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The Heritage of the Desert-Part5_Zane Gray(1872-1939)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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keen-eyed warrior, despite his age.

The next Navajo greeted him with a guttural word. This was a warrior



whose name might well have been Scarface, for the signs of conflict were

there. It was a face like a bronze mask, cast m the one expression of



untamed desert fierceness.

Hare bowed to each and felt himself searched by burning eyes, which were



doubtful, yet not unfriendly.

"Shake," finally said Eschtah, offering his hand.



"Ugh!" exclaimed Scarbreast, extending a bare silver-braceleted arm.

This sign of friendship pleased Naab. He wished to enlist the sympathies



of the Navajo chieftains in the young man's behalf. In his ensuing

speech, which was plentifully emphasized with gestures, he lapsed often



into English, saying weak--no strong" when he placed his hand on Hare's

legs, and "bad" when he touched the young man's chest, concluding with



the words "sick--sick."

Scarbreast regarded Hare with great earnestness, and when Naab had



finished he said: "Chineago--ping!" and rubbed his hand over his stomach.

"He says you need meat--lots of deer-meat," translated Naab.



"Sick," repeated Eschtah, whose English was intelligible.

He appeared to be casting about in his mind for additional words to



express his knowledge of the white man's tongue, and, failing, continued

in Navajo: "Tohodena--moocha--malocha."



Hare was nonplussed at the roar of laughter from the Mormons. August

shook like a mountain in an earthquake.



"Eschtah says, 'you hurry, get many squaws_many wives.

Other Indians, russet-skinned warriors, with black hair held close by



bands round their foreheads, joined the circle, and sitting before the

fire clasped their knees and talked. Hare listened awhile, and then,



being fatigued, he sought the cedar-tree where he had left his blankets.

The dry mat of needles made an odorous bed. He placed a sack of grain



for a pillow, and doubling up one blanket to lie upon, he pulled the

others over him. Then he watched and listened. The cedar-wood burned



with a clear flame, and occasionally snapped out a red spark. The voices

of the Navajos, scarcely audible, sounded "toa's" and taa's"--syllables



he soon learned were characteristic and dominant--in low, deep murmurs.

It reminded Hare of something that before had been pleasant to his ear.



Then it came to mind: a remembrance of Mescal's sweet voice, and that

recalled the kinship between her and the Navajo chieftain. He looked



about, endeavoring to find her in the ring of light, for he felt in her a

fascination akin to the charm of this twilight hour. Dusky forms passed



to and fro under the trees; the tinkle of bells on hobbled mustangs rang

from the forest; coyotes had begun their night quest with wild howls; the



camp-fire burned red, and shadows flickered on the blanketed Indians; the

wind now moaned, now lulled in the cedars.



Hare lay back in his blankets and saw lustrous stars through the network

of branches. With their light in his face and the cold wind waving his



hair on his brow he thought of the strangeness of it all, of its

remoteness from anything ever known to him before, of its inexpressible



wildness. And a rush of emotion he failed wholly to stifle proved to him

that he could have loved this life if--if he had not of late come to



believe that he had not long to live. Still Naab's influence exorcised

even that one sad thought; and he flung it from him in resentment.



Sleep did not come so readily; he was not very well this night; the flush

of fever was on his cheek, and the heat of feverish blood burned his



body. He raised himself and, resolutely seeking for distraction, once

more stared at the camp-fire. Some time must have passed during his



dreaming, for only three persons were in sight. Naab's broad back was

bowed and his head nodded. Across the fire in its ruddy flicker sat



Eschtah beside a slight, dark figure. At second glance Hare recognized

Mescal. Surprise claimed him, not more for her presence there than for



the white band binding her smooth black tresses. She had not worn such

an ornament before. That slender band lent her the one touch which made



her a Navajo. Was it worn in respect to her aged grandfather? What did

this mean for a girl reared with Christian teaching? Was it desert



blood? Hare had no answers for these questions. They only increased the

mystery and romance. He fell asleep with the picture in his mind of



Eschtah and Mescal, sitting in the glow of the fire, and of August Naab,

nodding silently.



"Jack, Jack, wake up." The words broke dully into his slumbers; wearily

he opened his eyes. August Naab bent over him, shaking him gently.






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