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On the Track-Part7_Henry Lawson(1867-1922)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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"Don't get yer rag out," said Peter quietly. "The hoss-stealer's come,

an' nearly killed his mother ter begin with; an' if yer don't get



yer physic-box an' come wi' me, by the great God I'll ----"

Here the revolver was produced and pointed at Doc. Wild's head.



The sight of the weapon had a sobering effect upon the doctor. He rose,

looked at Peter critically for a moment, knocked the weapon out of his hand,



and said slowly and deliberately:

"Wall, ef the case es as serious as that, I (hic) reckon I'd better come."



Peter was still of the same opinion, so Doc. Wild proceeded

to get his medicine chest ready. He explained afterwards,



in one of his softer moments, that the shooter didn't frighten him so much

as it touched his memory -- "sorter put him in mind of the old days



in California, and made him think of the man he might have been,"

he'd say, -- "kinder touched his heart and slid the durned old panorama



in front of him like a flash; made him think of the time

when he slipped three leaden pills into `Blue Shirt' for winking at a new chum



behind his (the Doc.'s) back when he was telling a truthful yarn,

and charged the said `Blue Shirt' a hundred dollars for extracting



the said pills."

Joe Middleton's wife is a grandmother now.



Peter passed after the manner of his sort; he was found dead in his bunk.

Poor Doc. Wild died in a shepherd's hut at the Dry Creeks.



The shepherds (white men) found him, "naked as he was born and with the hide

half burned off him with the sun," rounding up imaginary snakes



on a dusty clearing, one blazing hot day. The hut-keeper had

some "quare" (queer) experiences with the doctor during the next three days



and used, in after years, to tell of them, between the puffs of his pipe,

calmly and solemnly and as if the story was rather to the doctor's credit



than otherwise. The shepherds sent for the police and a doctor,

and sent word to Joe Middleton. Doc. Wild was sensible towards the end.



His interview with the other doctor was characteristic. "And, now you see

how far I am," he said in conclusion -- "have you brought the brandy?"



The other doctor had. Joe Middleton came with his waggonette,

and in it the softest mattress and pillows the station afforded.



He also, in his innocence, brought a dozen of soda-water.

Doc. Wild took Joe's hand feebly, and, a little later, he "passed out"



(as he would have said) murmuring "something that sounded like poetry",

in an unknown tongue. Joe took the body to the home station.



"Who's the boss bringin'?" asked the shearers, seeing the waggonette

coming very slowly and the boss walking by the horses' heads.



"Doc. Wild," said a station hand. "Take yer hats off."

They buried him with bush honours, and chiselled his name



on a slab of bluegum -- a wood that lasts.

The Mystery of Dave Regan



"And then there was Dave Regan," said the traveller. "Dave used to die

oftener than any other bushman I knew. He was always being reported dead



and turnin' up again. He seemed to like it -- except once, when his brother

drew his money and drank it all to drown his grief at what he called



Dave's `untimely end'. Well, Dave went up to Queensland once with cattle,

and was away three years and reported dead, as usual.



He was drowned in the Bogan this time while tryin' to swim his horse

acrost a flood -- and his sweethearthurried up and got spliced to a worse man



before Dave got back.

"Well, one day I was out in the bush lookin' for timber,



when the biggest storm ever knowed in that place come on.

There was hail in it, too, as big as bullets, and if I hadn't



got behind a stump and crouched down in time I'd have been riddled

like a -- like a bushranger. As it was, I got soakin' wet.



The storm was over in a few minutes, the water run off down the gullies,

and the sun come out and the scrub steamed -- and stunk



like a new pair of moleskin trousers. I went on along the track,

and presently I seen a long, lanky chap get on to a long, lanky horse



and ride out of a bush yard at the edge of a clearin'.

I knowed it was Dave d'reckly I set eyes on him.



"Dave used to ride a tall, holler-backed thoroughbred with a body and limbs

like a kangaroo dog, and it would circle around you and sidle away



as if it was frightened you was goin' to jab a knife into it.

"`'Ello! Dave!' said I, as he came spurrin' up. `How are yer!'



"`'Ello, Jim!' says he. `How are you?'

"`All right!' says I. `How are yer gettin' on?'



"But, before we could say any more, that horse shied away and broke off

through the scrub to the right. I waited, because I knowed



Dave would come back again if I waited long enough; and in about ten minutes

he came sidlin' in from the scrub to the left.



"`Oh, I'm all right,' says he, spurrin' up sideways; `How are you?'

"`Right!' says I. `How's the old people?'






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