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Lin McLean-Part1_Owen Wister(1860-1938)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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"A man might think he'd dreamed he'd saw that place," said Lin to the



foreman, and wheeled his horse to the edge again. "She's sure there,

though," he added, gazing down. For a moment his boy face grew



thoughtful. "Shucks!" said he then, abruptly, "where's any joy in money

that's comin' till it arrives? I have most forgot the feel o' spot-cash."



He turned his horse away from the far-winding vision of the river, and

took a sharp jog after the foreman, who had not been waiting for him.



Thus they crossed the eighteen miles of high plain, and came down to Fort

Washakie, in the valley of Little Wind, before the day was hot.



His roll of wages once jammed in his pocket like an old handkerchief,

young Lin precipitated himself out of the post-trader's store and away on



his horse up the stream among the Shoshone tepees to an unexpected

entertainment--a wolf-dance. He had meant to go and see what the new



waiter-girl at the hotel looked like, but put this off promptly to attend

the dance. This hospitality the Shoshone Indians were extending to some



visiting Ute friends, and the neighborhood was assembled to watch the

ring of painted naked savages.



The post-trader looked after the galloping Lin. "What's he quitting his

job for?" he asked the foreman.



"Same as most of 'em quit."

"Nothing?"



"Nothing."

"Been satisfactory?"



"Never had a boy more so. Good-hearted, willing, a plumb dare-devil with

a horse."



"And worthless," suggested the post-trader.

"Well--not yet. He's headed that way."



"Been punching cattle long?"

"Came in the country about seventy-eight, I believe, and rode for the



Bordeaux Outfit most a year, and quit. Blew in at Cheyenne till he went

broke, and worked over on to the Platte. Rode for the C. Y. Outfit most a



year, and quit. Blew in at Buffalo. Rode for Balaam awhile on Butte

Creek. Broke his leg. Went to the Drybone Hospital, and when the fracture



was commencing to knit pretty good he broke it again at the hog-ranch

across the bridge. Next time you're in Cheyenne get Dr. Barker to tell



you about that. McLean drifted to Green River last year and went up over

on to Snake, and up Snake, and was around with a prospecting outfit on



Galena Creek by Pitchstone Canyon. Seems he got interested in some

Dutchwoman up there, but she had trouble--died, I think they said--and he



came down by Meteetsee to Wind River. He's liable to go to Mexico or

Africa next."



"If you need him," said the post-trader, closing his ledger, "you can

offer him five more a month."



"That'll not hold him."

"Well, let him go. Have a cigar. The bishop is expected for Sunday, and



I've got to see his room is fixed up for him."

"The bishop!" said the foreman. "I've heard him highly spoken of."



"You can hear him preach to-morrow. The bishop is a good man."

"He's better than that; he's a man," stated the foreman--"at least so



they tell me."

Now, saving an Indian dance, scarce any possible event at the Shoshone



agency could assemble in one spot so many sorts of inhabitants as a visit

from this bishop. Inhabitants of four colors gathered to view the



wolf-dance this afternoon-- red men, white men, black men, yellow men.

Next day, three sorts came to church at the agency. The Chinese laundry



was absent. But because, indeed (as the foreman said), the bishop was not

only a good man but a man, Wyoming held him in respect and went to look



at him. He stood in the agency church and held the Episcopal service this

Sunday morning for some brightly glittering army officers and their



families, some white cavalry, and some black infantry; the agency doctor,

the post-trader, his foreman, the government scout, three gamblers, the



waiter-girl from the hotel, the stage-driver, who was there because she

was; old Chief Washakie, white-haired and royal in blankets, with two



royal Utes splendid beside him; one benchful of squatting Indian

children, silent and marvelling; and, on the back bench, the commanding



officer's new hired-girl, and, beside her, Lin McLean.

Mr. McLean's hours were already various and successful. Even at the



wolf-dance, before he had wearied of its monotonous drumming and pageant,

his roving eye had rested upon a girl whose eyes he caught resting upon



him. A look, an approach, a word, and each was soon content with the

other. Then, when her duties called her to the post from him and the



stream's border, with a promise for next day he sought the hotel and

found the three gamblers anxious to make his acquaintance; for when a



cow-puncher has his pay many people will take an interest in him. The

three gamblers did not know that Mr. McLean could play cards. He left



them late in the evening fat with their money, and sought the tepees of

the Arapahoes. They lived across the road from the Shoshones, and among






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