章节正文
"I reckon so." Lassiter paused, and for the thousandth time in
her presence moved his black sombrero round and round, as if
counting the silver pieces on the band. "Well, Jane, I've sort of
read a little that's passin' in your mind."
"You think I might fly from my home--from Cottonwoods--from the
Utah border?"
"I reckon. An' if you ever do an' get away with the blacks I
wouldn't like to see Wrangle left here on the sage. Wrangle could
catch you. I know Venters had him. But you can never tell. Mebbe
he hasn't got him now....Besides--things are happenin', an'
somethin' of the same queer nature might have happened to
Venters."
"God knows you're right!...Poor Bern, how long he's gone! In my
trouble I've been forgetting him. But, Lassiter, I've little fear
for him. I've heard my riders say he's as keen as a wolf....
"As to your reading my thoughts--well, your suggestion makes an
actual thought of what was only one of my dreams. I believe I
dreamed of flying from this wild borderland, Lassiter. I've
strange dreams. I'm not always practical and thinking of my many
duties, as you said once. For instance--if I dared--if I dared
I'd ask you to saddle the blacks and ride away with me--and hide
me."
"Jane!"
The rider's sunburnt face turned white. A few times Jane had seen
Lassiter's cool calm broken--when he had met little Fay, when he
had learned how and why he had come to love both child and
mistress, when he had stood beside Milly Erne's grave. But one
and all they could not be considered in the light of his present
agitation. Not only did Lassiter turn white--not only did he grow
tense, not only did he lose his coolness, but also he suddenly,
violently, hungrily took her into his arms and crushed her to his
breast.
"Lassiter!" cried Jane, trembling. It was an action for which she
took sole blame. Instantly, as if dazed, weakened, he released
her. "Forgive me!" went on Jane. "I'm always forgetting
your--your feelings. I thought of you as my faithful friend. I'm
always making you out more than human...only, let me say--I meant
that--about riding away. I'm wretched, sick of this--this--Oh,
something hitter and black grows on my heart!"
"Jane, the hell--of it," he replied, with deep intake of breath,
"is you can't ride away. Mebbe realizin' it accounts for my
grabbin' you--that way, as much as the crazy boy's rapture your
words gave me. I don't understand myself....But the hell of this
game is--you can't ride away."
"Lassiter!...What on earth do you mean? I'm an absolutely free
woman."
"You ain't absolutely anythin' of the kind....I reckon I've got
to tell you!"
"Tell me all. It's uncertainty that makes me a coward. It's faith
and hope--blind love, if you will, that makes me miserable. Every
day I awake believing--still believing. The day grows, and with
it doubts, fears, and that black bat hate that bites hotter and
hotter into my heart. Then comes night--I pray--I pray for all,
and for myself--I sleep--and I awake free once more, trustful,
faithful, to believe--to hope! Then, O my God! I grow and live a
thousand years till night again!...But if you want to see me a
woman, tell me why I can't ride away--tell me what more I'm to
lose--tell me the worst."
"Jane, you're watched. There's no single move of yours, except
when you're hid in your house, that ain't seen by sharp eyes. The
cottonwood grove's full of creepin', crawlin' men. Like Indians
in the grass. When you rode, which wasn't often lately, the sage
was full of sneakin' men. At night they crawl under your windows
into the court, an' I reckon into the house. Jane Withersteen,
you know, never locked a door! This here grove's a hummin'
bee-hive of mysterious happenin's. Jane, it ain't so much that
these soles keep out of my way as me keepin' out of theirs.
They're goin' to try to kill me. That's plain. But mebbe I'm as
hard to shoot in the back as in the face. So far I've seen fit to
watch only. This all means, Jane, that you're a marked woman. You
can't get away-- not now. Mebbe later, when you're broken, you
might. But that's sure doubtful. Jane, you're to lose the cattle
that's left--your home en' ranch--en' amber Spring. You can't
even hide a sack of gold! For it couldn't be slipped out of the
house, day or night, an' hid or buried, let alone be rid off
with. You may lose all. I'm tellin' you, Jane, hopin' to prepare
you, if the worst does come. I told you once before about that
strange power I've got to feel things."
"Lassiter, what can I do?"
"Nothin', I reckon, except know what's comin' an' wait an' be
game. If you'd let me make a call on Tull, an' a long-deferred
call on--"
"Hush!...Hush!" she whispered.
"Well, even that wouldn't help you any in the end."
"What does it mean? Oh, what does it mean? I am my father's
daughter--a Mormon, yet I can't see! I've not failed in
religion--in duty. For years I've given with a free and full
heart. When my father died I was rich. If I'm still rich it's
because I couldn't find enough ways to become poor. What am I,
what are my possessions to set in motion such intensity of secret
oppression?"
"Jane, the mind behind it all is an empire builder."
"But, Lassiter, I would give freely--all I own to avert
this--this wretched thing. If I gave--that would leave me with
faith still. Surely my--my churchmen think of my soul? If I lose
my trust in them--"
"Child, be still!" said Lassiter, with a dark dignity that had in
it something of pity. "You are a woman, fine en' big an' strong,
an' your heart matches your size. But in mind you're a child.
I'll say a little more--then I'm done. I'll never mention this
again. Among many thousands of women you're one who has bucked
against your churchmen. They tried you out, an' failed of
persuasion, an' finally of threats. You meet now the cold steel
of a will as far from Christlike as the universe is wide. You're
to be broken. Your body's to be held, given to some man, made, if
possible, to bring children into the world. But your soul?...What
do they care for your soul?"
CHAPTER XIII. SOLITUDE AND STORM
In his hiddenvalley Venters awakened from sleep, and his ears
rang with innumerable melodies from full-throated mockingbirds,
and his eyes opened wide upon the glorious golden shaft of
sunlight shining through the great stone bridge. The circle of
cliffs surrounding Surprise Valley lay shrouded in morning mist,
a dim blue low down along the terraces, a creamy, moving cloud
along the ramparts. The oak forest in the center was a plumed and
tufted oval of gold.
He saw Bess under the spruces. Upon her complete recovery of
strength she always rose with the dawn. At the moment she was
feeding the quail she had tamed. And she had begun to tame the
mocking-birds. They fluttered among the branches overhead and
some left off their songs to flit down and shyly hop near the
twittering quail. Little gray and white rabbits crouched in the
grass, now nibbling, now laying long ears flat and watching the
dogs.
Venters's swift glance took in the brightening valley, and Bess
and her pets, and Ring and Whitie. It swept over all to return
again and rest upon the girl. She had changed. To the dark
trousers and blouse she had added moccasins of her own make, but
she no longer resembled a boy. No eye could have failed to mark
the rounded contours of a woman. The change had been to grace and
beauty. A glint of warm gold gleamed from her hair, and a tint of
red shone in the clear dark brown of cheeks. The haunting
sweetness of her lips and eyes, that earlier had been illusive, a
promise, had become a living fact. She fitted harmoniously into
that wonderful setting; she was like Surprise Valley--wild and
beautiful.
Venters leaped out of his cave to begin the day.
He had postponed his journey to Cottonwoods until after the
passing of the summer rains. The rains were due soon. But until
their arrival and the necessity for his trip to the village he
sequestered in a far corner of mind all thought of peril, of his
past life, and almost that of the present. It was enough to live.
He did not want to know what lay hidden in the dim and distant
future. Surprise Valley had enchanted him. In this home of the
cliff-dwellers there were peace and quiet and solitude, and
another thing, wondrous as the golden morning shaft of sunlight,
that he dared not ponder over long enough to understand.
The solitude he had hated when alone he had now come to love. He
was assimilating something from this valley of gleams and
shadows. From this strange girl he was assimilating more.
The day at hand resembled many days gone before. As Venters had
no tools with which to build, or to till the terraces, he
remained idle. Beyond the cooking of the simple fare there were
no tasks. And as there were no tasks, there was no system. He and
Bess began one thing, to leave it; to begin another, to leave
that; and then do nothing but lie under the spruces and watch the
great cloud-sails majestically move along the ramparts, and dream
and dream. The valley was a golden, sunlit world. It was silent.
The sighing wind and the twittering quail and the singing birds,
even the rare and seldom-occurring hollow crack of a sliding
weathered stone, only thickened and deepened that insulated
silence.
Venters and Bess had vagrant minds.
"Bess, did I tell you about my horse Wrangle?" inquired Venters.
"A hundred times," she replied.
"Oh, have I? I'd forgotten. I want you to see him. He'll carry us
both."
"I'd like to ride him. Can he run?"
"Run? He's a demon. Swiftest horse on the sage! I hope he'll stay
in that canyon.
"He'll stay."
They left camp to wander along the terraces, into the aspen
ravines, under the gleaming walls. Ring and Whitie wandered in
the fore, often turning, often trotting back, open-mouthed and
solemn-eyed and happy. Venters lifted his gaze to the grand
archway over the entrance to the valley, and Bess lifted hers to
follow his, and both were silent. Sometimes the bridge held their
attention for a long time. To-day a soaring eagle attracted them.
"How he sails!" exclaimed Bess. "I wonder where his mate is?"
"She's at the nest. It's on the bridge in a crack near the top."
"I see her often. She s almost white."
They wandered on down the terrace, into the shady, sun-flecked
forest. A brown bird fluttered crying from a bush. Bess peeped
into the leaves. "Look! A nest and four little birds. They're not
afraid of us. See how they open their mouths. They're hungry."
Rabbits rustled the dead brush and pattered away. The forest was
full of a drowsy hum of insects. Little darts of purple, that
were running quail, crossed the glades. And a plaintive, sweet
peeping came from the coverts. Bess's soft step disturbed a
sleeping lizard that scampered away over the leaves. She gave
chase and caught it, a slim creature of nameless color but of
exquisite beauty.
"Jewel eyes," she said. "It's like a rabbit--afraid. We won't eat
you. There--go."
Murmuring water drew their steps down into a shallow shaded
ravine where a brown brook brawled softly over mossy stones.
Multitudes of strange, gray frogs with white spots and black eyes
lined the rocky bank and leaped only at close approach. Then
Venters's eye descried a very thin, very long green snake coiled
round a sapling. They drew closer and closer till they could have
touched it. The snake had no fear and watched them with
her presence moved his black sombrero round and round, as if
counting the silver pieces on the band. "Well, Jane, I've sort of
read a little that's passin' in your mind."
"You think I might fly from my home--from Cottonwoods--from the
Utah border?"
"I reckon. An' if you ever do an' get away with the blacks I
wouldn't like to see Wrangle left here on the sage. Wrangle could
catch you. I know Venters had him. But you can never tell. Mebbe
he hasn't got him now....Besides--things are happenin', an'
somethin' of the same queer nature might have happened to
Venters."
"God knows you're right!...Poor Bern, how long he's gone! In my
trouble I've been forgetting him. But, Lassiter, I've little fear
for him. I've heard my riders say he's as keen as a wolf....
"As to your reading my thoughts--well, your suggestion makes an
actual thought of what was only one of my dreams. I believe I
dreamed of flying from this wild borderland, Lassiter. I've
strange dreams. I'm not always practical and thinking of my many
duties, as you said once. For instance--if I dared--if I dared
I'd ask you to saddle the blacks and ride away with me--and hide
me."
"Jane!"
The rider's sunburnt face turned white. A few times Jane had seen
Lassiter's cool calm broken--when he had met little Fay, when he
had learned how and why he had come to love both child and
mistress, when he had stood beside Milly Erne's grave. But one
and all they could not be considered in the light of his present
agitation. Not only did Lassiter turn white--not only did he grow
tense, not only did he lose his coolness, but also he suddenly,
violently, hungrily took her into his arms and crushed her to his
breast.
"Lassiter!" cried Jane, trembling. It was an action for which she
took sole blame. Instantly, as if dazed, weakened, he released
her. "Forgive me!" went on Jane. "I'm always forgetting
your--your feelings. I thought of you as my faithful friend. I'm
always making you out more than human...only, let me say--I meant
that--about riding away. I'm wretched, sick of this--this--Oh,
something hitter and black grows on my heart!"
"Jane, the hell--of it," he replied, with deep intake of breath,
"is you can't ride away. Mebbe realizin' it accounts for my
grabbin' you--that way, as much as the crazy boy's rapture your
words gave me. I don't understand myself....But the hell of this
game is--you can't ride away."
"Lassiter!...What on earth do you mean? I'm an absolutely free
woman."
"You ain't absolutely anythin' of the kind....I reckon I've got
to tell you!"
"Tell me all. It's uncertainty that makes me a coward. It's faith
and hope--blind love, if you will, that makes me miserable. Every
day I awake believing--still believing. The day grows, and with
it doubts, fears, and that black bat hate that bites hotter and
hotter into my heart. Then comes night--I pray--I pray for all,
and for myself--I sleep--and I awake free once more, trustful,
faithful, to believe--to hope! Then, O my God! I grow and live a
thousand years till night again!...But if you want to see me a
woman, tell me why I can't ride away--tell me what more I'm to
lose--tell me the worst."
"Jane, you're watched. There's no single move of yours, except
when you're hid in your house, that ain't seen by sharp eyes. The
cottonwood grove's full of creepin', crawlin' men. Like Indians
in the grass. When you rode, which wasn't often lately, the sage
was full of sneakin' men. At night they crawl under your windows
into the court, an' I reckon into the house. Jane Withersteen,
you know, never locked a door! This here grove's a hummin'
bee-hive of mysterious happenin's. Jane, it ain't so much that
these soles keep out of my way as me keepin' out of theirs.
They're goin' to try to kill me. That's plain. But mebbe I'm as
hard to shoot in the back as in the face. So far I've seen fit to
watch only. This all means, Jane, that you're a marked woman. You
can't get away-- not now. Mebbe later, when you're broken, you
might. But that's sure doubtful. Jane, you're to lose the cattle
that's left--your home en' ranch--en' amber Spring. You can't
even hide a sack of gold! For it couldn't be slipped out of the
house, day or night, an' hid or buried, let alone be rid off
with. You may lose all. I'm tellin' you, Jane, hopin' to prepare
you, if the worst does come. I told you once before about that
strange power I've got to feel things."
"Lassiter, what can I do?"
"Nothin', I reckon, except know what's comin' an' wait an' be
game. If you'd let me make a call on Tull, an' a long-deferred
call on--"
"Hush!...Hush!" she whispered.
"Well, even that wouldn't help you any in the end."
"What does it mean? Oh, what does it mean? I am my father's
daughter--a Mormon, yet I can't see! I've not failed in
religion--in duty. For years I've given with a free and full
heart. When my father died I was rich. If I'm still rich it's
because I couldn't find enough ways to become poor. What am I,
what are my possessions to set in motion such intensity of secret
oppression?"
"Jane, the mind behind it all is an empire builder."
"But, Lassiter, I would give freely--all I own to avert
this--this wretched thing. If I gave--that would leave me with
faith still. Surely my--my churchmen think of my soul? If I lose
my trust in them--"
"Child, be still!" said Lassiter, with a dark dignity that had in
it something of pity. "You are a woman, fine en' big an' strong,
an' your heart matches your size. But in mind you're a child.
I'll say a little more--then I'm done. I'll never mention this
again. Among many thousands of women you're one who has bucked
against your churchmen. They tried you out, an' failed of
persuasion, an' finally of threats. You meet now the cold steel
of a will as far from Christlike as the universe is wide. You're
to be broken. Your body's to be held, given to some man, made, if
possible, to bring children into the world. But your soul?...What
do they care for your soul?"
CHAPTER XIII. SOLITUDE AND STORM
In his hiddenvalley Venters awakened from sleep, and his ears
rang with innumerable melodies from full-throated mockingbirds,
and his eyes opened wide upon the glorious golden shaft of
sunlight shining through the great stone bridge. The circle of
cliffs surrounding Surprise Valley lay shrouded in morning mist,
a dim blue low down along the terraces, a creamy, moving cloud
along the ramparts. The oak forest in the center was a plumed and
tufted oval of gold.
He saw Bess under the spruces. Upon her complete recovery of
strength she always rose with the dawn. At the moment she was
feeding the quail she had tamed. And she had begun to tame the
mocking-birds. They fluttered among the branches overhead and
some left off their songs to flit down and shyly hop near the
twittering quail. Little gray and white rabbits crouched in the
grass, now nibbling, now laying long ears flat and watching the
dogs.
Venters's swift glance took in the brightening valley, and Bess
and her pets, and Ring and Whitie. It swept over all to return
again and rest upon the girl. She had changed. To the dark
trousers and blouse she had added moccasins of her own make, but
she no longer resembled a boy. No eye could have failed to mark
the rounded contours of a woman. The change had been to grace and
beauty. A glint of warm gold gleamed from her hair, and a tint of
red shone in the clear dark brown of cheeks. The haunting
sweetness of her lips and eyes, that earlier had been illusive, a
promise, had become a living fact. She fitted harmoniously into
that wonderful setting; she was like Surprise Valley--wild and
beautiful.
Venters leaped out of his cave to begin the day.
He had postponed his journey to Cottonwoods until after the
passing of the summer rains. The rains were due soon. But until
their arrival and the necessity for his trip to the village he
sequestered in a far corner of mind all thought of peril, of his
past life, and almost that of the present. It was enough to live.
He did not want to know what lay hidden in the dim and distant
future. Surprise Valley had enchanted him. In this home of the
cliff-dwellers there were peace and quiet and solitude, and
another thing, wondrous as the golden morning shaft of sunlight,
that he dared not ponder over long enough to understand.
The solitude he had hated when alone he had now come to love. He
was assimilating something from this valley of gleams and
shadows. From this strange girl he was assimilating more.
The day at hand resembled many days gone before. As Venters had
no tools with which to build, or to till the terraces, he
remained idle. Beyond the cooking of the simple fare there were
no tasks. And as there were no tasks, there was no system. He and
Bess began one thing, to leave it; to begin another, to leave
that; and then do nothing but lie under the spruces and watch the
great cloud-sails majestically move along the ramparts, and dream
and dream. The valley was a golden, sunlit world. It was silent.
The sighing wind and the twittering quail and the singing birds,
even the rare and seldom-occurring hollow crack of a sliding
weathered stone, only thickened and deepened that insulated
silence.
Venters and Bess had vagrant minds.
"Bess, did I tell you about my horse Wrangle?" inquired Venters.
"A hundred times," she replied.
"Oh, have I? I'd forgotten. I want you to see him. He'll carry us
both."
"I'd like to ride him. Can he run?"
"Run? He's a demon. Swiftest horse on the sage! I hope he'll stay
in that canyon.
"He'll stay."
They left camp to wander along the terraces, into the aspen
ravines, under the gleaming walls. Ring and Whitie wandered in
the fore, often turning, often trotting back, open-mouthed and
solemn-eyed and happy. Venters lifted his gaze to the grand
archway over the entrance to the valley, and Bess lifted hers to
follow his, and both were silent. Sometimes the bridge held their
attention for a long time. To-day a soaring eagle attracted them.
"How he sails!" exclaimed Bess. "I wonder where his mate is?"
"She's at the nest. It's on the bridge in a crack near the top."
"I see her often. She s almost white."
They wandered on down the terrace, into the shady, sun-flecked
forest. A brown bird fluttered crying from a bush. Bess peeped
into the leaves. "Look! A nest and four little birds. They're not
afraid of us. See how they open their mouths. They're hungry."
Rabbits rustled the dead brush and pattered away. The forest was
full of a drowsy hum of insects. Little darts of purple, that
were running quail, crossed the glades. And a plaintive, sweet
peeping came from the coverts. Bess's soft step disturbed a
sleeping lizard that scampered away over the leaves. She gave
chase and caught it, a slim creature of nameless color but of
exquisite beauty.
"Jewel eyes," she said. "It's like a rabbit--afraid. We won't eat
you. There--go."
Murmuring water drew their steps down into a shallow shaded
ravine where a brown brook brawled softly over mossy stones.
Multitudes of strange, gray frogs with white spots and black eyes
lined the rocky bank and leaped only at close approach. Then
Venters's eye descried a very thin, very long green snake coiled
round a sapling. They drew closer and closer till they could have
touched it. The snake had no fear and watched them with
- reckon [´rekən]
v.计算；认为；估计 (初中英语单词) - reading [´ri:diŋ] n.(阅)读；朗读；读物 (初中英语单词)
- suggestion [sə´dʒestʃən] n.建议，提议；暗示 (初中英语单词)
- saddle [´sædl] n.鞍子 v.装鞍(于) (初中英语单词)
- instantly [´instəntli] ad.立即，立刻 (初中英语单词)
- faithful [´feiθfəl] a.忠实的；可靠的 (初中英语单词)
- wretched [´retʃid] a.可怜的；倒霉的 (初中英语单词)
- absolutely [´æbsəlu:tli] ad.绝对地；确实 (初中英语单词)
- coward [´kauəd] n.胆怯者 a.胆小的 (初中英语单词)
- miserable [´mizərəbəl] a.悲惨的；可怜的 (初中英语单词)
- lately [´leitli] ad.近来，不久前 (初中英语单词)
- mysterious [mi´stiəriəs] a.神秘的；难以理解的 (初中英语单词)
- dignity [´digniti] n.尊严，尊贵；高官显贵 (初中英语单词)
- hidden [´hid(ə)n] hide 的过去分词 (初中英语单词)
- valley [´væli] n.谷；河谷；流域 (初中英语单词)
- glorious [´glɔ:riəs] a.光荣的；辉煌的 (初中英语单词)
- circle [´sə:kəl] n.圆圈 v.环绕；盘旋 (初中英语单词)
- overhead [´əuvə,hed] ad.当头 a.在头上的 (初中英语单词)
- arrival [ə´raivəl] n.到达；到达的人(物) (初中英语单词)
- system [´sistəm] n.系统，体系，制度 (初中英语单词)
- wander [´wɔndə, ´wɑ:n:dər] v.徘徊；流浪 (初中英语单词)
- purple [´pə:pl] n.紫色 a.紫(红)的 (初中英语单词)
- running [´rʌniŋ] a.奔跑的；流动的 (初中英语单词)
- shallow [´ʃæləu] a.肤浅的；表面的 (初中英语单词)
- softly [´sɔftli] ad.软化地；柔和地 (初中英语单词)
- learned [´lə:nid] a.有学问的，博学的 (高中英语单词)
- rapture [´ræptʃə] n.着迷；全神贯注 (高中英语单词)
- doubtful [´dautful] a.怀疑的，可疑的 (高中英语单词)
- motion [´məuʃən] n.手势 vt.打手势 (高中英语单词)
- intensity [in´tensiti] a.激烈；强度；深度 (高中英语单词)
- universe [´ju:nivə:s] n.天地；全人类；银河系 (高中英语单词)
- solitude [´sɔlitju:d] n.孤独；寂寞；荒凉 (高中英语单词)
- innumerable [i´nju:mərəbəl] a.无数的，数不清的 (高中英语单词)
- surrounding [sə´raundiŋ] n.周围的事物 (高中英语单词)
- recovery [ri´kʌvəri] n.重获；获得；恢复 (高中英语单词)
- ponder [´pɔndə] v.沉思；考虑；估量 (高中英语单词)
- terrace [´terəs] n.梯田 vt.使成梯田 (高中英语单词)
- drowsy [´drauzi] a.困倦的；催眠的 (高中英语单词)
- uncertainty [ʌn´sə:tənti] n.不可靠；不确定的事 (英语四级单词)
- bridge [bridʒ] n.桥(梁)；鼻梁；桥牌 (英语四级单词)
- blouse [blauz] n.女衬衫；短上衣 (英语四级单词)
- setting [´setiŋ] n.安装；排字；布景 (英语四级单词)
- wondrous [´wʌndrəs] a.极好的 ad.惊人地 (英语四级单词)
- lizard [´lizəd] n.蜥 (英语四级单词)
- wrangle [´ræŋgəl] v.争论，口角，争吵 (英语六级单词)
- coolness [´ku:lnis] n.凉，凉爽；冷静 (英语六级单词)
- creamy [´kri:mi] a.含奶油的；米色的 (英语六级单词)
- vagrant [´veigrənt] n.流浪者 a.流浪的 (英语六级单词)
- plaintive [´pleintiv] a.表示哀怨(悲痛) (英语六级单词)
- nameless [´neimlis] a.无名字的；无名声的 (英语六级单词)
- sapling [´sæpliŋ] n.树苗，幼树 (英语六级单词)
文章标签:名著
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