酷兔英语
    当前位置:
  1. 首页
  2. 文章
  3. 娱乐英语
  4. 原版小说
  5. 正文

The Lone Star Ranger-Part3_Zane Gray(1872-1939)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

0 收藏 0 分享 0 赞

章节正文
文章总共2页


grim kept urging him to halt and return the fire of these men.

After running a couple of hundred yards he raised himself from



over the pommel, where he had bent to avoid the stinging

branches, and tried to guide his horse. In the dark shadows



under mesquites and cottonwoods he was hard put to it to find

open passage; however, he succeeded so well and made such



little noise that gradually he drew away from his pursuers. The

sound of their horses crashing through the thickets died away.



Duane reined in and listened. He had distanced them. Probably

they would go into camp till daylight, then follow his tracks.



He started on again, walking his horse, and peered sharply at

the ground, so that he might take advantage of the first trail



he crossed. It seemed a long while until he came upon one. He

followed it until a late hour, when, striking the willow brakes



again and hence the neighborhood of the river, he picketed his

horse and lay down to rest. But he did not sleep. His mind



bitterly revolved the fate that had come upon him. He made

efforts to think of other things, but in vain.



Every moment he expected the chill, the sense of loneliness

that yet was ominous of a strange visitation, the peculiarly



imagined lights and shades of the night--these things that

presaged the coming of Cal Bain. Doggedly Duane fought against



the insidious phantom. He kept telling himself that it was just

imagination, that it would wear off in time. Still in his heart



he did not believe what he hoped. But he would not give up; he

would not accept the ghost of his victim as a reality.



Gray dawn found him in the saddle again headed for the river.

Half an hour of riding brought him to the dense chaparral and



willow thickets. These he threaded to come at length to the

ford. It was a gravel bottom, and therefore an easy crossing.



Once upon the opposite shore he reined in his horse and looked

darkly back. This action marked his acknowledgment of his



situation: he had voluntarily sought the refuge of the outlaws;

he was beyond the pale. A bitter and passionate curse passed



his lips as he spurred his horse into the brakes on that alien

shore.



He rode perhaps twenty miles, not sparing his horse nor caring

whether or not he left a plain trail.



"Let them hunt me!" he muttered.

When the heat of the day began to be oppressive, and hunger and



thirst made themselves manifest, Duane began to look about him

for a place to halt for the noon-hours. The trail led into a



road which was hard packed and smooth from the tracks of

cattle. He doubted not that he had come across one of the roads



used by border raiders. He headed into it, and had scarcely

traveled a mile when, turning a curve, he came point-blank upon



a single horseman riding toward him. Both riders wheeled their

mounts sharply and were ready to run and shoot back. Not more



than a hundred paces separated them. They stood then for a

moment watching each other.



"Mawnin', stranger," called the man, dropping his hand from his

hip.



"Howdy," replied Duane, shortly.

They rode toward each other, closing half the gap, then they



halted again.

"I seen you ain't no ranger," called the rider, "an' shore I



ain't none."

He laughed loudly, as if he had made a joke.



"How'd you know I wasn't a ranger?" asked Duane, curiously.

Somehow he had instantly divined that his horseman was no



officer, or even a rancher trailing stolen stock.

"Wal," said the fellow, starting his horse forward at a walk,



"a ranger'd never git ready to run the other way from one man."

He laughed again. He was small and wiry, slouchy of attire, and



armed to the teeth, and he bestrode a fine bay horse. He had

quick, dancing brown eyes, at once frank and bold, and a



coarse, bronzed face. Evidently he was a good-natured ruffian.

Duane acknowledged the truth of the assertion, and turned over



in his mind how shrewdly the fellow had guessed him to be a

hunted man.



"My name's Luke Stevens, an' I hail from the river. Who're

you?" said this stranger.



Duane was silent.

"I reckon you're Buck Duane," went on Stevens. "I heerd you was






文章总共2页
文章标签:名著  

章节正文
Copyright © 2023 Qeto All rights reserved.
商务合作 | 联系我们 | 关于我们 | 版权声明 | 隐私条款 | 如果智培

京ICP备05059198号-1 京公网安备 11011202003401号