酷兔英语
    当前位置:
  1. 首页
  2. 文章
  3. 娱乐英语
  4. 原版小说
  5. 正文

The Faith of Men-Part15_JACK LONDON(1876-1916)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

0 收藏 0 分享 0 赞

章节正文
文章总共2页


lecture delivered north of Fifty-three.

But it fell on unheeding ears. Snettishane was still in the dark



ages. As she paused for breath, he said threateningly, "To-night I

shall call again like the raven."



At this moment the Factor entered the room and again helped

Snettishane on his way to the heavenly antipodes.



That night the raven croaked more persistently than ever. Lit-lit,

who was a light sleeper, heard and smiled. John Fox tossed



restlessly. Then he awoke and tossed about with greater

restlessness. He grumbled and snorted, swore under his breath and



over his breath, and finally flung out of bed. He groped his way

to the great living-room, and from the rack took down a loaded



shot-gun--loaded with bird-shot, left therein by the careless

McTavish.



The Factor crept carefully out of the Fort and down to the river.

The croaking had ceased, but he stretched out in the long grass and



waited. The air seemed a chilly balm, and the earth, after the

heat of the day, now and again breathed soothingly against him.



The Factor, gathered into the rhythm of it all, dozed off, with his

head upon his arm, and slept.



Fifty yards away, head resting on knees, and with his back to John

Fox, Snettishane likewise slept, gently conquered by the quietude



of the night. An hour slipped by and then he awoke, and, without

lifting his head, set the night vibrating with the hoarse gutturals



of the raven call.

The Factor roused, not with the abrupt start of civilized man, but



with the swift and comprehensive glide from sleep to waking of the

savage. In the night-light he made out a dark object in the midst



of the grass and brought his gun to bear upon it. A second croak

began to rise, and he pulled the trigger. The crickets ceased from



their sing-song chant, the wildfowl from their squabbling, and the

raven croak broke midmost and died away in gasping silence.



John Fox ran to the spot and reached for the thing he had killed,

but his fingers closed on a coarse mop of hair and he turned



Snettishane's face upward to the starlight. He knew how a shotgun

scattered at fifty yards, and he knew that he had peppered



Snettishane across the shoulders and in the small of the back. And

Snettishane knew that he knew, but neither referred to it



"What dost thou here?" the Factor demanded. "It were time old

bones should be in bed."



But Snettishane was stately in spite of the bird-shot burning under

his skin.



"Old bones will not sleep," he said solemnly. "I weep for my

daughter, for my daughter Lit-lit, who liveth and who yet is dead,



and who goeth without doubt to the white man's hell."

"Weep henceforth on the far bank, beyond ear-shot of the Fort,"



said John Fox, turning on his heel, "for the noise of thy weeping

is exceeding great and will not let one sleep of nights."



"My heart is sore," Snettishane answered, "and my days and nights

be black with sorrow."



"As the raven is black," said John Fox.

"As the raven is black," Snettishane said.



Never again was the voice of the raven heard by the river bank.

Lit-lit grows matronly day by day and is very happy. Also, there



are sisters to the sons of John Fox's first wife who lies buried in

a tree. Old Snettishane is no longer a visitor at the Fort, and



spends long hours raising a thin, aged voice against the filial

ingratitude of children in general and of his daughter Lit-lit in



particular. His declining years are embittered by the knowledge

that he was cheated, and even John Fox has withdrawn the assertion



that the price for Lit-lit was too much by ten blankets and a gun.

BATARD



Batard was a devil. This was recognized throughout the Northland.

"Hell's Spawn" he was called by many men, but his master, Black



Leclere, chose for him the shameful name "Batard." Now Black

Leclere was also a devil, and the twain were well matched. There



is a saying that when two devils come together, hell is to pay.

This is to be expected, and this certainly was to be expected when



Batard and Black Leclere came together. The first time they met,

Batard was a part-grown puppy, lean and hungry, with bitter eyes;



and they met with snap and snarl, and wicked looks, for Leclere's

upper lip had a wolfish way of lifting and showing the white, cruel



teeth. And it lifted then, and his eyes glinted viciously, as he

reached for Batard and dragged him out from the squirming litter.



It was certain that they divined each other, for on the instant

Batard had buried his puppy fangs in Leclere's hand, and Leclere,






文章总共2页
文章标签:名著  

章节正文
Copyright © 2023 Qeto All rights reserved.
商务合作 | 联系我们 | 关于我们 | 版权声明 | 隐私条款 | 如果智培

京ICP备05059198号-1 京公网安备 11011202003401号