章节正文
pulled her thoughts away from it now.
"Did you know who he was?"
It was like Jean to come straight to the point. Lite
smiled faintly; he knew that question would come, and
he knew that he would have to answer it.
"Sure. I made it my business to know who he was."
"Who was it, Lite?"
Lite did not say. He knew that question was coming
also, but he did not know whether he ought to answer it.
"It was Uncle Carl, wasn't it?"
Lite glanced down at her quickly. "You're a good
little guesser."
"Then it was that letter he was after." She was
silent for a minute, and then she looked at her watch.
"And I can't get at those chaps before to-morrow!"
She sighed and leaned back against the post.
"Lite, if it was worth all that hunting for, it must
mean something to us. I wonder what it can be; don't
you know?"
"No," said Lite slowly, "I don't. And it's something
a man don't want to do any guessing about."
This, Jean felt, was a gentle reproof for her own
speculations upon the subject. She said no more about
the letter.
"I sent him a telegram," she informed Lite irrelevantly,
"saying I'd located Art and was going to take
him back there. I wonder what he thought when he
got that!"
Lite turned half around and stared down at her. He
opened his lips to speak, hesitated, and closed them
without making a sound. He turned away and stared
down into the street that was so empty. After a little
he glanced at his own watch, with the same impulse Jean
had felt. The hours and minutes were beginning to
drag their feet as they passed.
"You go in," he ordered gently, "and lie down.
You'll be all worn out when the time comes for you to
get busy. We don't know what's ahead of us on this
trail, Jean. Right now, it's peaceful as Sunday morning
down in Maine; so you go in and get some sleep,
while you have a chance, and stop thinking about things.
Go on, Jean. I'll call you plenty early; you needn't
be afraid of missing the train."
Jean smiled a little at the tender, protective note of
authority in his voice and manner. Whether she permitted
it or not, Lite would go right on watching over
her and taking care of her. With a sudden desire to
please him, she rose obediently. When she passed him,
she reached out and gave his arm a little squeeze.
"You cantankerous old tyrant," she drawled in a
whisper, "you do love to haze me around, don't you?
Just to spite you, I'll do it!" She went in and left
him standing there, smoking and leaning against the
post, calm as the stars above. But under that surface
calm, the heart of Lite Avery was thumping violently.
His arm quivered still under the thrill of Jean's fingers.
Your bottled-up souls are quick to sense the meaning
in a tone or a touch; Jean, whether she herself knew it
or not, had betrayed an emotion that set Lite's thoughts
racing out into a golden future. He stood there a long
while, staring out upon the darkness, his eyes shining.
CHAPTER XXIV
THE LETTER IN THE CHAPS
Though hours may drag themselves into the past
so sluggishly that one is fairly maddened by the
snail's pace of them, into the past they must go
eventually. Jean had sat and listened to the wheels of the
Golden State Limited clank over the cryptic phrase that
meant so much. "Letter-in-the-chaps! Letter-in-the
chaps!" was what they had said while the train
pounded across the desert and slid through arroyas and
deep cuts which leveled hills for its passing. "Letter-
in-the-chaps! Letter-in-the-chaps!" And then a silence
while they stood by some desolate station where
the people were swarthy of skin and black of hair and
eyes, and moved languidly if they moved at all. Then
they would go on; and when the wheels had clicked over
the switches of the various side tracks, they would take
up again the refrain: "Letter-in-the-chaps! Letter-
in-the-chaps!" until Jean thought she would go crazy
if they kept it up much longer.
Little by little they drew near to Los Angeles. And
then they were there, sliding slowly through the yards
in a drab drizzle of one of California's fall rains. Then
they were in a taxicab, making for the Third Street
tunnel. Then Jean stared heavy-eyed at the dripping
palms along the boulevard which led away from the
smoke of the city and into Hollywood, snuggled against
the misty hills. "Letter-in-the-chaps!" her tired brain
repeated it still.
Then she was in the apartment shared with Muriel
Gay and her mother. These two were over at the
studio, the landlady told her when she let them in, and
Jean was glad that they were gone.
She knelt, still in her hat and coat and with her
gloves on, and fitted her trunk key into the lock. And
there she stopped. What if the letter were not in
the chaps, after all? What if it were but a trivial note,
concerning a matter long since forgotten; a trivial note
that had not the remotest bearing upon the murder?
"Letter-in-the-chaps!" The phrase returned with a
mocking note and beat insistently through her brain.
She sat back on the floor and shivered with the chill of a
fireless room in California, when a fall rain is at its
drizzling worst.
In the next room one of the men coughed; afterwards
she heard Lite's voice, saying something in an
undertone to Art Osgood. She heard Art's voice mutter
a reply. She raised herself again to her knees,
turned the key in the lock, and lifted the trunk-lid with
an air of determination.
Down next the bottom of her big trunk they lay, just
as she had packed them away, with her dad's six-shooter
and belt carefully disposed between the leathern folds.
She groped with her hands under a couple of riding-
skirts and her high, laced boots, got a firm grip on the
fringed leather, and dragged them out. She had forgotten
all about the gun and belt until they fell with a
thump on the floor. She pulled out the belt, left the
gun lying there by the trunk, and hurried out with the
chaps dangling over her arm.
She was pale when she stood before the two who sat
there waiting with their hats in their hands and their
faces full of repressed eagerness. Her fingers trembled
while she pulled at the stiff, leather flap of the pocket,
to free it from the button.
"Maybe it ain't there yet," Art hazarded nervously,
while they watched her. "But that's where he put it,
all right. I saw him."
Jean's fingers went groping into the pocket, stayed
there for a second or two, and came out holding a folded
envelope.
"That's it!" Art leaned toward her eagerly.
"That's the one, all right."
Jean sat down suddenly because her knees seemed
to bend under her weight. Three years--and that letter
within her reach all the time!
"Let's see, Jean." Lite reached out and took it from
her nerveless fingers. "Maybe it won't amount to anything
at all."
Jean tried to hold herself calm. "Read it--out
loud," she said. "Then we'll know." She tried to
smile, and made so great a failure of it that she came
very near crying. The faint crackle of the cheap paper
when Lite unfolded the letter made her start nervously.
"Read it--no matter--what it is," she repeated,
when she saw Lite's eyes go rapidly over the lines.
Lite glanced at her sharply, then leaned and took
her hand and held it close. His firm clasp steadied her
more than any words could have done. Without further
delay or attempt to palliate its grim significance,
he read the note:
Aleck:
If Johnny Croft comes to you with anything about me,
kick him off the ranch. He claims he knows a whole lot
about me branding too many calves. Don't believe anything
he tells you. He's just trying to make trouble because he
claims I underpaid him. He was telling Art a lot of stuff
that he claimed he could prove on me, but it's all a lie.
Send him to me if he comes looking for trouble. I'll give
him all he wants.
Art found a heifer down in the breaks that looks like
she might have blackleg. I'm going down there to see about
it. Maybe you better ride over and see what you think
about it; we don't want to let anything like that get a start
on us.
Don't pay any attention to Johnny. I'll fix him if he
don't keep his face shut.
CARL.
"Carl!" Jean repeated the name mechanically. "Carl."
"I kinda thought it was something like that," Art
Osgood interrupted her to say. "Now you know that
much, and I'll tell you just what I know about it. It
was Carl shot Crofty, all right. I rode over with him to
the Lazy A; I was on my way to town and we went that
far together. I rode that way to tell you good-by." He
looked at Jean with a certain diffidence. "I kinda
wanted to see you before I went clear outa the country,
but you weren't at home.
"Johnny Croft's horse was standing outside the
house when we rode up. I guess he must have just
got there ahead of us. Carl got off and went in ahead
of me. Johnny was eating a snack when I went in.
He said something to Carl, and Carl flared up. I saw
there wasn't anybody at home, and I didn't want to get
mixed up in the argument, so I turned and went on out.
And I hadn't more than got to my horse when I heard
a shot, and Carl came running out with his gun in his
hand.
"Well, Johnny was dead, and there wasn't anything
I could do about it. Carl told me to beat it outa the
country, just like I'd been planning; he said it would
be a whole lot better for him, seeing I wasn't an eye-
witness. He said Johnny started to draw his gun, and
he shot in self-defense; and he said I better go while
the going was good, or I might get pulled into it some
way.
"Well, I thought it over for a minute, and I didn't
see where it would get me anything to stay. I couldn't
help Carl any by staying, because I wasn't in the house
when it happened. So I hit the trail for town, and
"Did you know who he was?"
It was like Jean to come straight to the point. Lite
smiled faintly; he knew that question would come, and
he knew that he would have to answer it.
"Sure. I made it my business to know who he was."
"Who was it, Lite?"
Lite did not say. He knew that question was coming
also, but he did not know whether he ought to answer it.
"It was Uncle Carl, wasn't it?"
Lite glanced down at her quickly. "You're a good
little guesser."
"Then it was that letter he was after." She was
silent for a minute, and then she looked at her watch.
"And I can't get at those chaps before to-morrow!"
She sighed and leaned back against the post.
"Lite, if it was worth all that hunting for, it must
mean something to us. I wonder what it can be; don't
you know?"
"No," said Lite slowly, "I don't. And it's something
a man don't want to do any guessing about."
This, Jean felt, was a gentle reproof for her own
speculations upon the subject. She said no more about
the letter.
"I sent him a telegram," she informed Lite irrelevantly,
"saying I'd located Art and was going to take
him back there. I wonder what he thought when he
got that!"
Lite turned half around and stared down at her. He
opened his lips to speak, hesitated, and closed them
without making a sound. He turned away and stared
down into the street that was so empty. After a little
he glanced at his own watch, with the same impulse Jean
had felt. The hours and minutes were beginning to
drag their feet as they passed.
"You go in," he ordered gently, "and lie down.
You'll be all worn out when the time comes for you to
get busy. We don't know what's ahead of us on this
trail, Jean. Right now, it's peaceful as Sunday morning
down in Maine; so you go in and get some sleep,
while you have a chance, and stop thinking about things.
Go on, Jean. I'll call you plenty early; you needn't
be afraid of missing the train."
Jean smiled a little at the tender, protective note of
authority in his voice and manner. Whether she permitted
it or not, Lite would go right on watching over
her and taking care of her. With a sudden desire to
please him, she rose obediently. When she passed him,
she reached out and gave his arm a little squeeze.
"You cantankerous old tyrant," she drawled in a
whisper, "you do love to haze me around, don't you?
Just to spite you, I'll do it!" She went in and left
him standing there, smoking and leaning against the
post, calm as the stars above. But under that surface
calm, the heart of Lite Avery was thumping violently.
His arm quivered still under the thrill of Jean's fingers.
Your bottled-up souls are quick to sense the meaning
in a tone or a touch; Jean, whether she herself knew it
or not, had betrayed an emotion that set Lite's thoughts
racing out into a golden future. He stood there a long
while, staring out upon the darkness, his eyes shining.
CHAPTER XXIV
THE LETTER IN THE CHAPS
Though hours may drag themselves into the past
so sluggishly that one is fairly maddened by the
snail's pace of them, into the past they must go
eventually. Jean had sat and listened to the wheels of the
Golden State Limited clank over the cryptic phrase that
meant so much. "Letter-in-the-chaps! Letter-in-the
chaps!" was what they had said while the train
pounded across the desert and slid through arroyas and
deep cuts which leveled hills for its passing. "Letter-
in-the-chaps! Letter-in-the-chaps!" And then a silence
while they stood by some desolate station where
the people were swarthy of skin and black of hair and
eyes, and moved languidly if they moved at all. Then
they would go on; and when the wheels had clicked over
the switches of the various side tracks, they would take
up again the refrain: "Letter-in-the-chaps! Letter-
in-the-chaps!" until Jean thought she would go crazy
if they kept it up much longer.
Little by little they drew near to Los Angeles. And
then they were there, sliding slowly through the yards
in a drab drizzle of one of California's fall rains. Then
they were in a taxicab, making for the Third Street
tunnel. Then Jean stared heavy-eyed at the dripping
palms along the boulevard which led away from the
smoke of the city and into Hollywood, snuggled against
the misty hills. "Letter-in-the-chaps!" her tired brain
repeated it still.
Then she was in the apartment shared with Muriel
Gay and her mother. These two were over at the
studio, the landlady told her when she let them in, and
Jean was glad that they were gone.
She knelt, still in her hat and coat and with her
gloves on, and fitted her trunk key into the lock. And
there she stopped. What if the letter were not in
the chaps, after all? What if it were but a trivial note,
concerning a matter long since forgotten; a trivial note
that had not the remotest bearing upon the murder?
"Letter-in-the-chaps!" The phrase returned with a
mocking note and beat insistently through her brain.
She sat back on the floor and shivered with the chill of a
fireless room in California, when a fall rain is at its
drizzling worst.
In the next room one of the men coughed; afterwards
she heard Lite's voice, saying something in an
undertone to Art Osgood. She heard Art's voice mutter
a reply. She raised herself again to her knees,
turned the key in the lock, and lifted the trunk-lid with
an air of determination.
Down next the bottom of her big trunk they lay, just
as she had packed them away, with her dad's six-shooter
and belt carefully disposed between the leathern folds.
She groped with her hands under a couple of riding-
skirts and her high, laced boots, got a firm grip on the
fringed leather, and dragged them out. She had forgotten
all about the gun and belt until they fell with a
thump on the floor. She pulled out the belt, left the
gun lying there by the trunk, and hurried out with the
chaps dangling over her arm.
She was pale when she stood before the two who sat
there waiting with their hats in their hands and their
faces full of repressed eagerness. Her fingers trembled
while she pulled at the stiff, leather flap of the pocket,
to free it from the button.
"Maybe it ain't there yet," Art hazarded nervously,
while they watched her. "But that's where he put it,
all right. I saw him."
Jean's fingers went groping into the pocket, stayed
there for a second or two, and came out holding a folded
envelope.
"That's it!" Art leaned toward her eagerly.
"That's the one, all right."
Jean sat down suddenly because her knees seemed
to bend under her weight. Three years--and that letter
within her reach all the time!
"Let's see, Jean." Lite reached out and took it from
her nerveless fingers. "Maybe it won't amount to anything
at all."
Jean tried to hold herself calm. "Read it--out
loud," she said. "Then we'll know." She tried to
smile, and made so great a failure of it that she came
very near crying. The faint crackle of the cheap paper
when Lite unfolded the letter made her start nervously.
"Read it--no matter--what it is," she repeated,
when she saw Lite's eyes go rapidly over the lines.
Lite glanced at her sharply, then leaned and took
her hand and held it close. His firm clasp steadied her
more than any words could have done. Without further
delay or attempt to palliate its grim significance,
he read the note:
Aleck:
If Johnny Croft comes to you with anything about me,
kick him off the ranch. He claims he knows a whole lot
about me branding too many calves. Don't believe anything
he tells you. He's just trying to make trouble because he
claims I underpaid him. He was telling Art a lot of stuff
that he claimed he could prove on me, but it's all a lie.
Send him to me if he comes looking for trouble. I'll give
him all he wants.
Art found a heifer down in the breaks that looks like
she might have blackleg. I'm going down there to see about
it. Maybe you better ride over and see what you think
about it; we don't want to let anything like that get a start
on us.
Don't pay any attention to Johnny. I'll fix him if he
don't keep his face shut.
CARL.
"Carl!" Jean repeated the name mechanically. "Carl."
"I kinda thought it was something like that," Art
Osgood interrupted her to say. "Now you know that
much, and I'll tell you just what I know about it. It
was Carl shot Crofty, all right. I rode over with him to
the Lazy A; I was on my way to town and we went that
far together. I rode that way to tell you good-by." He
looked at Jean with a certain diffidence. "I kinda
wanted to see you before I went clear outa the country,
but you weren't at home.
"Johnny Croft's horse was standing outside the
house when we rode up. I guess he must have just
got there ahead of us. Carl got off and went in ahead
of me. Johnny was eating a snack when I went in.
He said something to Carl, and Carl flared up. I saw
there wasn't anybody at home, and I didn't want to get
mixed up in the argument, so I turned and went on out.
And I hadn't more than got to my horse when I heard
a shot, and Carl came running out with his gun in his
hand.
"Well, Johnny was dead, and there wasn't anything
I could do about it. Carl told me to beat it outa the
country, just like I'd been planning; he said it would
be a whole lot better for him, seeing I wasn't an eye-
witness. He said Johnny started to draw his gun, and
he shot in self-defense; and he said I better go while
the going was good, or I might get pulled into it some
way.
"Well, I thought it over for a minute, and I didn't
see where it would get me anything to stay. I couldn't
help Carl any by staying, because I wasn't in the house
when it happened. So I hit the trail for town, and
- impulse [´impʌls]
n.推动(力)；冲动；刺激 (初中英语单词) - beginning [bi´giniŋ] n.开始，开端；起源 (初中英语单词)
- gently [´dʒentli] ad.温和地；静静地 (初中英语单词)
- peaceful [´pi:sfəl] a.和平的；平静的 (初中英语单词)
- missing [´misiŋ] a.缺掉的；失踪的 (初中英语单词)
- standing [´stændiŋ] n.持续 a.直立的 (初中英语单词)
- thrill [θril] v.震惊；激动；刺激 (初中英语单词)
- emotion [i´məuʃən] n.感情；情绪；激动 (初中英语单词)
- phrase [freiz] n.短语；词组；措词 (初中英语单词)
- apartment [ə´pɑ:tmənt] n.一套房间 (初中英语单词)
- california [,kæli´fɔ:njə] n.加利福尼亚 (初中英语单词)
- waiting [´weitiŋ] n.等候；伺候 (初中英语单词)
- nerveless [´nə:vləs] a.无生气的；松散的 (初中英语单词)
- amount [ə´maunt] n.总数；数量 v.合计 (初中英语单词)
- failure [´feiljə] n.失败；衰竭；破产 (初中英语单词)
- sharply [´ʃɑ:pli] ad.锋利地；剧烈地 (初中英语单词)
- argument [´ɑ:gjumənt] n.辩论；争论；论证 (初中英语单词)
- running [´rʌniŋ] a.奔跑的；流动的 (初中英语单词)
- faintly [´feintli] ad.微弱地，软弱无力的 (高中英语单词)
- limited [´limitid] a.有限(制)的 (高中英语单词)
- desolate [´desəleit] a.荒凉的；孤独的 (高中英语单词)
- refrain [ri´frein] v.抑制；忍住 n.迭句 (高中英语单词)
- hollywood [´hɔliwud] n.好莱坞 (高中英语单词)
- landlady [´lænd,leidi] n.女房东；女店主 (高中英语单词)
- bearing [´beəriŋ] n.举止；忍耐；关系 (高中英语单词)
- saying [´seiŋ, ´sei-iŋ] n.言语；言论；格言 (高中英语单词)
- hurried [´hʌrid] a.仓促的，慌忙的 (高中英语单词)
- eagerness [´i:gənis] n.渴望；热忱 (高中英语单词)
- repeated [ri´pi:tid] a.反复的；重复的 (高中英语单词)
- seeing [si:iŋ] see的现在分词 n.视觉 (高中英语单词)
- protective [prə´tektiv] a.防护的；保护贸易的 (英语四级单词)
- trivial [´triviəl] a.琐碎的；不重要的 (英语四级单词)
- crackle [´krækəl] v.劈啪地响 n.劈啪声 (英语四级单词)
- calves [kɑ:vz] calf的复数 (英语四级单词)
- trying [´traiiŋ] a.难堪的；费劲的 (英语四级单词)
- heifer [´hefə] n.小母牛 (英语四级单词)
- hunting [´hʌntiŋ] n.打猎 (英语六级单词)
- reproof [ri´pru:f] n.谴责；责备 (英语六级单词)
- taking [´teikiŋ] a.迷人的 n.捕获物 (英语六级单词)
- swarthy [´swɔ:ði] a.黑皮肤的，黝黑的 (英语六级单词)
- boulevard [´bu:ləvɑ:d] n.林荫大道 (英语六级单词)
- holding [´həuldiŋ] n.保持，固定，存储 (英语六级单词)
- mechanically [mi´kænikəli] ad.机械地；无意识地 (英语六级单词)
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章节正文
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