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Toys of Peace-Part11_H.H.Munro(Saki)(1870-1916)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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moment. Each had a rifle in his hand, each had hate in his heart



and murder uppermost in his mind. The chance had come to give full

play to the passions of a lifetime. But a man who has been brought



up under the code of a restraining civilisation cannot easily nerve

himself to shoot down his neighbour in cold blood and without word



spoken, except for an offence against his hearth and honour. And

before the moment of hesitation had given way to action a deed of



Nature's own violence overwhelmed them both. A fierceshriek of the

storm had been answered by a splitting crash over their heads, and



ere they could leap aside a mass of falling beech tree had thundered

down on them. Ulrich von Gradwitz found himself stretched on the



ground, one arm numb beneath him and the other held almost as

helplessly in a tight tangle of forked branches, while both legs



were pinned beneath the fallen mass. His heavy shooting-boots had

saved his feet from being crushed to pieces, but if his fractures



were not as serious as they might have been, at least it was evident

that he could not move from his present position till some one came



to release him. The descending twig had slashed the skin of his

face, and he had to wink away some drops of blood from his eyelashes



before he could take in a general view of the disaster. At his

side, so near that under ordinary circumstances he could almost have



touched him, lay Georg Znaeym, alive and struggling, but obviously

as helplessly pinioned down as himself. All round them lay a thick-



strewn wreckage of splintered branches and broken twigs.

Relief at being alive and exasperation at his captiveplight brought



a strange medley of pious thank-offerings and sharp curses to

Ulrich's lips. Georg, who was early blinded with the blood which



trickled across his eyes, stopped his struggling for a moment to

listen, and then gave a short, snarling laugh.



"So you're not killed, as you ought to be, but you're caught,

anyway," he cried; "caught fast. Ho, what a jest, Ulrich von



Gradwitz snared in his stolen forest. There's real justice for

you!"



And he laughed again, mockingly and savagely.

"I'm caught in my own forest-land," retorted Ulrich. "When my men



come to release us you will wish, perhaps, that you were in a better

plight than caught poaching on a neighbour's land, shame on you."



Georg was silent for a moment; then he answered quietly:

"Are you sure that your men will find much to release? I have men,



too, in the forest to-night, close behind me, and THEY will be here

first and do the releasing. When they drag me out from under these



damned branches it won't need much clumsiness on their part to roll

this mass of trunk right over on the top of you. Your men will find



you dead under a fallen beech tree. For form's sake I shall send my

condolences to your family."



"It is a useful hint," said Ulrich fiercely. "My men had orders to

follow in ten minutes time, seven of which must have gone by



already, and when they get me out--I will remember the hint. Only

as you will have met your death poaching on my lands I don't think I



can decently send any message of condolence to your family."

"Good," snarled Georg, "good. We fight this quarrel out to the



death, you and I and our foresters, with no cursed interlopers to

come between us. Death and damnation to you, Ulrich von Gradwitz."



"The same to you, Georg Znaeym, forest-thief, game-snatcher."

Both men spoke with the bitterness of possible defeat before them,



for each knew that it might be long before his men would seek him

out or find him; it was a bare matter of chance which party would



arrive first on the scene.

Both had now given up the useless struggle to free themselves from



the mass of wood that held them down; Ulrich limited his endeavours

to an effort to bring his one partially free arm near enough to his



outer coat-pocket to draw out his wine-flask. Even when he had

accomplished that operation it was long before he could manage the



unscrewing of the stopper or get any of the liquid down his throat.

But what a Heaven-sent draught it seemed! It was an open winter,



and little snow had fallen as yet, hence the captives suffered less

from the cold than might have been the case at that season of the



year; nevertheless, the wine was warming and reviving to the wounded

man, and he looked across with something like a throb of pity to



where his enemy lay, just keeping the groans of pain and weariness

from crossing his lips.






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