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Jerry of the Islands-Part30_JACK LONDON(1876-1916)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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the shade of the beach coconuts, Villa, Harley, and Jerry followed

the river inland a quarter of a mile to the first likely pool.



"One can never be too sure," Harley said, taking his automatic

pistol from its holster and placing it on top his heap of clothes.



"A stray bunch of blacks might just happen to surprise us."

Villa stepped into the water to her knees, looked up at the dark



jungle roof high overhead through which only occasional shafts of

sunlight penetrated, and shuddered.



"An appropriatesetting for a dark deed," she smiled, then scooped a

handful of chill water against her husband, who plunged in in



pursuit.

For a time Jerry sat by their clothes and watched the frolic. Then



the drifting shadow of a huge butterfly attracted his attention, and

soon he was nosing through the jungle on the trail of a wood-rat.



It was not a very fresh trail. He knew that well enough; but in the

deeps of him were all his instincts of ancient training--instincts



to hunt, to prowl, to pursue living things, in short, to play the

game of getting his own meat though for ages man had got the meat



for him and his kind.

So it was, exercising faculties that were no longer necessary, but



that were still alive in him and clamorous for exercise, he followed

the long-since passed wood-rat with all the soft-footed crouching



craft of the meat-pursuer and with utmostfineness of reading the

scent. The trail crossed a fresh trail, a trail very fresh, very



immediately fresh. As if a rope had been attached to it, his head

was jerked abruptly to right angles with his body. The unmistakable



smell of a black was in his nostrils. Further, it was a strange

black, for he did not identify it with the many he possessed filed



away in the pigeon-holes of his brain.

Forgotten was the stale wood-rat as he followed the new trail.



Curiosity and play impelled him. He had no thought of apprehension

for Villa and Harley--not even when he reached the spot where the



black, evidently startled by bearing their voices, had stood and

debated, and so left a very strong scent. From this point the trail



swerved off toward the pool. Nervously alert, strung to extreme

tension, but without alarm, still playing at the game of tracking,



Jerry followed.

From the pool came occasional cries and laughter, and each time they



reached his ears Jerry experienced glad little thrills. Had he been

asked, and had he been able to express the sensations of emotion in



terms of thought, he would have said that the sweetest sound in the

world was any sound of Villa Kennan's voice, and that, next



sweetest, was any sound of Harley Kennan's voice. Their voices

thrilled him, always, reminding him of his love for them and that he



was beloved of them.

With the first sight of the strange black, which occurred close to



the pool, Jerry's suspicions were aroused. He was not conducting

himself as an ordinary black, not on evil intent, should conduct



himself. Instead, he betrayed all the actions of one who lurked in

the perpetration of harm. He crouched on the jungle floor, peering



around a great root of a board tree. Jerry bristled and himself

crouched as he watched.



Once, the black raised his rifle half-way to his shoulder; but, with

an outburst of splashing and laughter, his unconscious victims



evidently removed themselves from his field of vision. His rifle

was no old-fashioned Snider, but a modern, repeating Winchester; and



he showed habituation to firing it from his shoulder rather than

from the hip after the manner of most Malaitans.



Not satisfied with his position by the board tree, he lowered his

gun to his side and crept closer to the pool. Jerry crouched low



and followed. So low did he crouch that his head, extended

horizontally forward, was much lower than his shoulders which were



humped up queerly and composed the highest part of him. When the

black paused, Jerry paused, as if instantlyfrozen. When the black



moved, he moved, but more swiftly, cutting down the distance between

them. And all the while the hair of his neck and shoulders bristled



in recurrent waves of ferocity and wrath. No golden dog this, ears

flattened and tongue laughing in the arms of the lady-god, no Sing



Song Silly chanting ancient memories in the cloud-entanglement of




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