章节正文
it was sinking in the west. Stevens was still alive, for he
breathed heavily. The horses were in sight. All was quiet
except the hum of insects in the brush. Duane listened awhile,
then rose and went for the horses.
When he returned with them he found Stevens awake, bright-eyed,
cheerful as usual, and apparently stronger.
"Wal, Buck, I'm still with you an' good fer another night's
ride," he said. "Guess about all I need now is a big pull on
thet bottle. Help me, will you? There! thet was bully. I ain't
swallowin' my blood this evenin'. Mebbe I've bled all there was
in me."
While Duane got a hurried meal for himself, packed up the
little outfit, and saddled the horses Stevens kept on talking.
He seemed to be in a hurry to tell Duane all about the country.
Another night ride would put them beyond fear of pursuit,
within striking distance of the Rio Grande and the
hiding-places of the outlaws.
When it came time for mounting the horses Stevens said, "Reckon
you can pull on my boots once more." In spite of the laugh
accompanying the words Duane detected a subtle change in the
outlaw's spirit.
On this night travel was facilitated by the fact that the trail
was broad enough for two horses abreast, enabling Duane to ride
while upholding Stevens in the saddle.
The difficulty most persistent was in keeping the horses in a
walk. They were used to a trot, and that kind of gait would not
do for Stevens. The red died out of the west; a pale afterglow
prevailed for a while; darkness set in; then the broad expanse
of blue darkened and the stars brightened. After a while
Stevens ceased talking and drooped in his saddle. Duane kept
the horses going, however, and the slow hours wore away. Duane
thought the quiet night would never break to dawn, that there
was no end to the melancholy, brooding plain. But at length a
grayness blotted out the stars and mantled the level of
mesquite and cactus.
Dawn caught the fugitives at a green camping-site on the bank
of a rocky little stream. Stevens fell a dead weight into
Duane's arms, and one look at the haggard face showed Duane
that the outlaw had taken his last ride. He knew it, too. Yet
that cheerfulness prevailed.
"Buck, my feet are orful tired packin' them heavy boots," he
said, and seemed immensely relieved when Duane had removed
them.
This matter of the outlaw's boots was strange, Duane thought.
He made Stevens as comfortable as possible, then attended to
his own needs. And the outlaw took up the thread of his
conversation where he had left off the night before.
"This trail splits up a ways from here, an' every branch of it
leads to a hole where you'll find men--a few, mebbe, like
yourself--some like me--an' gangs of no-good hoss-thieves,
rustlers, an' such. It's easy livin', Buck. I reckon, though,
that you'll not find it easy. You'll never mix in. You'll be a
lone wolf. I seen that right off. Wal, if a man can stand the
loneliness, an' if he's quick on the draw, mebbe lone-wolfin'
it is the best. Shore I don't know. But these fellers in here
will be suspicious of a man who goes it alone. If they get a
chance they'll kill you."
Stevens asked for water several times. He had forgotten or he
did not want the whisky. His voice grew perceptibly weaker.
"Be quiet," said Duane. "Talking uses up your strength."
"Aw, I'll talk till--I'm done," he replied, doggedly. "See
here, pard, you can gamble on what I'm tellin' you. An' it'll
be useful. From this camp we'll--you'll meet men right along.
An' none of them will be honest men. All the same, some are
better'n others. I've lived along the river fer twelve years.
There's three big gangs of outlaws. King Fisher--you know him,
I reckon, fer he's half the time livin' among respectable
folks. King is a pretty good feller. It'll do to tie up with
him ant his gang. Now, there's Cheseldine, who hangs out in the
Rim Rock way up the river. He's an outlaw chief. I never seen
him, though I stayed once right in his camp. Late years he's
got rich an' keeps back pretty well hid. But Bland--I knowed
Bland fer years. An' I haven't any use fer him. Bland has the
biggest gang. You ain't likely to miss strikin' his place
sometime or other. He's got a regular town, I might say. Shore
there's some gamblin' an' gun-fightin' goin' on at Bland's camp
all the time. Bland has killed some twenty men, an' thet's not
countin' greasers."
Here Stevens took another drink and then rested for a while.
"You ain't likely to get on with Bland," he resumed, presently.
"You're too strappin' big an' good-lookin' to please the chief.
Fer he's got women in his camp. Then he'd be jealous of your
possibilities with a gun. Shore I reckon he'd be careful,
though. Bland's no fool, an' he loves his hide. I reckon any of
the other gangs would be better fer you when you ain't goin' it
alone."
Apparently that exhausted the fund of information and advice
Stevens had been eager to impart. He lapsed into silence and
lay with closed eyes. Meanwhile the sun rose warm; the breeze
waved the mesquites; the birds came down to splash in the
shallowstream; Duane dozed in a comfortable seat. By and by
something roused him. Stevens was once more talking, but with a
changed tone.
"Feller's name--was Brown," he rambled. "We fell out--over a
hoss I stole from him--in Huntsville. He stole it fuss. Brown's
one of them sneaks--afraid of the open--he steals an' pretends
to be honest. Say, Buck, mebbe you'll meet Brown some day--You
an' me are pards now."
"I'll remember, if I ever meet him," said Duane.
That seemed to satisfy the outlaw. Presently he tried to lift
his head, but had not the strength. A strange shade was
creeping across the bronzed rough face.
"My feet are pretty heavy. Shore you got my boots off?"
Duane held them up, but was not certain that Stevens could see
them. The outlaw closed his eyes again and muttered
incoherently. Then he fell asleep. Duane believed that sleep
was final. The day passed, with Duane watching and waiting.
Toward sundown Stevens awoke, and his eyes seemed clearer.
Duane went to get some fresh water, thinking his comrade would
surely want some. When he returned Stevens made no sign that he
wanted anything. There was something bright about him, and
suddenly Duane realized what it meant.
"Pard, you--stuck--to me!" the outlaw whispered.
Duane caught a hint of gladness in the voice; he traced a faint
surprise in the haggard face. Stevens seemed like a little
child.
To Duane the moment was sad, elemental, big, with a burden of
mystery he could not understand.
Duane buried him in a shallowarroyo and heaped up a pile of
stones to mark the grave. That done, he saddled his comrade's
horse, hung the weapons over the pommel; and, mounting his own
steed, he rode down the trail in the gathering twilight.
CHAPTER IV
Two days later, about the middle of the forenoon, Duane dragged
the two horses up the last ascent of an exceedingly rough trail
and found himself on top of the Rim Rock, with a beautiful
green valley at his feet, the yellow, sluggish Rio Grande
shining in the sun, and the great, wild, mountainousbarren of
Mexico stretching to the south.
Duane had not fallen in with any travelers. He had taken the
likeliest-looking trail he had come across. Where it had led
him he had not the slightest idea, except that here was the
river, and probably the inclosed valley was the retreat of some
famous outlaw.
No wonder outlaws were safe in that wild refuge! Duane had
spent the last two days climbing the roughest and most
difficult trail he had ever seen. From the looks of the descent
he imagined the worst part of his travel was yet to come. Not
improbably it was two thousand feet down to the river. The
wedge-shaped valley, green with alfalfa and cottonwood, and
nestling down amid the bare walls of yellow rock, was a delight
and a relief to his tired eyes. Eager to get down to a level
and to find a place to rest, Duane began the descent.
The trail proved to be the kind that could not be descended
slowly. He kept dodging rocks which his horses loosed behind
him. And in a short time he reached the valley, entering at the
apex of the wedge. A stream of clear water tumbled out of the
rocks here, and most of it ran into irrigation-ditches. His
horses drank thirstily. And he drank with that fullness and
gratefulness common to the desert traveler finding sweet water.
Then he mounted and rode down the valley wondering what would
be his reception.
The valley was much larger than it had appeared from the high
elevation. Well watered, green with grass and tree, and farmed
evidently by good hands, it gave Duane a considerable surprise.
Horses and cattle were everywhere. Every clump of cottonwoods
surrounded a small adobe house. Duane saw Mexicans working in
the fields and horsemen going to and fro. Presently he passed a
house bigger than the others with a porch attached. A woman,
young and pretty he thought, watched him from a door. No one
else appeared to notice him.
Presently the trail widened into a road, and that into a kind
of square lined by a number of adobe and log buildings of
rudest structure. Within sight were horses, dogs, a couple of
steers, Mexican women with children, and white men, all of whom
appeared to be doing nothing. His advent created no interest
until he rode up to the white men, who were lolling in the
shade of a house. This place evidently was a store and saloon,
and from the inside came a lazy hum of voices.
As Duane reined to a halt one of the loungers in the shade rose
with a loud exclamation:
"Bust me if thet ain't Luke's hoss!"
The others accorded their interest, if not assent, by rising to
advance toward Duane.
"How about it, Euchre? Ain't thet Luke's bay?" queried the
first man.
"Plain as your nose," replied the fellow called Euchre.
"There ain't no doubt about thet, then," laughed another, "fer
Bosomer's nose is shore plain on the landscape."
These men lined up before Duane, and as he coolly regarded them
he thought they could have been recognized anywhere as
desperadoes. The man called Bosomer, who had stepped forward,
had a forbidding face which showed yellow eyes, an enormous
nose, and a skin the color of dust, with a thatch of sandy
hair.
"Stranger, who are you an' where in the hell did you git thet
bay hoss?" he demanded. His yellow eyes took in Stevens's
horse, then the weapons hung on the saddle, and finally turned
their glinting, hard light upward to Duane.
Duane did not like the tone in which he had been addressed, and
he remained silent. At least half his mind seemed busy with
curious interest in regard to something that leaped inside him
and made his breast feel tight. He recognized it as that
strange emotion which had shot through him often of late, and
which had decided him to go out to the meeting with Bain. Only
now it was different, more powerful.
"Stranger, who are you?" asked another man, somewhat more
civilly.
"My name's Duane," replied Duane, curtly.
"An' how'd you come by the hoss?"
Duane answered briefly, and his words were followed by a short
breathed heavily. The horses were in sight. All was quiet
except the hum of insects in the brush. Duane listened awhile,
then rose and went for the horses.
When he returned with them he found Stevens awake, bright-eyed,
cheerful as usual, and apparently stronger.
"Wal, Buck, I'm still with you an' good fer another night's
ride," he said. "Guess about all I need now is a big pull on
thet bottle. Help me, will you? There! thet was bully. I ain't
swallowin' my blood this evenin'. Mebbe I've bled all there was
in me."
While Duane got a hurried meal for himself, packed up the
little outfit, and saddled the horses Stevens kept on talking.
He seemed to be in a hurry to tell Duane all about the country.
Another night ride would put them beyond fear of pursuit,
within striking distance of the Rio Grande and the
hiding-places of the outlaws.
When it came time for mounting the horses Stevens said, "Reckon
you can pull on my boots once more." In spite of the laugh
accompanying the words Duane detected a subtle change in the
outlaw's spirit.
On this night travel was facilitated by the fact that the trail
was broad enough for two horses abreast, enabling Duane to ride
while upholding Stevens in the saddle.
The difficulty most persistent was in keeping the horses in a
walk. They were used to a trot, and that kind of gait would not
do for Stevens. The red died out of the west; a pale afterglow
prevailed for a while; darkness set in; then the broad expanse
of blue darkened and the stars brightened. After a while
Stevens ceased talking and drooped in his saddle. Duane kept
the horses going, however, and the slow hours wore away. Duane
thought the quiet night would never break to dawn, that there
was no end to the melancholy, brooding plain. But at length a
grayness blotted out the stars and mantled the level of
mesquite and cactus.
Dawn caught the fugitives at a green camping-site on the bank
of a rocky little stream. Stevens fell a dead weight into
Duane's arms, and one look at the haggard face showed Duane
that the outlaw had taken his last ride. He knew it, too. Yet
that cheerfulness prevailed.
"Buck, my feet are orful tired packin' them heavy boots," he
said, and seemed immensely relieved when Duane had removed
them.
This matter of the outlaw's boots was strange, Duane thought.
He made Stevens as comfortable as possible, then attended to
his own needs. And the outlaw took up the thread of his
conversation where he had left off the night before.
"This trail splits up a ways from here, an' every branch of it
leads to a hole where you'll find men--a few, mebbe, like
yourself--some like me--an' gangs of no-good hoss-thieves,
rustlers, an' such. It's easy livin', Buck. I reckon, though,
that you'll not find it easy. You'll never mix in. You'll be a
lone wolf. I seen that right off. Wal, if a man can stand the
loneliness, an' if he's quick on the draw, mebbe lone-wolfin'
it is the best. Shore I don't know. But these fellers in here
will be suspicious of a man who goes it alone. If they get a
chance they'll kill you."
Stevens asked for water several times. He had forgotten or he
did not want the whisky. His voice grew perceptibly weaker.
"Be quiet," said Duane. "Talking uses up your strength."
"Aw, I'll talk till--I'm done," he replied, doggedly. "See
here, pard, you can gamble on what I'm tellin' you. An' it'll
be useful. From this camp we'll--you'll meet men right along.
An' none of them will be honest men. All the same, some are
better'n others. I've lived along the river fer twelve years.
There's three big gangs of outlaws. King Fisher--you know him,
I reckon, fer he's half the time livin' among respectable
folks. King is a pretty good feller. It'll do to tie up with
him ant his gang. Now, there's Cheseldine, who hangs out in the
Rim Rock way up the river. He's an outlaw chief. I never seen
him, though I stayed once right in his camp. Late years he's
got rich an' keeps back pretty well hid. But Bland--I knowed
Bland fer years. An' I haven't any use fer him. Bland has the
biggest gang. You ain't likely to miss strikin' his place
sometime or other. He's got a regular town, I might say. Shore
there's some gamblin' an' gun-fightin' goin' on at Bland's camp
all the time. Bland has killed some twenty men, an' thet's not
countin' greasers."
Here Stevens took another drink and then rested for a while.
"You ain't likely to get on with Bland," he resumed, presently.
"You're too strappin' big an' good-lookin' to please the chief.
Fer he's got women in his camp. Then he'd be jealous of your
possibilities with a gun. Shore I reckon he'd be careful,
though. Bland's no fool, an' he loves his hide. I reckon any of
the other gangs would be better fer you when you ain't goin' it
alone."
Apparently that exhausted the fund of information and advice
Stevens had been eager to impart. He lapsed into silence and
lay with closed eyes. Meanwhile the sun rose warm; the breeze
waved the mesquites; the birds came down to splash in the
shallowstream; Duane dozed in a comfortable seat. By and by
something roused him. Stevens was once more talking, but with a
changed tone.
"Feller's name--was Brown," he rambled. "We fell out--over a
hoss I stole from him--in Huntsville. He stole it fuss. Brown's
one of them sneaks--afraid of the open--he steals an' pretends
to be honest. Say, Buck, mebbe you'll meet Brown some day--You
an' me are pards now."
"I'll remember, if I ever meet him," said Duane.
That seemed to satisfy the outlaw. Presently he tried to lift
his head, but had not the strength. A strange shade was
creeping across the bronzed rough face.
"My feet are pretty heavy. Shore you got my boots off?"
Duane held them up, but was not certain that Stevens could see
them. The outlaw closed his eyes again and muttered
incoherently. Then he fell asleep. Duane believed that sleep
was final. The day passed, with Duane watching and waiting.
Toward sundown Stevens awoke, and his eyes seemed clearer.
Duane went to get some fresh water, thinking his comrade would
surely want some. When he returned Stevens made no sign that he
wanted anything. There was something bright about him, and
suddenly Duane realized what it meant.
"Pard, you--stuck--to me!" the outlaw whispered.
Duane caught a hint of gladness in the voice; he traced a faint
surprise in the haggard face. Stevens seemed like a little
child.
To Duane the moment was sad, elemental, big, with a burden of
mystery he could not understand.
Duane buried him in a shallowarroyo and heaped up a pile of
stones to mark the grave. That done, he saddled his comrade's
horse, hung the weapons over the pommel; and, mounting his own
steed, he rode down the trail in the gathering twilight.
CHAPTER IV
Two days later, about the middle of the forenoon, Duane dragged
the two horses up the last ascent of an exceedingly rough trail
and found himself on top of the Rim Rock, with a beautiful
green valley at his feet, the yellow, sluggish Rio Grande
shining in the sun, and the great, wild, mountainousbarren of
Mexico stretching to the south.
Duane had not fallen in with any travelers. He had taken the
likeliest-looking trail he had come across. Where it had led
him he had not the slightest idea, except that here was the
river, and probably the inclosed valley was the retreat of some
famous outlaw.
No wonder outlaws were safe in that wild refuge! Duane had
spent the last two days climbing the roughest and most
difficult trail he had ever seen. From the looks of the descent
he imagined the worst part of his travel was yet to come. Not
improbably it was two thousand feet down to the river. The
wedge-shaped valley, green with alfalfa and cottonwood, and
nestling down amid the bare walls of yellow rock, was a delight
and a relief to his tired eyes. Eager to get down to a level
and to find a place to rest, Duane began the descent.
The trail proved to be the kind that could not be descended
slowly. He kept dodging rocks which his horses loosed behind
him. And in a short time he reached the valley, entering at the
apex of the wedge. A stream of clear water tumbled out of the
rocks here, and most of it ran into irrigation-ditches. His
horses drank thirstily. And he drank with that fullness and
gratefulness common to the desert traveler finding sweet water.
Then he mounted and rode down the valley wondering what would
be his reception.
The valley was much larger than it had appeared from the high
elevation. Well watered, green with grass and tree, and farmed
evidently by good hands, it gave Duane a considerable surprise.
Horses and cattle were everywhere. Every clump of cottonwoods
surrounded a small adobe house. Duane saw Mexicans working in
the fields and horsemen going to and fro. Presently he passed a
house bigger than the others with a porch attached. A woman,
young and pretty he thought, watched him from a door. No one
else appeared to notice him.
Presently the trail widened into a road, and that into a kind
of square lined by a number of adobe and log buildings of
rudest structure. Within sight were horses, dogs, a couple of
steers, Mexican women with children, and white men, all of whom
appeared to be doing nothing. His advent created no interest
until he rode up to the white men, who were lolling in the
shade of a house. This place evidently was a store and saloon,
and from the inside came a lazy hum of voices.
As Duane reined to a halt one of the loungers in the shade rose
with a loud exclamation:
"Bust me if thet ain't Luke's hoss!"
The others accorded their interest, if not assent, by rising to
advance toward Duane.
"How about it, Euchre? Ain't thet Luke's bay?" queried the
first man.
"Plain as your nose," replied the fellow called Euchre.
"There ain't no doubt about thet, then," laughed another, "fer
Bosomer's nose is shore plain on the landscape."
These men lined up before Duane, and as he coolly regarded them
he thought they could have been recognized anywhere as
desperadoes. The man called Bosomer, who had stepped forward,
had a forbidding face which showed yellow eyes, an enormous
nose, and a skin the color of dust, with a thatch of sandy
hair.
"Stranger, who are you an' where in the hell did you git thet
bay hoss?" he demanded. His yellow eyes took in Stevens's
horse, then the weapons hung on the saddle, and finally turned
their glinting, hard light upward to Duane.
Duane did not like the tone in which he had been addressed, and
he remained silent. At least half his mind seemed busy with
curious interest in regard to something that leaped inside him
and made his breast feel tight. He recognized it as that
strange emotion which had shot through him often of late, and
which had decided him to go out to the meeting with Bain. Only
now it was different, more powerful.
"Stranger, who are you?" asked another man, somewhat more
civilly.
"My name's Duane," replied Duane, curtly.
"An' how'd you come by the hoss?"
Duane answered briefly, and his words were followed by a short
- striking [´straikiŋ]
a.显著的，明显的 (初中英语单词) - saddle [´sædl] n.鞍子 v.装鞍(于) (初中英语单词)
- stream [stri:m] n.河 vi.流出；飘扬 (初中英语单词)
- reckon [´rekən] v.计算；认为；估计 (初中英语单词)
- jealous [´dʒeləs] a.妒忌的 (初中英语单词)
- meanwhile [´mi:n´wail] n.&ad.其间；同时 (初中英语单词)
- splash [splæʃ] v.&n.溅水声；涉水而进 (初中英语单词)
- presently [´prezəntli] ad.不久；目前 (初中英语单词)
- shallow [´ʃæləu] a.肤浅的；表面的 (初中英语单词)
- valley [´væli] n.谷；河谷；流域 (初中英语单词)
- barren [´bærən] a.贫瘠的；不生育的 (初中英语单词)
- retreat [ri´tri:t] v.&n.退却；撤退；放弃 (初中英语单词)
- relief [ri´li:f] n.救济；援救；减轻 (初中英语单词)
- considerable [kən´sidərəbəl] a.重要的；值得重视 (初中英语单词)
- working [´wə:kiŋ] a.工人的；劳动的 (初中英语单词)
- structure [´strʌktʃə] n.结构，构造；组织 (初中英语单词)
- mexican [´meksikən] n.&a.墨西哥人(语)的 (初中英语单词)
- evidently [´evidəntli] ad.明显地 (初中英语单词)
- anywhere [´eniweə] ad.无论何处；任何地方 (初中英语单词)
- upward [´ʌpwəd] a.&ad.向上(的)；以上 (初中英语单词)
- emotion [i´məuʃən] n.感情；情绪；激动 (初中英语单词)
- briefly [´bri:fli] ad.简短地；简略地 (初中英语单词)
- apparently [ə´pærəntli] ad.显然，表面上地 (高中英语单词)
- hurried [´hʌrid] a.仓促的，慌忙的 (高中英语单词)
- outfit [´aut,fit] n.装备 vt.供给；装备 (高中英语单词)
- abreast [ə´brest] ad.并排，并肩 (高中英语单词)
- persistent [pə´sistənt] a.坚持的；固执的 (高中英语单词)
- melancholy [´melənkəli] n.忧郁 a.忧郁的 (高中英语单词)
- suspicious [sə´spiʃəs] a.可疑的，多疑的 (高中英语单词)
- gamble [´gæmbəl] v.&n.赌博；投机；冒险 (高中英语单词)
- impart [im´pɑ:t] vt.传授；赋予；告知 (高中英语单词)
- ascent [ə´sent] n.上升；攀登；上坡路 (高中英语单词)
- exceedingly [ik´si:diŋli] ad.非常地，极度地 (高中英语单词)
- finding [´faindiŋ] n.发现物；判断；结果 (高中英语单词)
- assent [ə´sent] vi.&n.同意，赞成 (高中英语单词)
- decided [di´saidid] a.明显的；决定的 (高中英语单词)
- haggard [´hægəd] a.憔悴的 (英语四级单词)
- outlaw [´autlɔ:] n.歹徒 vt.将...放逐 (英语四级单词)
- immensely [i´mensli] ad.极大地，无限地 (英语四级单词)
- gladness [´glædnis] n.愉快，高兴，喜悦 (英语四级单词)
- arroyo [ə´rɔiəu] n.小河；小溪旱谷 (英语四级单词)
- gathering [´gæðəriŋ] n.集会，聚集 (英语四级单词)
- forenoon [´fɔ:nu:n] n.午前，上午 (英语四级单词)
- mountainous [´mauntinəs] a.山多的；巨大的 (英语四级单词)
- fullness [´fulnis] n.满；充实；彻底 (英语四级单词)
- advent [´ædvent] n.来临；降临 (英语四级单词)
- coolly [´ku:li] ad.冷(静地)，沉着地 (英语四级单词)
- thatch [θætʃ] n.茅草屋顶 (英语四级单词)
- cheerfulness [´tʃiəfulnis] n.高兴，愉快 (英语六级单词)
- doggedly [´dɔgidli] ad.顽强地，固执地 (英语六级单词)
- sundown [´sʌndaun] n.日落 (英语六级单词)
- sluggish [´slʌgiʃ] a.呆滞的；偷懒的 (英语六级单词)
- alfalfa [æl´fælfə] n.苜蓿 (英语六级单词)
文章标签:名著
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