章节正文
silence, during which the men looked at him. Bosomer began to
twist the ends of his beard.
"Reckon he's dead, all right, or nobody'd hev his hoss an'
guns," presently said Euchre.
"Mister Duane," began Bosomer, in low, stinging tones, "I
happen to be Luke Stevens's side-pardner."
Duane looked him over, from dusty, worn-out boots to his
slouchy sombrero. That look seemed to inflame Bosomer.
"An' I want the hoss an' them guns," he shouted.
"You or anybody else can have them, for all I care. I just
fetched them in. But the pack is mine," replied Duane. "And
say, I befriended your pard. If you can't use a civil tongue
you'd better cinch it."
"Civil? Haw, haw!" rejoined the outlaw. "I don't know you. How
do we know you didn't plug Stevens, an' stole his hoss, an'
jest happened to stumble down here?"
"You'll have to take my word, that's all," replied Duane,
sharply.
"I ain't takin' your word! Savvy thet? An' I was Luke's pard!"
With that Bosomer wheeled and, pushing his companions aside, he
stamped into the saloon, where his voice broke out in a roar.
Duane dismounted and threw his bridle.
"Stranger, Bosomer is shore hot-headed," said the man Euchre.
He did not appear unfriendly, nor were the others hostile.
At this juncture several more outlaws crowded out of the door,
and the one in the lead was a tall man of stalwart physique.
His manner proclaimed him a leader. He had a long face, a
flaming red beard, and clear, cold blue eyes that fixed in
close scrutiny upon Duane. He was not a Texan; in truth, Duane
did not recognize one of these outlaws as native to his state.
"I'm Bland," said the tall man, authoritatively. "Who're you
and what're you doing here?"
Duane looked at Bland as he had at the others. This outlaw
chief appeared to be reasonable, if he was not courteous. Duane
told his story again, this time a little more in detail.
"I believe you," replied Bland, at once. "Think I know when a
fellow is lying."
"I reckon you're on the right trail," put in Euchre. "Thet
about Luke wantin' his boots took off--thet satisfies me. Luke
hed a mortal dread of dyin' with his boots on."
At this sally the chief and his men laughed.
"You said Duane--Buck Duane?" queried Bland. "Are you a son of
that Duane who was a gunfighter some years back?"
"Yes," replied Duane.
"Never met him, and glad I didn't," said Bland, with a grim
humor. "So you got in trouble and had to go on the dodge? What
kind of trouble?"
"Had a fight."
"Fight? Do you mean gun-play?" questioned Bland. He seemed
eager, curious, speculative.
"Yes. It ended in gun-play, I'm sorry to say," answered Duane,
"Guess I needn't ask the son of Duane if he killed his man,"
went on Bland, ironically. "Well, I'm sorry you bucked against
trouble in my camp. But as it is, I guess you'd be wise to make
yourself scarce."
"Do you mean I'm politely told to move on?" asked Duane,
quietly.
"Not exactly that," said Bland, as if irritated. "If this isn't
a free place there isn't one on earth. Every man is equal here.
Do you want to join my band?"
"No, I don't."
"Well, even if you did I imagine that wouldn't stop Bosomer.
He's an ugly fellow. He's one of the few gunmen I've met who
wants to kill somebody all the time. Most men like that are
fourflushes. But Bosomer is all one color, and that's red.
Merely for your own sake I advise you to hit the trail."
"Thanks. But if that's all I'll stay," returned Duane. Even as
he spoke he felt that he did not know himself.
Bosomer appeared at the door, pushing men who tried to detain
him, and as he jumped clear of a last reaching hand he uttered
a snarl like an angry dog. Manifestly the short while he had
spent inside the saloon had been devoted to drinking and
talking himself into a frenzy. Bland and the other outlaws
quickly moved aside, letting Duane stand alone. When Bosomer
saw Duane standingmotionless and watchful a strange change
passed quickly in him. He halted in his tracks, and as he did
that the men who had followed him out piled over one another in
their hurry to get to one side.
Duane saw all the swift action, felt intuitively the meaning of
it, and in Bosomer's sudden change of front. The outlaw was
keen, and he had expected a shrinking, or at least a frightened
antagonist. Duane knew he was neither. He felt like iron, and
yet thrill after thrill ran through him. It was almost as if
this situation had been one long familiar to him. Somehow he
understood this yellow-eyed Bosomer. The outlaw had come out to
kill him. And now, though somewhat checked by the stand of a
stranger, he still meant to kill. Like so many desperadoes of
his ilk, he was victim of a passion to kill for the sake of
killing. Duane divined that no sudden animosity was driving
Bosomer. It was just his chance. In that moment murder would
have been joy to him. Very likely he had forgotten his pretext
for a quarrel. Very probably his faculties were absorbed in
conjecture as to Duane's possibilities.
But he did not speak a word. He remained motionless for a long
moment, his eyes pale and steady, his right hand like a claw.
That instant gave Duane a power to read in his enemy's eyes the
thought that preceded action. But Duane did not want to kill
another man. Still he would have to fight, and he decided to
cripple Bosomer. When Bosomer's hand moved Duane's gun was
spouting fire. Two shots only--both from Duane's gun--and the
outlaw fell with his right arm shattered. Bosomer cursed
harshly and floundered in the dust, trying to reach the gun
with his left hand. His comrades, however, seeing that Duane
would not kill unless forced, closed in upon Bosomer and
prevented any further madness on his part.
CHAPTER V
Of the outlaws present Euchre appeared to be the one most
inclined to lend friendliness to curiosity; and he led Duane
and the horses away to a small adobe shack. He tied the horses
in an open shed and removed their saddles. Then, gathering up
Stevens's weapons, he invited his visitor to enter the house.
It had two rooms--windows without coverings--bare floors. One
room contained blankets, weapons, saddles, and bridles; the
other a stone fireplace, rude table and bench, two bunks, a box
cupboard, and various blackened utensils.
"Make yourself to home as long as you want to stay," said
Euchre. "I ain't rich in this world's goods, but I own what's
here, an' you're welcome."
"Thanks. I'll stay awhile and rest. I'm pretty well played
out," replied Duane.
Euchre gave him a keen glance.
"Go ahead an' rest. I'll take your horses to grass."
Euchre left Duane alone in the house. Duane relaxed then, and
mechanically he wiped the sweat from his face. He was laboring
under some kind of a spell or shock which did not pass off
quickly. When it had worn away he took off his coat and belt
and made himself comfortable on the blankets. And he had a
thought that if he rested or slept what difference would it
make on the morrow? No rest, no sleep could change the gray
outlook of the future. He felt glad when Euchre came bustling
in, and for the first time he took notice of the outlaw.
Euchre was old in years. What little hair he had was gray, his
face clean-shaven and full of wrinkles; his eyes were half shut
from long gazing through the sun and dust. He stooped. But his
thin frame denoted strength and endurance still unimpaired.
"Hey a drink or a smoke?" he asked.
Duane shook his head. He had not been unfamiliar with whisky,
and he had used tobaccomoderately since he was sixteen. But
now, strangely, he felt a disgust at the idea of stimulants. He
did not understand clearly what he felt. There was that vague
idea of something wild in his blood, something that made him
fear himself.
Euchre wagged his old head sympathetically. "Reckon you feel a
little sick. When it comes to shootin' I run. What's your age?"
"I'm twenty-three," replied Duane.
Euchre showed surprise. "You're only a boy! I thought you
thirty anyways. Buck, I heard what you told Bland, an' puttin'
thet with my own figgerin', I reckon you're no criminal yet.
Throwin' a gun in self-defense--thet ain't no crime!"
Duane, findingrelief in talking, told more about himself.
"Huh," replied the old man. "I've been on this river fer years,
an' I've seen hundreds of boys come in on the dodge. Most of
them, though, was no good. An' thet kind don't last long. This
river country has been an' is the refuge fer criminals from all
over the states. I've bunked with bank cashiers, forgers, plain
thieves, an' out-an'-out murderers, all of which had no bizness
on the Texas border. Fellers like Bland are exceptions. He's no
Texan--you seen thet. The gang he rules here come from all
over, an' they're tough cusses, you can bet on thet. They live
fat an' easy. If it wasn't fer the fightin' among themselves
they'd shore grow populous. The Rim Rock is no place for a
peaceable, decent feller. I heard you tell Bland you wouldn't
join his gang. Thet'll not make him take a likin' to you. Have
you any money?"
"Not much," replied Duane.
"Could you live by gamblin'? Are you any good at cards?"
"No."
"You wouldn't steal hosses or rustle cattle?"
"No."
"When your money's gone how'n hell will you live? There ain't
any work a decent feller could do. You can't herd with
greasers. Why, Bland's men would shoot at you in the fields.
What'll you do, son?"
"God knows," replied Duane, hopelessly. "I'll make my money
last as long as possible--then starve."
"Wal, I'm pretty pore, but you'll never starve while I got
anythin'."
Here it struck Duane again--that something human and kind and
eager which he had seen in Stevens. Duane's estimate of outlaws
had lacked this quality. He had not accorded them any virtues.
To him, as to the outside world, they had been merely vicious
men without one redeeming feature.
"I'm much obliged to you, Euchre," replied Duane. "But of
course I won't live with any one unless I can pay my share."
"Have it any way you like, my son," said Euchre,
good-humoredly. "You make a fire, an' I'll set about gettin'
grub. I'm a sourdough, Buck. Thet man doesn't live who can beat
my bread."
"How do you ever pack supplies in here?" asked Duane, thinking
of the almost inaccessible nature of the valley.
"Some comes across from Mexico, an' the rest down the river.
Thet river trip is a bird. It's more'n five hundred miles to
any supply point. Bland has mozos, greaser boatmen. Sometimes,
too, he gets supplies in from down-river. You see, Bland sells
thousands of cattle in Cuba. An' all this stock has to go down
by boat to meet the ships."
"Where on earth are the cattle driven down to the river?" asked
Duane.
"Thet's not my secret," replied Euchre, shortly. "Fact is, I
don't know. I've rustled cattle for Bland, but he never sent me
through the Rim Rock with them."
twist the ends of his beard.
"Reckon he's dead, all right, or nobody'd hev his hoss an'
guns," presently said Euchre.
"Mister Duane," began Bosomer, in low, stinging tones, "I
happen to be Luke Stevens's side-pardner."
Duane looked him over, from dusty, worn-out boots to his
slouchy sombrero. That look seemed to inflame Bosomer.
"An' I want the hoss an' them guns," he shouted.
"You or anybody else can have them, for all I care. I just
fetched them in. But the pack is mine," replied Duane. "And
say, I befriended your pard. If you can't use a civil tongue
you'd better cinch it."
"Civil? Haw, haw!" rejoined the outlaw. "I don't know you. How
do we know you didn't plug Stevens, an' stole his hoss, an'
jest happened to stumble down here?"
"You'll have to take my word, that's all," replied Duane,
sharply.
"I ain't takin' your word! Savvy thet? An' I was Luke's pard!"
With that Bosomer wheeled and, pushing his companions aside, he
stamped into the saloon, where his voice broke out in a roar.
Duane dismounted and threw his bridle.
"Stranger, Bosomer is shore hot-headed," said the man Euchre.
He did not appear unfriendly, nor were the others hostile.
At this juncture several more outlaws crowded out of the door,
and the one in the lead was a tall man of stalwart physique.
His manner proclaimed him a leader. He had a long face, a
flaming red beard, and clear, cold blue eyes that fixed in
close scrutiny upon Duane. He was not a Texan; in truth, Duane
did not recognize one of these outlaws as native to his state.
"I'm Bland," said the tall man, authoritatively. "Who're you
and what're you doing here?"
Duane looked at Bland as he had at the others. This outlaw
chief appeared to be reasonable, if he was not courteous. Duane
told his story again, this time a little more in detail.
"I believe you," replied Bland, at once. "Think I know when a
fellow is lying."
"I reckon you're on the right trail," put in Euchre. "Thet
about Luke wantin' his boots took off--thet satisfies me. Luke
hed a mortal dread of dyin' with his boots on."
At this sally the chief and his men laughed.
"You said Duane--Buck Duane?" queried Bland. "Are you a son of
that Duane who was a gunfighter some years back?"
"Yes," replied Duane.
"Never met him, and glad I didn't," said Bland, with a grim
humor. "So you got in trouble and had to go on the dodge? What
kind of trouble?"
"Had a fight."
"Fight? Do you mean gun-play?" questioned Bland. He seemed
eager, curious, speculative.
"Yes. It ended in gun-play, I'm sorry to say," answered Duane,
"Guess I needn't ask the son of Duane if he killed his man,"
went on Bland, ironically. "Well, I'm sorry you bucked against
trouble in my camp. But as it is, I guess you'd be wise to make
yourself scarce."
"Do you mean I'm politely told to move on?" asked Duane,
quietly.
"Not exactly that," said Bland, as if irritated. "If this isn't
a free place there isn't one on earth. Every man is equal here.
Do you want to join my band?"
"No, I don't."
"Well, even if you did I imagine that wouldn't stop Bosomer.
He's an ugly fellow. He's one of the few gunmen I've met who
wants to kill somebody all the time. Most men like that are
fourflushes. But Bosomer is all one color, and that's red.
Merely for your own sake I advise you to hit the trail."
"Thanks. But if that's all I'll stay," returned Duane. Even as
he spoke he felt that he did not know himself.
Bosomer appeared at the door, pushing men who tried to detain
him, and as he jumped clear of a last reaching hand he uttered
a snarl like an angry dog. Manifestly the short while he had
spent inside the saloon had been devoted to drinking and
talking himself into a frenzy. Bland and the other outlaws
quickly moved aside, letting Duane stand alone. When Bosomer
saw Duane standingmotionless and watchful a strange change
passed quickly in him. He halted in his tracks, and as he did
that the men who had followed him out piled over one another in
their hurry to get to one side.
Duane saw all the swift action, felt intuitively the meaning of
it, and in Bosomer's sudden change of front. The outlaw was
keen, and he had expected a shrinking, or at least a frightened
antagonist. Duane knew he was neither. He felt like iron, and
yet thrill after thrill ran through him. It was almost as if
this situation had been one long familiar to him. Somehow he
understood this yellow-eyed Bosomer. The outlaw had come out to
kill him. And now, though somewhat checked by the stand of a
stranger, he still meant to kill. Like so many desperadoes of
his ilk, he was victim of a passion to kill for the sake of
killing. Duane divined that no sudden animosity was driving
Bosomer. It was just his chance. In that moment murder would
have been joy to him. Very likely he had forgotten his pretext
for a quarrel. Very probably his faculties were absorbed in
conjecture as to Duane's possibilities.
But he did not speak a word. He remained motionless for a long
moment, his eyes pale and steady, his right hand like a claw.
That instant gave Duane a power to read in his enemy's eyes the
thought that preceded action. But Duane did not want to kill
another man. Still he would have to fight, and he decided to
cripple Bosomer. When Bosomer's hand moved Duane's gun was
spouting fire. Two shots only--both from Duane's gun--and the
outlaw fell with his right arm shattered. Bosomer cursed
harshly and floundered in the dust, trying to reach the gun
with his left hand. His comrades, however, seeing that Duane
would not kill unless forced, closed in upon Bosomer and
prevented any further madness on his part.
CHAPTER V
Of the outlaws present Euchre appeared to be the one most
inclined to lend friendliness to curiosity; and he led Duane
and the horses away to a small adobe shack. He tied the horses
in an open shed and removed their saddles. Then, gathering up
Stevens's weapons, he invited his visitor to enter the house.
It had two rooms--windows without coverings--bare floors. One
room contained blankets, weapons, saddles, and bridles; the
other a stone fireplace, rude table and bench, two bunks, a box
cupboard, and various blackened utensils.
"Make yourself to home as long as you want to stay," said
Euchre. "I ain't rich in this world's goods, but I own what's
here, an' you're welcome."
"Thanks. I'll stay awhile and rest. I'm pretty well played
out," replied Duane.
Euchre gave him a keen glance.
"Go ahead an' rest. I'll take your horses to grass."
Euchre left Duane alone in the house. Duane relaxed then, and
mechanically he wiped the sweat from his face. He was laboring
under some kind of a spell or shock which did not pass off
quickly. When it had worn away he took off his coat and belt
and made himself comfortable on the blankets. And he had a
thought that if he rested or slept what difference would it
make on the morrow? No rest, no sleep could change the gray
outlook of the future. He felt glad when Euchre came bustling
in, and for the first time he took notice of the outlaw.
Euchre was old in years. What little hair he had was gray, his
face clean-shaven and full of wrinkles; his eyes were half shut
from long gazing through the sun and dust. He stooped. But his
thin frame denoted strength and endurance still unimpaired.
"Hey a drink or a smoke?" he asked.
Duane shook his head. He had not been unfamiliar with whisky,
and he had used tobaccomoderately since he was sixteen. But
now, strangely, he felt a disgust at the idea of stimulants. He
did not understand clearly what he felt. There was that vague
idea of something wild in his blood, something that made him
fear himself.
Euchre wagged his old head sympathetically. "Reckon you feel a
little sick. When it comes to shootin' I run. What's your age?"
"I'm twenty-three," replied Duane.
Euchre showed surprise. "You're only a boy! I thought you
thirty anyways. Buck, I heard what you told Bland, an' puttin'
thet with my own figgerin', I reckon you're no criminal yet.
Throwin' a gun in self-defense--thet ain't no crime!"
Duane, findingrelief in talking, told more about himself.
"Huh," replied the old man. "I've been on this river fer years,
an' I've seen hundreds of boys come in on the dodge. Most of
them, though, was no good. An' thet kind don't last long. This
river country has been an' is the refuge fer criminals from all
over the states. I've bunked with bank cashiers, forgers, plain
thieves, an' out-an'-out murderers, all of which had no bizness
on the Texas border. Fellers like Bland are exceptions. He's no
Texan--you seen thet. The gang he rules here come from all
over, an' they're tough cusses, you can bet on thet. They live
fat an' easy. If it wasn't fer the fightin' among themselves
they'd shore grow populous. The Rim Rock is no place for a
peaceable, decent feller. I heard you tell Bland you wouldn't
join his gang. Thet'll not make him take a likin' to you. Have
you any money?"
"Not much," replied Duane.
"Could you live by gamblin'? Are you any good at cards?"
"No."
"You wouldn't steal hosses or rustle cattle?"
"No."
"When your money's gone how'n hell will you live? There ain't
any work a decent feller could do. You can't herd with
greasers. Why, Bland's men would shoot at you in the fields.
What'll you do, son?"
"God knows," replied Duane, hopelessly. "I'll make my money
last as long as possible--then starve."
"Wal, I'm pretty pore, but you'll never starve while I got
anythin'."
Here it struck Duane again--that something human and kind and
eager which he had seen in Stevens. Duane's estimate of outlaws
had lacked this quality. He had not accorded them any virtues.
To him, as to the outside world, they had been merely vicious
men without one redeeming feature.
"I'm much obliged to you, Euchre," replied Duane. "But of
course I won't live with any one unless I can pay my share."
"Have it any way you like, my son," said Euchre,
good-humoredly. "You make a fire, an' I'll set about gettin'
grub. I'm a sourdough, Buck. Thet man doesn't live who can beat
my bread."
"How do you ever pack supplies in here?" asked Duane, thinking
of the almost inaccessible nature of the valley.
"Some comes across from Mexico, an' the rest down the river.
Thet river trip is a bird. It's more'n five hundred miles to
any supply point. Bland has mozos, greaser boatmen. Sometimes,
too, he gets supplies in from down-river. You see, Bland sells
thousands of cattle in Cuba. An' all this stock has to go down
by boat to meet the ships."
"Where on earth are the cattle driven down to the river?" asked
Duane.
"Thet's not my secret," replied Euchre, shortly. "Fact is, I
don't know. I've rustled cattle for Bland, but he never sent me
through the Rim Rock with them."
- presently [´prezəntli]
ad.不久；目前 (初中英语单词) - stumble [´stʌmbəl] v.摔倒；失足；弄错 (初中英语单词)
- reasonable [´rizənəbəl] a.合理的；有理智的 (初中英语单词)
- reckon [´rekən] v.计算；认为；估计 (初中英语单词)
- advise [əd´vaiz] vt.忠告；建议；通知 (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)
- victim [´viktim] n.牺牲者；受害者 (初中英语单词)
- passion [´pæʃən] n.激情；激怒；恋爱 (初中英语单词)
- instant [´instənt] a.立即的 n.紧迫；瞬间 (初中英语单词)
- curiosity [,kjuəri´ɔsiti] n.好奇；奇事；珍品 (初中英语单词)
- visitor [´vizitə] n.访问者；来宾；参观者 (初中英语单词)
- awhile [ə´wail] ad.少顷；片刻 (初中英语单词)
- tobacco [tə´bækəu] n.烟草(叶)；卷烟 (初中英语单词)
- strangely [´streindʒli] ad.奇怪地；陌生地 (初中英语单词)
- disgust [dis´gʌst] n.厌恶 vt.令(人)作呕 (初中英语单词)
- criminal [´kriminəl] a.犯罪的 n.罪犯 (初中英语单词)
- relief [ri´li:f] n.救济；援救；减轻 (初中英语单词)
- refuge [´refju:dʒ] v.&n.避难(所)；庇护 (初中英语单词)
- rustle [´rʌsl] v.&n.(使)沙沙作响 (初中英语单词)
- starve [stɑ:v] v.(使)饥饿 (初中英语单词)
- estimate [´estimət, ´estimeit] n.估计；评价 vt.估价 (初中英语单词)
- mexico [´meksikəu] n.墨西哥 (初中英语单词)
- driven [´driv(ə)n] drive 的过去分词 (初中英语单词)
- shortly [´ʃɔ:tli] ad.立刻，马上；不久 (初中英语单词)
- saloon [sə´lu:n] n.大厅；餐车 (高中英语单词)
- crowded [´kraudid] a.充(拥)满了的 (高中英语单词)
- courteous [´kə:tiəs] a.有礼貌的；殷勤的 (高中英语单词)
- mortal [´mɔ:tl] a.致命的 n.凡人 (高中英语单词)
- politely [pə´laitli] ad.温和地；文雅地 (高中英语单词)
- motionless [´məuʃənləs] a.静止的；固定的 (高中英语单词)
- decided [di´saidid] a.明显的；决定的 (高中英语单词)
- seeing [si:iŋ] see的现在分词 n.视觉 (高中英语单词)
- madness [´mædnis] n.疯狂；狂热 (高中英语单词)
- fireplace [´faiəpleis] n.壁炉，炉灶 (高中英语单词)
- endurance [in´djuərəns] n.忍受(耐)；耐力 (高中英语单词)
- finding [´faindiŋ] n.发现物；判断；结果 (高中英语单词)
- decent [´di:sənt] a.体面的，正派的 (高中英语单词)
- inflame [in´fleim] v.(使)发炎；恼火 (英语四级单词)
- outlaw [´autlɔ:] n.歹徒 vt.将...放逐 (英语四级单词)
- devoted [di´vəutid] a.献身...的，忠实的 (英语四级单词)
- frenzy [´frenzi] n.&vt.(使)狂乱 (英语四级单词)
- watchful [´wɔtʃfəl] a.注意的；戒备的 (英语四级单词)
- trying [´traiiŋ] a.难堪的；费劲的 (英语四级单词)
- gathering [´gæðəriŋ] n.集会，聚集 (英语四级单词)
- morrow [´mɔrəu] n.翌日 (英语四级单词)
- moderately [´mɔdəritli] ad.适度；适中；普通 (英语四级单词)
- hopelessly [´həuplisli] ad.无希望地，绝望地 (英语四级单词)
- manifestly [´mænifestli] ad.明显的 (英语六级单词)
- animosity [æni´mɔsiti] n.仇恨；憎恨；敌意 (英语六级单词)
- friendliness [´frendlis] n.友爱，友好，友谊 (英语六级单词)
- unfamiliar [ʌnfə´miljə] a.不熟悉的；生疏的 (英语六级单词)
- populous [´pɔpjuləs] a.人口稠密的；众多的 (英语六级单词)
- inaccessible [,inæk´sesəbəl] a.达不到的，难接近的 (英语六级单词)
文章标签:名著
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