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Tracks of a Rolling Stone-Part30_Henry J.Coke(1827-1916)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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one mule, I again prepared to mount my horse and depart.

I took, as it were, a sneaking glance at Samson. He was



sitting upon the ground, with his face between his knees,

sobbing.



At three-and-twenty the heart of a man, or of a woman - if

either has any, which, of course, may be doubtful - is apt to



play the dynamite with his or her resolves. Water-drops have

ever been formidableweapons of the latter, as we all know;



and, not being so accustomed to them then as I have become

since, the sight of the poor devil's abject woe and



destitution, the thought that illness and suffering were the

causes, the secret whisper that my act was a cowardly one,



forced me to follow the lines of least resistance, and submit

to the decrees of destiny.



One more page from my 'Ride,' and the reader will, I think,

have a fair conception of its general character. For the



last two hours the ascent of the Blue Mountains had been very

steep. We were in a thick pine forest. There was a track -



probably made by Indians. Near the summit we found a spring

of beautiful water. Here we halted for the night. It was a



snug spot. But, alas! there was nothing for the animals to

eat except pine needles. We lighted our fire against the



great up-torn roots of a fallen tree; and, though it was

freezing hard, we piled on such masses of dead boughs that



the huge blaze seemed to warm the surrounding atmosphere.

I must here give the words of my journal, for one exclamation



in it has a sort of schoolboy ring that recalls the buoyancy

of youthful spirits, the spirits indeed to which in early



life we owe our enterprise and perseverance:

'As I was dozing off, a pack of hungry wolves that had



scented us out set up the most infernalchorus ever heard.

In vain I pulled the frozen buffalo-robe over my head, and



tried to get to sleep. The demons drew nearer and nearer,

howling, snarling, fighting, moaning, and making a row in the



perfect stillness which reigned around, as if hell itself

were loose. For some time I bore it with patience. At



length, jumping up, I yelled in a voice that made the valley

ring: You devils! will you be quiet? The appeal was



immediately answered by silence; but hearing them tuning up

for a second concert, I threw some wood on the blazing fire



and once more retired to my lair. For a few minutes I lay

awake to admire a brilliant Aurora Borealis shooting out its



streams of electric light. Then, turning over on my side, I

never moved again till dawn.'



The first objects that caught my eye were the animals. They

were huddled together within a couple of yards of where we



lay. It was a horrible sight. Two out of the three mules,

and Samson's horse, had been attacked by the wolves. The



flanks of the horse were terribly torn, and the entrails of

both the mules were partiallyhanging out. Though all three



were still standing with their backs arched, they were

rapidly dying from loss of blood. My dear little '



Strawberry' - as we called him to match William's 'Cream' and

my mare were both intact.



A few days after this, Samson's remaining horse gave out. I

had to surrender what remained of my poor beast in order to



get my companion through. The last fifty miles of the

journey I performed on foot; sometimes carrying my rifle to



relieve the staggering little mule of a few pounds extra

weight. At long last the Dalles hove in sight. And our cry,



'The tents! the tents!' echoed the joyous 'Thalassa!

Thalassa!' of the weary Greeks.



CHAPTER XXIX

'WHERE is the tent of the commanding officer?' I asked of the



first soldier I came across.

He pointed to one on the hillside. 'Ags for Major Dooker,'



was the Dutch-accented answer.

Bidding Samson stay where he was, I made my way as directed.



A middle-aged officer in undress uniform was sitting on an




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