing a nice, fat white-tail buck, and so
returned to camp happy. The rain, held off. We dug ditches,
organised shelters, cooked a warm meal. For the next day we
planned a bear hunt afoot, far up a manzanita canon where
Uncle Jim knew of some "holing up" caves.
But when we awoke in the morning we threw aside our coverings
with some difficulty to look on a ground covered with snow; trees
laden almost to the breaking point with snow, and the air filled
with it.
"No bear today" said the Cattleman.
"No," agreed Uncle Jim drily. "No b'ar. And what's more, unless
yo're aimin' to stop here somewhat of a spell, we'll have to make
out to-day."
We cooked with freezing fingers, ate while dodging avalanches
from the trees, and packed reluctantly. The ropes were frozen,
the hobbles stiff, everything either crackling or wet. Finally
the task was finished. We took a last warming of the fingers and
climbed on.
The country was wonderfully beautiful with the white not yet
shaken from the trees and rock ledges. Also it was wonderfully
slippery. The snow was soft enough to ball under the horses'
hoofs, so that most of the time the poor animals skated and
stumbled along on stilts. Thus we made our way back over ground
which, naked of these difficulties, we had considered bad enough.
Imagine riding along a slant of rock shelving off to a bad
tumble, so steep that your pony has to do more or less expert
ankle work to keep from slipping off sideways. During the
passage of that rock you are apt to sit very light. Now cover it
with several inches of snow, stick a snowball on each hoof of
your mount, and try again. When you have ridden it--or its
duplicate--a few score of times, select a steep mountain side,
cover it with round rocks the size of your head, and over that
spread a concealing blanket of the same sticky snow. You are
privileged to vary these to the limits of your imagination.
Once across the divide, we ran into a new sort of trouble. You
may remember that on our journey over we had been forced to
travel for some distance in a narrow stream-bed. During our
passage we had scrambled up some rather steep and rough slopes,
and hopped up some fairly high ledges. Now we found the
heretofore dry bed flowing a good eight inches deep. The steep
slopes had become cascades; the ledges, waterfalls. When we
came to them, we had to "shoot the rapids" as best we could,
only to land with a PLUNK in an indeterminately deep pool at the
bottom. Some of the pack horses went down, sousing again our
unfortunate bedding, but by the grace of fortune not a saddle
pony lost his feet.
After a time the gorge widened. We came out into the box canon
with its trees. Here the water spread and shoaled to a depth of
only two or three inches. We splashed along gaily enough, for,
with the exception of an occasional quicksand or boggy spot, our
troubles were over.
Jed Parker and I happened to ride side by side, bringing up the
rear and seeing to it that the pack animals did not stray or
linger. As we passed the first of the rustlers' corrals, he
called my attention to them.
"Go take a look," said he. "We only got those fellows out of
here two years ago."
I rode over. At this point the rim-rock broke to admit the
ingress of a ravine into the main canon. Riding a short
distance up the ravine, I could see that it ended abruptly in a
perpendicular cliff. As the sides also were precipitous, it
became necessary only to build a fence across the entrance into
the main canon to become possessed of a corral completely
closed in. Remembering the absolute invisibility of these
sunken canons until the rider is almost directly over them, and
also the extreme roughness and remoteness of the district, I
could see that the spot was admirably adapted to concealment.
"There's quite a yarn about the gang that held this hole," said
Jed Parker to me, when I had ridden back to him "I'll tell you
about it sometime."
We climbed the hill, descended on the Double R, built a fire in
the stove, dried out, and were happy. After a square meal--and a
dry one--I reminded Jed Parker of his promise, and so, sitting
cross-legged on his "so-gun" in the middle of the floor, he told
us the following yarn:
There's a good deal of romance been written about the "bad man,"
and there's about the same amount of nonsense. The bad man is
justa plain murderer, neither more nor less. He never does get
into a real, good, plain, stand-up gunfight if he can possibly
help it. His killin's are done from behind a door, or when he's
got his man dead to rights. There's Sam Cook. You've all heard
of him. He had nerve, of course, and when he was backed into a
corner he made good; he was sure sudden death with a gun. But
when he went for a man deliberate, he didn't take no special
chances. For a while he was marshal at Willets. Pretty soon it
was noted that there was a heap of cases of resisting arrest,
where Sam as marshal had to shoot, and that those cases almost
always happened to be his personal enemies. Of course, that
might be all right, but it looked suspicious. Then one day he
killed poor old Max Schmidt out behind his own saloon. Called
him out and shot him in the stomach. Said Max resisted arrest on
a warrant for keepin' open out of hours! That was a sweet
warrant to take out in Willets, anyway! Mrs. Schmidt always
claimed that she say that deal played, and that, while they were
talkin' perfectly peacable, Cook let drive from the hip at about
two yards' range. Anyway, we decided we needed another marshal.
Nothin' else was ever done, for the Vigilantes hadn't been
formed, and your individual and decent citizen doesn't care to be
marked by a gun of that stripe. Leastwise, unless he wants to go
in for bad-man methods and do a little ambusheein' on his own
account.
The point is, that these yere bad men are a low-down, miserable
proposition, and plain, cold-blood murderers, willin' to wait for
a sure thing, and without no compunctions whatsoever. The bad
man takes you unawares, when you're sleepin', or talkin', or
drinkin', or lookin' to see what for a day it's goin' to be,
anyway. He don't give you no show, and sooner or later he's
goin' to get you in the safest and easiest way for himself.
There ain't no romance about that.
And, until you've seen a few men called out of their shacks for a
friendly conversation, and shot when they happen to look away; or
asked for a drink of water, and killed when they stoop to the
spring; or potted from behind as they go into a room, it's pretty
hard to believe that any man can he so plumb lackin' in fair play
or pity or just natural humanity.
As you boys know, I come in from Texas to Buck Johnson's about
ten year back. I had a pretty good mount of ponies that I knew,
and I hated to let them go at prices they were offerin' then, so
I made up my mind to ride across and bring them in with me. It
wasn't so awful far, and I figured that I'd like to take in what
New Mexico looked like anyway.
About down by Albuquerque I tracked up with another outfit headed
my way. There was five of them, three men, and a woman, and a
yearlin' baby. They had a dozen hosses, and that was about all I
could see. There was only two packed, and no wagon. I suppose
the whole outfit--pots, pans, and kettles--was worth five
dollars. It was just supper when I run across them, and it
didn't take more'n one look to discover that flour, coffee,
sugar, and salt was all they carried. A yearlin' carcass,
half-skinned, lay near, and the fry-pan was, full of meat.
"Howdy, strangers," says I, ridin' up.
They nodded a little, but didn't say nothin'. My hosses fell to
grazin', and I eased myself around in my saddle, and made a
cigareet. The men was tall, lank fellows, with kind of sullen
faces, and sly, shifty eyes; the woman was dirty and generally
mussed up. I knowed that sort all right. Texas was gettin' too
many fences for them.
"Havin' supper?" says I, cheerful.
One of 'em grunted "Yes" at me; and, after a while, the biggest
asked me very grudgin' if I wouldn't light and eat, I told them
"No," that I was travellin' in the cool of the evenin'.
"You seem to have more meat than you need, though," says I. "I
could use a little of that."
"Help yourself," says they. "It's a maverick we come across."
I took a steak, and noted that the hide had been mighty well cut
to ribbons around the flanks and that the head was gone.
"Well," says I to the carcass, "No one's going to be able to
swear whether you're a maverick or not, but I bet you knew the
feel of a brandin' iron all right."
I gave them a thank-you, and climbed on again. My hosses acted
some surprised at bein' gathered up again, but I couldn't help
that.
"It looks like a plumb imposition, cavallos," says I to them,
"after an all-day, but you sure don't want to join that outfit
any more than I do the angels, and if we camp here we're likely
to do both."
No, no, Harry, that fortune would cost me too dear. I have
seen and done and been too much. I've come back to the Big
Country, where the pay is poor and the work is hard and the
comfort small, but where a man and his soul meet their Maker face
to face."
The Cattleman had finished his yarn. For a time no one spoke.
Outside, the volume of rain was subsiding. Windy Bill reported
a few stars shining through rifts in the showers. The chill that
precedes the dawn brought us as close to the fire as the
smouldering guano would permit.
"I don't know whether he was right or wrong," mused the
Cattleman, after a while. "A man can do a heap with that much
money. And yet an old 'alkali' is never happy anywhere else.
However," he concluded emphatically, "one thing I do know: rain,
cold, hunger, discomfort, curses, kicks, and violent deaths
included, there isn't one of you grumblers who would hold that
gardening job you spoke of three days!"
CHAPTER FOUR
THE CATTLE RUSTLERS
Dawn broke, so we descended through wet grasses to the canon.
There, after some difficulty, we managed to start a fire, and
so ate breakfast, the rain still pouring down on us. About
nine o'clock, with miraculous suddenness, the torrent stopped.
It began to turn cold. The Cattleman and I decided to climb to
the top of the butte after meat, which we entirely lacked.
It was rather a stiff ascent, but once above the sheer cliffs we
found ourselves on a rolling meadow tableland a half-mile broad
by, perhaps, a mile and a half in length. Grass grew high;
here and there were small live oaks planted park-like; slight and
rounded ravines accommodated brooklets. As we walked back, the
edges blended in the edges of the mesa across the canon. The
deep gorges, which had heretofore seemed the most prominent
elements of the scenery, were lost. We stood, apparently, in
the middle of a wide and undulating plain, diversified by little
ridges, and running with a free sweep to the very foot of the
snowy Galiuros. It seemed as though we should be able to ride
horseback in almost any given direction. Yet we knew that ten
minutes' walk would take us to the brink of most stupendous
chasms--so deep that the water flowing in them hardly seemed to
move; so rugged that only with the greatest difficulty could a
horseman make his way through the country at all; and yet so
ancient that the bottoms supported forests, rich grasses, and
rounded, gentle knolls. It was a most astonishing set of double
impressions.
We succeeded in killing a nice, fat white-tail buck, and so
returned to camp happy. The rain, held off. We dug ditches,
organised shelters, cooked a warm meal. For the next day we
planned a bear hunt afoot, far up a manzanita canon where
Uncle Jim knew of some "holing up" caves.
But when we awoke in the morning we threw aside our coverings
with some difficulty to look on a ground covered with snow; trees
laden almost to the breaking point with snow, and the air filled
with it.
"No bear today" said the Cattleman.
"No," agreed Uncle Jim drily. "No b'ar. And what's more, unless
yo're aimin' to stop here somewhat of a spell, we'll have to make
out to-day."
We cooked with freezing fingers, ate while dodging avalanches
from the trees, and packed reluctantly. The ropes were frozen,
the hobbles stiff, everything either crackling or wet. Finally
the task was finished. We took a last warming of the fingers and
climbed on.
The country was wonderfully beautiful with the white not yet
shaken from the trees and rock ledges. Also it was wonderfully
slippery. The snow was soft enough to ball under the horses'
hoofs, so that most of the time the poor animals skated and
stumbled along on stilts. Thus we made our way back over ground
which, naked of these difficulties, we had considered bad enough.
Imagine riding along a slant of rock shelving off to a bad
tumble, so steep that your pony has to do more or less expert
ankle work to keep from slipping off sideways. During the
passage of that rock you are apt to sit very light. Now cover it
with several inches of snow, stick a snowball on each hoof of
your mount, and try again. When you have ridden it--or its
duplicate--a few score of times, select a steep mountain side,
cover it with round rocks the size of your head, and over that
spread a concealing blanket of the same sticky snow. You are
privileged to vary these to the limits of your imagination.
Once across the divide, we ran into a new sort of trouble. You
may remember that on our journey over we had been forced to
travel for some distance in a narrow stream-bed. During our
passage we had scrambled up some rather steep and rough slopes,
and hopped up some fairly high ledges. Now we found the
heretofore dry bed flowing a good eight inches deep. The steep
slopes had become cascades; the ledges, waterfalls. When we
came to them, we had to "shoot the rapids" as best we could,
only to land with a PLUNK in an indeterminately deep pool at the
bottom. Some of the pack horses went down, sousing again our
unfortunate bedding, but by the grace of fortune not a saddle
pony lost his feet.
After a time the gorge widened. We came out into the box canon
with its trees. Here the water spread and shoaled to a depth of
only two or three inches. We splashed along gaily enough, for,
with the exception of an occasional quicksand or boggy spot, our
troubles were over.
Jed Parker and I happened to ride side by side, bringing up the
rear and seeing to it that the pack animals did not stray or
linger. As we passed the first of the rustlers' corrals, he
called my attention to them.
"Go take a look," said he. "We only got those fellows out of
here two years ago."
I rode over. At this point the rim-rock broke to admit the
ingress of a ravine into the main canon. Riding a short
distance up the ravine, I could see that it ended abruptly in a
perpendicular cliff. As the sides also were precipitous, it
became necessary only to build a fence across the entrance into
the main canon to become possessed of a corral completely
closed in. Remembering the absolute invisibility of these
sunken canons until the rider is almost directly over them, and
also the extreme roughness and remoteness of the district, I
could see that the spot was admirably adapted to concealment.
"There's quite a yarn about the gang that held this hole," said
Jed Parker to me, when I had ridden back to him "I'll tell you
about it sometime."
We climbed the hill, descended on the Double R, built a fire in
the stove, dried out, and were happy. After a square meal--and a
dry one--I reminded Jed Parker of his promise, and so, sitting
cross-legged on his "so-gun" in the middle of the floor, he told
us the following yarn:
There's a good deal of romance been written about the "bad man,"
and there's about the same amount of nonsense. The bad man is
justa plain murderer, neither more nor less. He never does get
into a real, good, plain, stand-up gunfight if he can possibly
help it. His killin's are done from behind a door, or when he's
got his man dead to rights. There's Sam Cook. You've all heard
of him. He had nerve, of course, and when he was backed into a
corner he made good; he was sure sudden death with a gun. But
when he went for a man deliberate, he didn't take no special
chances. For a while he was marshal at Willets. Pretty soon it
was noted that there was a heap of cases of resisting arrest,
where Sam as marshal had to shoot, and that those cases almost
always happened to be his personal enemies. Of course, that
might be all right, but it looked suspicious. Then one day he
killed poor old Max Schmidt out behind his own saloon. Called
him out and shot him in the stomach. Said Max resisted arrest on
a warrant for keepin' open out of hours! That was a sweet
warrant to take out in Willets, anyway! Mrs. Schmidt always
claimed that she say that deal played, and that, while they were
talkin' perfectly peacable, Cook let drive from the hip at about
two yards' range. Anyway, we decided we needed another marshal.
Nothin' else was ever done, for the Vigilantes hadn't been
formed, and your individual and decent citizen doesn't care to be
marked by a gun of that stripe. Leastwise, unless he wants to go
in for bad-man methods and do a little ambusheein' on his own
account.
The point is, that these yere bad men are a low-down, miserable
proposition, and plain, cold-blood murderers, willin' to wait for
a sure thing, and without no compunctions whatsoever. The bad
man takes you unawares, when you're sleepin', or talkin', or
drinkin', or lookin' to see what for a day it's goin' to be,
anyway. He don't give you no show, and sooner or later he's
goin' to get you in the safest and easiest way for himself.
There ain't no romance about that.
And, until you've seen a few men called out of their shacks for a
friendly conversation, and shot when they happen to look away; or
asked for a drink of water, and killed when they stoop to the
spring; or potted from behind as they go into a room, it's pretty
hard to believe that any man can he so plumb lackin' in fair play
or pity or just natural humanity.
As you boys know, I come in from Texas to Buck Johnson's about
ten year back. I had a pretty good mount of ponies that I knew,
and I hated to let them go at prices they were offerin' then, so
I made up my mind to ride across and bring them in with me. It
wasn't so awful far, and I figured that I'd like to take in what
New Mexico looked like anyway.
About down by Albuquerque I tracked up with another outfit headed
my way. There was five of them, three men, and a woman, and a
yearlin' baby. They had a dozen hosses, and that was about all I
could see. There was only two packed, and no wagon. I suppose
the whole outfit--pots, pans, and kettles--was worth five
dollars. It was just supper when I run across them, and it
didn't take more'n one look to discover that flour, coffee,
sugar, and salt was all they carried. A yearlin' carcass,
half-skinned, lay near, and the fry-pan was, full of meat.
"Howdy, strangers," says I, ridin' up.
They nodded a little, but didn't say nothin'. My hosses fell to
grazin', and I eased myself around in my saddle, and made a
cigareet. The men was tall, lank fellows, with kind of sullen
faces, and sly, shifty eyes; the woman was dirty and generally
mussed up. I knowed that sort all right. Texas was gettin' too
many fences for them.
"Havin' supper?" says I, cheerful.
One of 'em grunted "Yes" at me; and, after a while, the biggest
asked me very grudgin' if I wouldn't light and eat, I told them
"No," that I was travellin' in the cool of the evenin'.
"You seem to have more meat than you need, though," says I. "I
could use a little of that."
"Help yourself," says they. "It's a maverick we come across."
I took a steak, and noted that the hide had been mighty well cut
to ribbons around the flanks and that the head was gone.
"Well," says I to the carcass, "No one's going to be able to
swear whether you're a maverick or not, but I bet you knew the
feel of a brandin' iron all right."
I gave them a thank-you, and climbed on again. My hosses acted
some surprised at bein' gathered up again, but I couldn't help
that.
"It looks like a plumb imposition, cavallos," says I to them,
"after an all-day, but you sure don't want to join that outfit
any more than I do the angels, and if we camp here we're likely
to do both."
- volume [´vɔlju:m, ´vɑljəm]
n.卷；书籍；体积；容量 (初中英语单词) - anywhere [´eniweə] ad.无论何处；任何地方 (初中英语单词)
- hunger [´hʌŋgə] n.饥饿；渴望 (初中英语单词)
- violent [´vaiələnt] a.强暴的；猛烈的 (初中英语单词)
- meadow [´medəu] n.草地；牧场 (初中英语单词)
- running [´rʌniŋ] a.奔跑的；流动的 (初中英语单词)
- exception [ik´sepʃən] n.例外；反对，异议 (初中英语单词)
- occasional [ə´keiʒənəl] a.偶然的；临时的 (初中英语单词)
- abruptly [ə´brʌptli] ad.突然地；粗鲁地 (初中英语单词)
- absolute [´æbsəlu:t] a.绝对的 n.绝对 (初中英语单词)
- extreme [ik´stri:m] a.尽头的 n.极端 (初中英语单词)
- romance [rəu´mæns] n.中世纪骑士小说 (初中英语单词)
- amount [ə´maunt] n.总数；数量 v.合计 (初中英语单词)
- stomach [´stʌmək] n.胃；胃口，食欲 (初中英语单词)
- arrest [ə´rest] vt.逮捕 n.逮捕；停止 (初中英语单词)
- mexico [´meksikəu] n.墨西哥 (初中英语单词)
- saddle [´sædl] n.鞍子 v.装鞍(于) (初中英语单词)
- torrent [´tɔrənt] n.奔流，激流，洪流；迸发 (高中英语单词)
- decided [di´saidid] a.明显的；决定的 (高中英语单词)
- ascent [ə´sent] n.上升；攀登；上坡路 (高中英语单词)
- scenery [´si:nəri] n.舞台布景 (高中英语单词)
- apparently [ə´pærəntli] ad.显然，表面上地 (高中英语单词)
- rugged [´rʌgid] a.不平的；粗犷的 (高中英语单词)
- astonishing [əs´tɔniʃiŋ] a.令人惊讶的 (高中英语单词)
- seeing [si:iŋ] see的现在分词 n.视觉 (高中英语单词)
- nonsense [´nɔnsəns] n.胡说 int.胡说!废话 (高中英语单词)
- murderer [´mə:dərə] n.杀人犯，凶手 (高中英语单词)
- deliberate [di´libəreit] a.慎重的；故意的 (高中英语单词)
- suspicious [sə´spiʃəs] a.可疑的，多疑的 (高中英语单词)
- saloon [sə´lu:n] n.大厅；餐车 (高中英语单词)
- perfectly [´pə:fiktli] ad.理想地；完美地 (高中英语单词)
- decent [´di:sənt] a.体面的，正派的 (高中英语单词)
- stripe [straip] n.条纹，条子 (高中英语单词)
- outfit [´aut,fit] n.装备 vt.供给；装备 (高中英语单词)
- mighty [´maiti] a.强有力的 ad.很 (高中英语单词)
- heretofore [,hiətu´fɔ:] ad.以前，迄今为止 (英语四级单词)
- reluctantly [ri´lʌktəntli] a.不情愿地；勉强地 (英语四级单词)
- warming [´wɔ:miŋ] n.暖和；加温 (英语四级单词)
- wonderfully [´wʌndəfuli] ad.令人惊讶地；奇妙地 (英语四级单词)
- ridden [´ridn] ride 的过去分词 (英语四级单词)
- ravine [rə´vi:n] n.沟壑；深谷 (英语四级单词)
- marshal [´mɑ:ʃəl] n.(陆军)元帅 (英语四级单词)
- warrant [´wɔrənt] n.根据；委任书；权利 (英语四级单词)
- whatsoever [,wɔtsəu´evə] (强势语)=whatever (英语四级单词)
- carcass [´kɑ:kəs] n.(动物的)尸体 (英语四级单词)
- emphatically [im´fætikəli] ad.强调地；断然地 (英语六级单词)
- discomfort [dis´kʌmfət] n.不适；不安；困难 (英语六级单词)
- miraculous [mi´rækjuləs] a.非凡的；奇迹般的 (英语六级单词)
- sticky [´stiki] a.胶粘的；顽固的 (英语六级单词)
- bedding [´bediŋ] n.寝具；垫草；基础 (英语六级单词)
- admirably [´ædmərəbli] ad.令人钦佩地；极妙地 (英语六级单词)
文章标签:名著
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