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The Heritage of the Desert-Part3_Zane Gray(1872-1939)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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with little fiery flecks in their depths. He appeared short of stature

because of a curvature of the spine, but straightened up he would have



been tall. He wore a blue flannel shirt, and blue overalls; round his

lean hips was a belt holding two Colt's revolvers, their heavy, dark



butts projecting outward, and he had on high boots with long, cruel

spurs.



"Howdy, father?" he said.

"I'm packing to-day," returned August Naab. "We ride out to-morrow. I



need your help."

"All right. When I get my pinto from Larsen."



"Never mind Larsen. If he got the better of you let the matter drop."

"Jeff got my pinto for a mustang with three legs. If I hadn't been drunk



I'd never have traded. So I'm looking for Jeff." He bit out the last

words with a peculiar snap of his long teeth, a circumstance which caused



Hare instantly to associate the savage clicking with the name he had

heard given this man. August Naab looked at him with gloomy eyes and



stern shut mouth, an expression of righteous anger, helplessness and

grief combined, the look of a man to whom obstacles had been nothing, at



last confronted with crowning defeat. Hare realized that this son was

Naab's first-born, best-loved, a thorn in his side, a black sheep.



"Say, father, is that the spy you found on the trail?" Snap's pale eyes

gleamed on Hare and the little flames seemed to darken and leap.



"This is John Hare, the young man I found. But he's not a spy."

"You can't make any one believe that. He's down as a spy. Dene's spy!



His name's gone over the ranges as a counter of unbranded stock. Dene

has named him and Dene has marked him. Don't take him home, as you've



taken so many sick and hunted men before. What's the good of it? You

never made a Mormon of one of them yet Don't take him--unless you want



another grave for your cemetery. Ha! Ha!"

Hare recoiled with a shock. Snap Naab swayed to the door, and stepped



down, all the time with his face over his shoulder, his baleful glance on

Hare; then the blue haze swallowed him,



The several loungers went out; August engaged the storekeeper in

conversation, introducing Hare and explaining their wants. They



inspected the various needs of a range-rider, selecting, in the end, not

the few suggested by Hare, but the many chosen by Naab. The last



purchase was the rifle Naab had talked about. It was a beautiful weapon,

finely polished and carved, entirely out of place among the plain



coarse-sighted and coarse-stocked guns in the rack.

"Never had a chance to sell it," said Abe. "Too long and heavy for the



riders. I'll let it go cheap, half price, and the cartridges also, two

thousand."



"Taken," replied Naab, quickly, with a satisfaction which showed he liked

a bargain.



"August, you must be going to shoot some?" queried Abe. "Something

bigger than rabbits and coyotes. Its about time--even if you are an



Elder. We Mormons must--" he broke off, continuing in a low tone: here s

Holderness now."



Hare wheeled with the interest that had gathered with the reiteration of

this man's name. A new-comer stooped to get in the door. He out-topped



even Naab in height, and was a superb blond-bearded man, striding with

the spring of a mountaineer.



"Good-day to you, Naab," he said. "Is this the young fellow you picked

up?"



"Yes. Jack Hare," rejoined Naab.

"Well, Hare, I'm Holderness. You'll AII my name. You were sent to Lund



by men interested in my ranges. I expected to see you in Lund, but

couldn't get over."



Hare met the proffered hand with his own, and as he had recoiled from

Snap Naab so now he received another shock, different indeed but



impelling in its power, instinctive of some great portent. Hare was

impressed by an indefinable subtlety, a namelessdistrust, as colorless



as the clear penetrating amber lightness of the eyes that bent upon him.

"Holderness, will you right the story about Hare?" inquired Naab.



"You mean about his being a spy? Well, Naab, the truth is that was his

job. I advised against sending a man down here for that sort of work.



It won't do. These Mormons will steal each other s cattle, and they've

got to get rid of them; so they won't have a man takingaccount of stock,



brands, and all that. If the Mormons would stand for it the rustlers

wouldn't. I'll take Hare out to the ranch and give him work, if he



wants. But he'd do best to leave Utah."

"Thank you, no," replied Hare, decidedly.



"He's going with me," said August Naab.

Holderness accepted this with an almost imperceptible nod, and he swept



Hare with eyes that searched and probed for latent possibilities. It was

the keen intelligence of a man who knew what development meant on the






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