章节正文
a bundle, makin' for New York City. I had an idea of
goin' there and makin' lots of money. I always felt like
I could do it. I came to a place one evenin' where the
road forked and I didn't know which fork to take. I
studied about it for half an hour, and then I took the left-
hand. That night I run into the camp of a Wild West
show that was travellin' among the little towns, and
I went West with it. I've often wondered if I
wouldn't have turned out different if I'd took the other
road."
"Oh, I reckon you'd have ended up about the same,"
said Bob Tidball, cheerfullyphilosophical. "It ain't
the roads we take; it's what's inside of us that makes us
turn out the way we do."
Shark Dodson got up and leaned against a tree.
"I'd a good deal rather that sorrel of yourn hadn't
hurt himself, Bob," he said again, almost pathetically.
"Same here," agreed Bob; "he was sure a first-rate
kind of a crowbait. But Bolivar, he'll pull us through
all right. Reckon we'd better be movin' on, hadn't
we, Shark? I'll bag this boodle ag'in and we'll hit the
trail for higher timber."
Bob Tidball replaced the spoil in the bag and tied the
mouth of it tightly with a cord. When he looked up the
most prominent object that he saw was the muzzle of
Shark Dodson's .45 held upon him without a waver.
"Stop your funnin'," said Bob, with a grin. "We got
to be hittin' the breeze."
"Set still," said Shark. "You ain't goin' to hit
no breeze, Bob. I hate to tell you, but there ain't any
chance for but one of us. Bolivar, he's plenty tired,
and he can't carry double."
"We been pards, me and you, Shark Dodson, for three
year," Bob said quietly. "We've risked our lives together
time and again. I've always give you a square deal,
and I thought you was a man. I've heard some queer
stories about you shootin' one or two men in a peculiar
way, but I never believed 'em. Now if you're just havin'
a little fun with me, Shark, put your gun up, and we'll
get on Bolivar and vamose. If you mean to shoot --
shoot, you blackhearted son of a tarantula!"
Shark Dodson's face bore a deeply sorrowful look.
"You don't know how bad I feel," he sighed, "about
that sorrel of yourn breakin' his leg, Bob."
The expression on Dodson's face changed in an instant
to one of cold ferocity mingled with inexorable cupidity.
The soul of the man showed itself for a moment like an
evil face in the window of a reputable house.
Truly Bob Tidball was never to "hit the breeze" again.
The deadly .45 of the false friend cracked and filled the
gorge with a roar that the walls hurled back with indignant
echoes. And Bolivar, unconscious accomplice, swiftly
bore away the last of the holders-up of the "Sunset
Express," not put to the stress of "carrying double."
But as "Shark" Dodson galloped away the woods
seemed to fade from his view; the revolver in his right hand
turned to the curved arm of a mahogany chair; his saddle
was strangely upholstered, and he opened his eyes and
saw his feet, not in stirrups, but resting quietly on the edge
of a quartered-oak desk.
I am telling you that Dodson, of the firm of Dodson
& Decker, Wall Street brokers, opened his eyes. Peabody,
the confidential clerk, was standing by his chair, hesitating
to speak. There was a confused hum of wheels below, and
the sedative buzz of an electric fan.
"Ahem! Peabody," said Dodson, blinking. "I must
have fallen asleep. I had a most remarkable dream.
What is it, Peabody?"
"Mr. Williams, sir, of Tracy & Williams, is outside.
He has come to settle his deal in X. Y. Z. The market
caught him short, sir, if you remember."
"Yes, I remember. What is X. Y. Z. quoted at to-day,
Peabody?"
"One eighty-five, sir."
"Then that's his price."
"Excuse me," said Peabody, rather nervously "for
speaking of it, but I've been talking to Williams. He's
an old friend of yours, Mr. Dodson, and you practically
have a corner in X. Y. Z. I thought you might -- that is,
I thought you might not remember that he sold you
the stock at 98. If he settles at the market price it will
take every cent he has in the world and his home too to
deliver the shares."
The expression on Dodson's face changed in an instant
to one of cold ferocity mingled with inexorable cupidity.
The soul of the man showed itself for a moment like an
evil face in the window of a reputable house.
"He will settle at one eighty-five," said Dodson.
"Bolivar cannot carry double."
A BLACKJACK BARGAINER
The most disreputable thing in Yancey Goree's law
office was Goree himself, sprawled in his creakv old arm-
chair. The rickety little office, built of red brick, was
set flush with the street -- the main street of the town of
Bethel.
Bethel rested upon the foot-hills of the Blue Ridge.
Above it the mountains were piled to the sky. Far
below it the turbid Catawba gleamed yellow along its
disconsolate valley.
The June day was at its sultriest hour. Bethel dozed
in the tepid shade. Trade was not. It was so still that
Goree, reclining in his chair, distinctly heard the clicking
of the chips in the grand-jury room, where the "court-
house gang" was playing poker. From the open back
door of the office a well-worn path meandered across the
grassy lot to the court-house. The treading out of that
path had cost Goree all he ever had -- first inheritance
of a few thousand dollars, next the old family home, and,
latterly the last shreds of his self-respect and manhood.
The "gang" had cleaned him out. The broken gambler
had turned drunkard and parasite; he had lived to see
this day come when the men who had stripped him
denied him a seat at the game. His word was no longer
to be taken. The daily bouts at cards had arranged itself
accordingly, and to him was assigned the ignoble part of
the onlooker. The sheriff, the county clerk, a sportive
deputy, a gay attorney, and a chalk-faced man hailing
"from the valley," sat at table, and the sheared one
was thus tacitly advised to go and grow more wool.
Soon wearying of his ostracism, Goree had departed
for his office, muttering to himself as he unsteadily tra-
versed the unluckypathway. After a drink of corn
whiskey from a demijohn under the table, he had flung
himself into the chair, staring, in a sort of maudlin apathy,
out at the mountains immersed in the summer haze.
The little white patch he saw away up on the side of
Blackjack was Laurel, the village near which he had been
born and bred. There, also, was the birthplace of the
feud between the Gorees and the Coltranes. Now no
direct heir of the Gorees survived except this plucked
and singed bird of misfortune. To the Coltranes, also,
but one male supporter was left -- Colonel Abner Col-
trane, a man of substance and standing, a member of the
State Legislature, and a contemporary with Goree's
father. The feud had been a typical one of the region;
it had left a red record of hate, wrong and slaughter.
But Yancey Goree was not thinking of feuds. His
befuddled brain was hopelessly attacking the problem
of the future maintenance of himself and his favourite
follies. Of late, old friends of the family had seen to it
that he had whereof to eat and a place to sleep -- but whiskey
they would not buy for him, and he must have whiskey.
His law business was extinct; no case had been intrusted
to him in two years. He had been a borrower and a
sponge, and it seemed that if he fell no lower it would be
from lack of opportunity. One more chance -- he was
saying to himself -- if he had one more stake at the game,
he thought he could win; but he had nothing left to sell,
and his credit was more than exhausted.
He could not help smiling, even in his misery, as he
thought of the man to whom, six months before, he had
sold the old Goree homestead. There had come from
"back yan'" in the mountains two of the strangest
creatures, a man named Pike Garvey and his wife. "Back
yan'," with a wave of the hand toward the hills, was
understood among the mountaineers to designate the
remotest fastnesses, the unplumbed gorges, the haunts of
lawbreakers, the wolf's den, and the boudoir of the bear.
In the cabin far up on Blackjack's shoulder, in the wildest
part of these retreats, this odd couple had lived for twenty
years. They had neither dog nor children to mitigate
the heavy silence of the hills. Pike Garvey was little
known in the settlements, but all who had dealt with him
pronounced him "crazy as a loon." He acknowledged
no occupation save that of a squirrelhunter, but he
"moonshined" occasionally by way of diversion. Once
the "revenues" had dragged him from his lair, fighting
silently and desperately like a terrier, and he had been
sent to state's prison for two years. Released, he popped
back into his hole like an angry weasel.
Fortune, passing over many anxious wooers, made a
freakish flight into Blackjack's bosky pockets to smile
upon Pike and his faithful partner.
One day a party of spectacled, knickerbockered, and
altogether absurd prospectors invaded the vicinity of
the Garvey's cabin. Pike lifted his squirrel rifle off the
hooks and took a shot at them at long range on the chance
of their being revenues. Happily he missed, and the
unconscious agents of good luck drew nearer, disclosing
their innocence of anything resembling law or justice.
Later on, they offered the Garveys an enormous quantity
of ready, green, crisp money for their thirty-acre patch
of cleared land, mentioning, as an excuse for such a mad
action, some irrelevant and inadequate nonsense about
a bed of mica underlying the said property.
When the Garveys became possessed of so many dol-
lars that they faltered in computing them, the deficiencies
of life on Blackjack began to grow prominent. Pike
began to talk of new shoes, a hogshead of tobacco to
set in the corner, a new lock to his rifle; and, leading
Martella to a certain spot on the mountain-side, he
pointed out to her how a small cannon -- doubtless a
thing not beyond the scope of their fortune in price --
might be planted so as to command and defend the sole
accessible trail to the cabin, to the confusion of revenues
and meddling strangers forever.
But Adam reckoned without his Eve. These things
represented to him the applied power of wealth, but
there slumbered in his dingy cabin an ambition that
soared far above his primitive wants. Somewhere in
Mrs. Garvey's bosom still survived a spot of femininity
goin' there and makin' lots of money. I always felt like
I could do it. I came to a place one evenin' where the
road forked and I didn't know which fork to take. I
studied about it for half an hour, and then I took the left-
hand. That night I run into the camp of a Wild West
show that was travellin' among the little towns, and
I went West with it. I've often wondered if I
wouldn't have turned out different if I'd took the other
road."
"Oh, I reckon you'd have ended up about the same,"
said Bob Tidball, cheerfullyphilosophical. "It ain't
the roads we take; it's what's inside of us that makes us
turn out the way we do."
Shark Dodson got up and leaned against a tree.
"I'd a good deal rather that sorrel of yourn hadn't
hurt himself, Bob," he said again, almost pathetically.
"Same here," agreed Bob; "he was sure a first-rate
kind of a crowbait. But Bolivar, he'll pull us through
all right. Reckon we'd better be movin' on, hadn't
we, Shark? I'll bag this boodle ag'in and we'll hit the
trail for higher timber."
Bob Tidball replaced the spoil in the bag and tied the
mouth of it tightly with a cord. When he looked up the
most prominent object that he saw was the muzzle of
Shark Dodson's .45 held upon him without a waver.
"Stop your funnin'," said Bob, with a grin. "We got
to be hittin' the breeze."
"Set still," said Shark. "You ain't goin' to hit
no breeze, Bob. I hate to tell you, but there ain't any
chance for but one of us. Bolivar, he's plenty tired,
and he can't carry double."
"We been pards, me and you, Shark Dodson, for three
year," Bob said quietly. "We've risked our lives together
time and again. I've always give you a square deal,
and I thought you was a man. I've heard some queer
stories about you shootin' one or two men in a peculiar
way, but I never believed 'em. Now if you're just havin'
a little fun with me, Shark, put your gun up, and we'll
get on Bolivar and vamose. If you mean to shoot --
shoot, you blackhearted son of a tarantula!"
Shark Dodson's face bore a deeply sorrowful look.
"You don't know how bad I feel," he sighed, "about
that sorrel of yourn breakin' his leg, Bob."
The expression on Dodson's face changed in an instant
to one of cold ferocity mingled with inexorable cupidity.
The soul of the man showed itself for a moment like an
evil face in the window of a reputable house.
Truly Bob Tidball was never to "hit the breeze" again.
The deadly .45 of the false friend cracked and filled the
gorge with a roar that the walls hurled back with indignant
echoes. And Bolivar, unconscious accomplice, swiftly
bore away the last of the holders-up of the "Sunset
Express," not put to the stress of "carrying double."
But as "Shark" Dodson galloped away the woods
seemed to fade from his view; the revolver in his right hand
turned to the curved arm of a mahogany chair; his saddle
was strangely upholstered, and he opened his eyes and
saw his feet, not in stirrups, but resting quietly on the edge
of a quartered-oak desk.
I am telling you that Dodson, of the firm of Dodson
& Decker, Wall Street brokers, opened his eyes. Peabody,
the confidential clerk, was standing by his chair, hesitating
to speak. There was a confused hum of wheels below, and
the sedative buzz of an electric fan.
"Ahem! Peabody," said Dodson, blinking. "I must
have fallen asleep. I had a most remarkable dream.
What is it, Peabody?"
"Mr. Williams, sir, of Tracy & Williams, is outside.
He has come to settle his deal in X. Y. Z. The market
caught him short, sir, if you remember."
"Yes, I remember. What is X. Y. Z. quoted at to-day,
Peabody?"
"One eighty-five, sir."
"Then that's his price."
"Excuse me," said Peabody, rather nervously "for
speaking of it, but I've been talking to Williams. He's
an old friend of yours, Mr. Dodson, and you practically
have a corner in X. Y. Z. I thought you might -- that is,
I thought you might not remember that he sold you
the stock at 98. If he settles at the market price it will
take every cent he has in the world and his home too to
deliver the shares."
The expression on Dodson's face changed in an instant
to one of cold ferocity mingled with inexorable cupidity.
The soul of the man showed itself for a moment like an
evil face in the window of a reputable house.
"He will settle at one eighty-five," said Dodson.
"Bolivar cannot carry double."
A BLACKJACK BARGAINER
The most disreputable thing in Yancey Goree's law
office was Goree himself, sprawled in his creakv old arm-
chair. The rickety little office, built of red brick, was
set flush with the street -- the main street of the town of
Bethel.
Bethel rested upon the foot-hills of the Blue Ridge.
Above it the mountains were piled to the sky. Far
below it the turbid Catawba gleamed yellow along its
disconsolate valley.
The June day was at its sultriest hour. Bethel dozed
in the tepid shade. Trade was not. It was so still that
Goree, reclining in his chair, distinctly heard the clicking
of the chips in the grand-jury room, where the "court-
house gang" was playing poker. From the open back
door of the office a well-worn path meandered across the
grassy lot to the court-house. The treading out of that
path had cost Goree all he ever had -- first inheritance
of a few thousand dollars, next the old family home, and,
latterly the last shreds of his self-respect and manhood.
The "gang" had cleaned him out. The broken gambler
had turned drunkard and parasite; he had lived to see
this day come when the men who had stripped him
denied him a seat at the game. His word was no longer
to be taken. The daily bouts at cards had arranged itself
accordingly, and to him was assigned the ignoble part of
the onlooker. The sheriff, the county clerk, a sportive
deputy, a gay attorney, and a chalk-faced man hailing
"from the valley," sat at table, and the sheared one
was thus tacitly advised to go and grow more wool.
Soon wearying of his ostracism, Goree had departed
for his office, muttering to himself as he unsteadily tra-
versed the unluckypathway. After a drink of corn
whiskey from a demijohn under the table, he had flung
himself into the chair, staring, in a sort of maudlin apathy,
out at the mountains immersed in the summer haze.
The little white patch he saw away up on the side of
Blackjack was Laurel, the village near which he had been
born and bred. There, also, was the birthplace of the
feud between the Gorees and the Coltranes. Now no
direct heir of the Gorees survived except this plucked
and singed bird of misfortune. To the Coltranes, also,
but one male supporter was left -- Colonel Abner Col-
trane, a man of substance and standing, a member of the
State Legislature, and a contemporary with Goree's
father. The feud had been a typical one of the region;
it had left a red record of hate, wrong and slaughter.
But Yancey Goree was not thinking of feuds. His
befuddled brain was hopelessly attacking the problem
of the future maintenance of himself and his favourite
follies. Of late, old friends of the family had seen to it
that he had whereof to eat and a place to sleep -- but whiskey
they would not buy for him, and he must have whiskey.
His law business was extinct; no case had been intrusted
to him in two years. He had been a borrower and a
sponge, and it seemed that if he fell no lower it would be
from lack of opportunity. One more chance -- he was
saying to himself -- if he had one more stake at the game,
he thought he could win; but he had nothing left to sell,
and his credit was more than exhausted.
He could not help smiling, even in his misery, as he
thought of the man to whom, six months before, he had
sold the old Goree homestead. There had come from
"back yan'" in the mountains two of the strangest
creatures, a man named Pike Garvey and his wife. "Back
yan'," with a wave of the hand toward the hills, was
understood among the mountaineers to designate the
remotest fastnesses, the unplumbed gorges, the haunts of
lawbreakers, the wolf's den, and the boudoir of the bear.
In the cabin far up on Blackjack's shoulder, in the wildest
part of these retreats, this odd couple had lived for twenty
years. They had neither dog nor children to mitigate
the heavy silence of the hills. Pike Garvey was little
known in the settlements, but all who had dealt with him
pronounced him "crazy as a loon." He acknowledged
no occupation save that of a squirrelhunter, but he
"moonshined" occasionally by way of diversion. Once
the "revenues" had dragged him from his lair, fighting
silently and desperately like a terrier, and he had been
sent to state's prison for two years. Released, he popped
back into his hole like an angry weasel.
Fortune, passing over many anxious wooers, made a
freakish flight into Blackjack's bosky pockets to smile
upon Pike and his faithful partner.
One day a party of spectacled, knickerbockered, and
altogether absurd prospectors invaded the vicinity of
the Garvey's cabin. Pike lifted his squirrel rifle off the
hooks and took a shot at them at long range on the chance
of their being revenues. Happily he missed, and the
unconscious agents of good luck drew nearer, disclosing
their innocence of anything resembling law or justice.
Later on, they offered the Garveys an enormous quantity
of ready, green, crisp money for their thirty-acre patch
of cleared land, mentioning, as an excuse for such a mad
action, some irrelevant and inadequate nonsense about
a bed of mica underlying the said property.
When the Garveys became possessed of so many dol-
lars that they faltered in computing them, the deficiencies
of life on Blackjack began to grow prominent. Pike
began to talk of new shoes, a hogshead of tobacco to
set in the corner, a new lock to his rifle; and, leading
Martella to a certain spot on the mountain-side, he
pointed out to her how a small cannon -- doubtless a
thing not beyond the scope of their fortune in price --
might be planted so as to command and defend the sole
accessible trail to the cabin, to the confusion of revenues
and meddling strangers forever.
But Adam reckoned without his Eve. These things
represented to him the applied power of wealth, but
there slumbered in his dingy cabin an ambition that
soared far above his primitive wants. Somewhere in
Mrs. Garvey's bosom still survived a spot of femininity
- bundle [´bʌndl]
n.包，捆；包袱(裹) (初中英语单词) - reckon [´rekən] v.计算；认为；估计 (初中英语单词)
- prominent [´prɔminənt] a.突起的；凸出的 (初中英语单词)
- breeze [bri:z] n.微风；不费力的事 (初中英语单词)
- deadly [´dedli] a.致命的 ad.死一般地 (初中英语单词)
- stress [stres] n.强调；压力 vt.强调 (初中英语单词)
- strangely [´streindʒli] ad.奇怪地；陌生地 (初中英语单词)
- standing [´stændiŋ] n.持续 a.直立的 (初中英语单词)
- remarkable [ri´mɑ:kəbl] a.值得注意的；显著的 (初中英语单词)
- distinctly [di´stiŋktli] ad.清楚地，明晰地 (初中英语单词)
- sheriff [´ʃerif] n.郡长；行政长官 (初中英语单词)
- attorney [ə´tə:ni] n.代理人；律师 (初中英语单词)
- misery [´mizəri] n.痛苦；悲惨；穷困 (初中英语单词)
- occupation [,ɔkju´peiʃən] a.职业的；军事占领的 (初中英语单词)
- squirrel [´skwirəl] n.松鼠 (初中英语单词)
- hunter [´hʌntə] n.猎人；猎狗；猎马 (初中英语单词)
- occasionally [ə´keiʒənəli] ad.偶然地；非经常地 (初中英语单词)
- anxious [´æŋkʃəs] a.担忧的；渴望的 (初中英语单词)
- flight [flait] n.逃走；飞行；班机 (初中英语单词)
- faithful [´feiθfəl] a.忠实的；可靠的 (初中英语单词)
- spectacled [´spektəkəld] a.戴眼镜的 (初中英语单词)
- absurd [əb´sə:d] a.荒谬的，可笑的 (初中英语单词)
- enormous [i´nɔ:məs] a.巨大地，很，极 (初中英语单词)
- tobacco [tə´bækəu] n.烟草(叶)；卷烟 (初中英语单词)
- cannon [´kænən] n.大炮 (初中英语单词)
- doubtless [´dautlis] ad.无疑地；大概，多半 (初中英语单词)
- confusion [kən´fju:ʒən] n.混乱(状态)；骚乱 (初中英语单词)
- wealth [welθ] n.财富，财产 (初中英语单词)
- ambition [æm´biʃən] n.雄心，野心；企图 (初中英语单词)
- primitive [´primitiv] a.原始的 n.原始人 (初中英语单词)
- cheerfully [´tʃiəfuli] ad.高兴地，愉快地 (高中英语单词)
- tightly [´taitli] ad.紧，紧密地 (高中英语单词)
- unconscious [ʌn´kɔnʃəs] a.无意识的；不觉察的 (高中英语单词)
- laurel [´lɔrəl] n.月桂树(叶)；桂冠 (高中英语单词)
- misfortune [mis´fɔ:tʃən] n.不幸；灾祸 (高中英语单词)
- colonel [´kə:nəl] n.海(陆)军上校 (高中英语单词)
- contemporary [kən´tempərəri] a.&n.同时代的(人) (高中英语单词)
- typical [´tipikəl] a.典型的；象征的 (高中英语单词)
- maintenance [´meintinəns] n.保持；主张；保养 (高中英语单词)
- desperately [´despəritli] ad.绝望地；拼命地 (高中英语单词)
- innocence [´inəsəns] n.无罪；天真 (高中英语单词)
- nonsense [´nɔnsəns] n.胡说 int.胡说!废话 (高中英语单词)
- muzzle [´mʌzəl] n.枪口，炮口 (英语四级单词)
- sorrowful [´sɔrəuful] a.悲伤的，使人伤心的 (英语四级单词)
- revolver [ri´vɔlvə] n.左轮手枪；旋转者 (英语四级单词)
- mahogany [mə´hɔgəni] n.红木；桃花心木 (英语四级单词)
- confidential [,kɔnfi´denʃəl] a.极受信任的；心腹的 (英语四级单词)
- nervously [´nə:vəsli] ad.神经质地；胆怯地 (英语四级单词)
- unlucky [ʌn´lʌki] a.倒霉的，不幸的 (英语四级单词)
- pathway [´pɑ:θwei] n.小路 (英语四级单词)
- birthplace [´bə:θpleis] n.出生地；故乡 (英语四级单词)
- supporter [sə´pɔ:tə] n.支持者，援助者 (英语四级单词)
- legislature [´ledʒisleitʃə] n.立法机关 (英语四级单词)
- hopelessly [´həuplisli] ad.无希望地，绝望地 (英语四级单词)
- whereof [weər´ɔv] ad.关于什么；关于那事 (英语四级单词)
- extinct [ik´stiŋkt] a.熄灭的；灭绝的 (英语四级单词)
- homestead [´həumsted] n.家宅，宅基 (英语四级单词)
- designate [´dezignit, -neit] vt.标明；任命 (英语四级单词)
- diversion [dai´və:ʃən] n.转移；消遣 (英语四级单词)
- vicinity [vi´siniti] n.邻近，附近，接近 (英语四级单词)
- philosophical [,filə´sɔfikəl] a.哲学(上)的；冷静的 (英语六级单词)
- ferocity [fə´rɔsiti] n.凶残，凶猛，暴行 (英语六级单词)
- cracked [krækt] a.有裂缝的；碎的；粗哑 (英语六级单词)
- drunkard [´drʌŋkəd] n.醉汉；酒鬼 (英语六级单词)
- parasite [´pærəsait] n.寄生动(植)物；食客 (英语六级单词)
- ignoble [ig´nəubəl] a.卑鄙的，无耻的 (英语六级单词)
- underlying [,ʌndə´laiiŋ] a.基础的；下层的 (英语六级单词)
- applied [ə´plaid] a.实用的，应用的 (英语六级单词)
文章标签:名著
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