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Betty Zane-Part12_Zane Gray(1872-1939)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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"Then run your hand gently down the line, slip your fingers in under his gills

and lift him over the side carefully."



"Five pounds," exclaimed Alfred, when the fish lay at his feet. "This is the

largest black bass I ever caught. It is pity to take such a beautiful fish out



of his element."

"Let him go, then. May I?" said Betty.



"No, you have allowed them all to go, even the pickerel which I think ought to

be killed. We will keep this fellow alive, and place him in that nice clear



pool over in the fort-yard."

"I like to watch you play a fish," said Betty. "Jonathan always hauls them



right out. You are so skillful. You let this fish run so far and then you

checked him. Then you gave him a line to go the other way, and no doubt he



felt free once more when you stopped him again."

"You are expressing a sentiment which has been, is, and always will be



particularly pleasing to the fair sex, I believe," observed Alfred, smiling

rather grimly as he wound up his line.



"Would you mind being explicit?" she questioned.

Alfred had laughed and was about to answer when the whip-like crack of a rifle



came from the hillside. The echoes of the shot reverberated from hill to hill

and were finally lost far down the valley.



"What can that be?" exclaimed Alfred anxiously, recalling Colonel Zane's odd

manner when they were about to leave the house.



"I am not sure, but I think that is my turkey, unless Lew Wetzel happened to

miss his aim," said Betty, laughing. "And that is such an unprecedented thing



that it can hardly be considered. Turkeys are scarce this season. Jonathan

says the foxes and wolves ate up the broods. Lew heard this turkeycalling and



he made little Harry Bennet, who had started out with his gun, stay at home

and went after Mr. Gobbler himself."



"Is that all? Well, that is nothing to get alarmed about, is it? I actually

had a feeling of fear, or a presentiment, we might say."



They beached the canoe and spread out the lunch in the shade near the spring.

Alfred threw himself at length upon the grass and Betty sat leaning against



the tree. She took a biscuit in one hand, a pickle in the other, and began to

chat volubly to Alfred of her school life, and of Philadelphia, and the



friends she had made there. At length, remarking his abstraction, she said:

"You are not listening to me."



"I beg your pardon. My thoughts did wander. I was thinking of my mother.

Something about you reminds me of her. I do not know what, unless it is that



little mannerism you have of pursing up your lips when you hesitate or stop to

think."



"Tell me of her," said Betty, seeing his softened mood.

"My mother was very beautiful, and as good as she was lovely. I never had a



care until my father died. Then she married again, and as I did not get on

with my step-father I ran away from home. I have not been in Virginia for four



years."

"Do you get homesick?"



"Indeed I do. While at Fort Pitt I used to have spells of the blues which

lasted for days. For a time I felt more contented here. But I fear the old



fever of restlessness will come over me again. I can speak freely to you

because l know you will understand, and I feel sure of your sympathy. My



father wanted me to be a minister. He sent me to the theologicalseminary at

Princeton, where for two years I tried to study. Then my father died. I went



home and looked after things until my mother married again. That changed

everything for me. I ran away and have since been a wanderer. I feel that I am



not lazy, that I am not afraid of work, but four years have drifted by and I

have nothing to show for it. I am discouraged. Perhaps that is wrong, but tell



me how I can help it. I have not the stoicism of the hunter, Wetzel, nor have

I the philosophy of your brother. I could not be content to sit on my doorstep



and smoke my pipe and watch the wheat and corn grow. And then, this life of

the borderman, environed as it is by untold dangers, leads me, fascinates me,



and yet appalls me with the fear that here I shall fall a victim to an

Indian's bullet or spear, and find a nameless grave."



A long silence ensued. Alfred had spoken quietly, but with an undercurrent of

bitterness that saddened Betty. For the first time she saw a shadow of pain in



his eyes. She looked away down the valley, not seeing the brown and gold hills

boldly defined against the blue sky, nor the beauty of the river as the



setting sun cast a ruddy glow on the water. Her companion's words had touched




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