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The Silverado Squatters-Part8_ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON(1850-1894)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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entrance, but it was still a kind of rope-walking; and it

would have been droll to see us mounting, one after another,



by candle-light, under the open stars.

The western door - that which looked up the canyon, and



through which we entered by our bridge of flying plank - was

still entire, a handsome, panelled door, the most finished



piece of carpentry in Silverado. And the two lowest bunks

next to this we roughly filled with hay for that night's use.



Through the opposite, or eastern-looking gable, with its open

door and window, a faint, disused starshine came into the



room like mist; and when we were once in bed, we lay,

awaiting sleep, in a haunted, incompleteobscurity. At first



the silence of the night was utter. Then a high wind began

in the distance among the tree-tops, and for hours continued



to grow higher. It seemed to me much such a wind as we had

found on our visit; yet here in our open chamber we were



fanned only by gentle and refreshing draughts, so deep was

the canyon, so close our house was planted under the



overhanging rock.

THE HUNTER'S FAMILY



THERE is quite a large race or class of people in America,

for whom we scarcely seem to have a parallel in England. Of



pure white blood, they are unknown or unrecognizable in

towns; inhabit the fringe of settlements and the deep, quiet



places of the country; rebellious to all labour, and pettily

thievish, like the English gipsies; rustically ignorant, but



with a touch of wood-lore and the dexterity of the savage.

Whence they came is a moot point. At the time of the war,



they poured north in crowds to escape the conscription; lived

during summer on fruits, wild animals, and petty theft; and



at the approach of winter, when these supplies failed, built

great fires in the forest, and there died stoically by



starvation. They are widely scattered, however, and easily

recognized. Loutish, but not ill-looking, they will sit all



day, swinging their legs on a field fence, the mind seemingly

as devoid of all reflection as a Suffolk peasant's, careless



of politics, for the most part incapable of reading, but with

a rebelliousvanity and a strong sense of independence.



Hunting is their most congenial business, or, if the occasion

offers, a little amateur detection. In tracking a criminal,



following a particular horse along a beatenhighway, and

drawing inductions from a hair or a footprint, one of those



somnolent, grinning Hodges will suddenly display activity of

body and finesse of mind. By their names ye may know them,



the women figuring as Loveina, Larsenia, Serena, Leanna,

Orreana; the men answering to Alvin, Alva, or Orion,



pronounced Orrion, with the accent on the first. Whether

they are indeed a race, or whether this is the form of



degeneracy common to all back-woodsmen, they are at least

known by a generic byword, as Poor Whites or Low-downers.



I will not say that the Hanson family was Poor White, because

the name savours of offence; but I may go as far as this -



they were, in many points, not unsimilar to the people

usually so-cared. Rufe himself combined two of the



qualifications, for he was both a hunter and an amateur

detective. It was he who pursued Russel and Dollar, the



robbers of the Lake Port stage, and captured them the very

morning after the exploit, while they were still sleeping in



a hayfield. Russel, a drunken Scotch carpenter, was even an

acquaintance of his own, and he expressed much grave



commiseration for his fate. In all that he said and did,

Rufe was grave. I never saw him hurried. When he spoke, he



took out his pipe with ceremonialdeliberation, looked east

and west, and then, in quiet tones and few words, stated his



business or told his story. His gait was to match; it would

never have surprised you if, at any step, he had turned round



and walked away again, so warily and slowly, and with so much

seeming hesitation did he go about. He lay long in bed in



the morning - rarely indeed, rose before noon; he loved all

games, from poker to clerical croquet; and in the Toll House



croquet ground I have seen him toiling at the latter with the




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