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Arizona Nights-Part15_Stewart Edward White(1873-1946)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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purple and pink, vivid as the chiffon of a girl's gown. To the

south and southwest the Chiricahuas and Dragoons were lost in



thunderclouds which flashed and rumbled.

We jogged homewards, our cutting ponies, tired with the quick,



sharp work, shuffling knee deep in a dusk that seemed to

disengage itself and rise upwards from the surface of the desert.



Everybody was hungry and tired. At the chuck wagon we threw off

our saddles and turned the mounts into the remuda. Some of the



wisest of us, remembering the thunderclouds, stacked our gear

under the veranda roof of the old ranch house.



Supper was ready. We seized the tin battery, filled the plates

with the meat, bread, and canned corn, and squatted on our heels.



The food was good, and we ate hugely in silence. When we could

hold no more we lit pipes. Then we had leisure to notice that



the storm cloud was mounting in a portentous silence to the

zenith, quenching the brilliant desert stars.



"Rolls" were scattered everywhere. A roll includes a cowboy's

bed and all of his personal belongings. When the outfit includes



a bed-wagon, the roll assumes bulky proportions.

As soon as we had come to a definiteconclusion that it was going



to rain, we deserted the camp fire and went rustling for our

blankets. At the end of ten minutes every bed was safe within



the doors of the abandoned adobe ranch house, each owner

recumbent on the floor claim he had pre-empted, and every man



hoping fervently that he had guessed right as to the location of

leaks.



Ordinarily we had depended on the light of camp fires, so now

artificial illumination lacked. Each man was indicated by the



alternately glowing and waning lozenge of his cigarette fire.

Occasionally someone struck a match, revealing for a moment



high-lights on bronzed countenances, and the silhouette of a

shading hand. Voices spoke disembodied. As the conversation



developed, we gradually recognised the membership of our own

roomful. I had forgotten to state that the ranch house included



four chambers. Outside, the rain roared with Arizona ferocity.

Inside, men congratulated themselves, or swore as leaks developed



and localised.

Naturally we talked first of stampedes. Cows and bears are the



two great cattle-country topics. Then we had a mouth-organ solo

or two, which naturally led on to songs. My turn came. I struck



up the first verse of a sailor chantey as possessing at least the

interest of novelty:



Oh, once we were a-sailing, a-sailing were we,

Blow high, blow low, what care we;



And we were a-sailing to see what we could see,

Down on the coast of the High Barbaree.



I had just gone so far when I was brought up short by a

tremendous oath behind me. At the same instant a match flared.



I turned to face a stranger holding the little light above his

head, and peering with fiery intentness over the group sprawled



about the floor.

He was evidently just in from the storm. His dripping hat lay at



his feet. A shock of straight, close-clipped vigorous hair stood

up grey above his seamed forehead. Bushy iron-grey eyebrows



drawn close together thatched a pair of burning, unquenchable

eyes. A square, deep jaw, lightly stubbled with grey, was



clamped so tight that the cheek muscles above it stood out in

knots and welts.



Then the match burned his thick, square fingers, and he dropped

it into the darkness that ascended to swallow it.



"Who was singing that song?" he cried harshly. Nobody answered.

"Who was that singing?" he demanded again.



By this time I had recovered from my first astonishment.

"I was singing," said I.



Another match was instantly lit and thrust into my very face. I

underwent the fierce scrutiny of an instant, then the taper was



thrown away half consumed.

"Where did you learn it?" the stranger asked in an altered voice.



"I don't remember," I replied; "it is a common enough deep-sea

chantey."



A heavy pause fell. Finally the stranger sighed.

"Quite like," he said; "I never heard but one man sing it."






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