章节正文
heart-numbing slowness. From time to time his elbow made a
little gurgle and splash in the water. Try as he might, he
could not prevent this. It got to be like the hollow roar of a
rapid filling his ears with mocking sound. There was a
perceptible current out in the river, and it hindered straight
advancement. Inch by inch he crept on, expecting to hear the
bang of rifles, the spattering of bullets. He tried not to look
backward, but failed. The fire appeared a little dimmer, the
moving shadows a little darker.
Once the plank stuck in the sand and felt as if it were
settling. Bringing feet to aid his hand, he shoved it over the
treacherous place. This way he made faster progress. The
obscurity of the river seemed to be enveloping him. When he
looked back again the figures of the men were coalescing with
the surrounding gloom, the fires were streaky, blurred patches
of light. But the sky above was brighter. Dawn was not far off.
To the west all was dark. With infinite care and implacable
spirit and waning strength Duane shoved the plank along, and
when at last he discerned the black border of bank it came in
time, he thought, to save him. He crawled out, rested till the
gray dawn broke, and then headed north through the willows.
CHAPTER XIII
How long Duane was traveling out of that region he never knew.
But he reached familiar country and found a rancher who had
before befriended him. Here his arm was attended to; he had
food and sleep; and in a couple of weeks he was himself again.
When the time came for Duane to ride away on his endless trail
his friend reluctantly imparted the information that some
thirty miles south, near the village of Shirley, there was
posted at a certain cross-road a reward for Buck Duane dead or
alive. Duane had heard of such notices, but he had never seen
one. His friend's reluctance and refusal to state for what
particular deed this reward was offered roused Duane's
curiosity. He had never been any closer to Shirley than this
rancher's home. Doubtless some post-office burglary, some
gun-shooting scrape had been attributed to him. And he had been
accused of worse deeds. Abruptly Duane decided to ride over
there and find out who wanted him dead or alive, and why.
As he started south on the road he reflected that this was the
first time he had ever deliberately hunted trouble.
Introspection awarded him this knowledge; during that last
terrible flight on the lower Nueces and while he lay abed
recuperating he had changed. A fixed, immutable, hopeless
bitterness abided with him. He had reached the end of his rope.
All the power of his mind and soul were unavailable to turn him
back from his fate.
That fate was to become an outlaw in every sense of the term,
to be what he was credited with being--that is to say, to
embrace evil. He had never committed a crime. He wondered now
was crime close to him? He reasoned finally that the
desperation of crime had been forced upon him, if not its
motive; and that if driven, there was no limit to his
possibilities. He understood now many of the hitherto
inexplicable actions of certain noted outlaws--why they had
returned to the scene of the crime that had outlawed them; why
they took such strangely fatal chances; why life was no more to
them than a breath of wind; why they rode straight into the
jaws of death to confront wronged men or hunting rangers,
vigilantes, to laugh in their very faces. It was such
bitterness as this that drove these men.
Toward afternoon, from the top of a long hill, Duane saw the
green fields and trees and shining roofs of a town he
considered must be Shirley. And at the bottom of the hill he
came upon an intersecting road. There was a placard nailed on
the crossroad sign-post. Duane drew rein near it and leaned
close to read the faded print. $1000 REWARD FOR BUCK DUANE DEAD
OR ALIVE. Peering closer to read the finer, more faded print,
Duane learned that he was wanted for the murder of Mrs. Jeff
Aiken at her ranch near Shirley. The month September was named,
but the date was illegible. The reward was offered by the
woman's husband, whose name appeared with that of a sheriff's
at the bottom of the placard.
Duane read the thing twice. When he straightened he was sick
with the horror of his fate, wild with passion at those
misguided fools who could believe that he had harmed a woman.
Then he remembered Kate Bland, and, as always when she returned
to him, he quaked inwardly. Years before word had gone abroad
that he had killed her, and so it was easy for men wanting to
fix a crime to name him. Perhaps it had been done
often. Probably he bore on his shoulders a burden of numberless
crimes.
A dark, passionate fury possessed him. It shook him like a
storm shakes the oak. When it passed, leaving him cold, with
clouded brow and piercing eye, his mind was set. Spurring his
horse, he rode straight toward the village.
Shirley appeared to be a large, pretentious country town. A
branch of some railroad terminated there. The main street was
wide, bordered by trees and commodious houses, and many of the
stores were of brick. A large plaza shaded by giant cottonwood
trees occupied a central location.
Duane pulled his running horse and halted him, plunging and
snorting, before a group of idle men who lounged on benches in
the shade of a spreading cottonwood. How many times had Duane
seen just that kind of lazy shirt-sleeved Texas group! Not
often, however, had he seen such placid, lolling, good-natured
men change their expression, their attitude so swiftly. His
advent apparently was momentous. They evidently took him for an
unusual visitor. So far as Duane could tell, not one of them
recognized him, had a hint of his identity.
He slid off his horse and threw the bridle.
"I'm Buck Duane," he said. "I saw that placard--out there on a
sign-post. It's a damn lie! Somebody find this man Jeff Aiken.
I want to see him."
His announcement was taken in absolute silence. That was the
only effect he noted, for he avoided looking at these
villagers. The reason was simple enough; Duane felt himself
overcome with emotion. There were tears in his eyes. He sat
down on a bench, put his elbows on his knees and his hands to
his face. For once he had absolutely no concern for his fate.
This ignominy was the last straw.
Presently, however, he became aware of some kind of commotion
among these villagers. He heard whisperings, low, hoarse
voices, then the shuffle of rapid feet moving away. All at once
a violent hand jerked his gun from its holster. When Duane rose
a gaunt man, livid of face, shaking like a leaf, confronted him
with his own gun.
"Hands up, thar, you Buck Duane!" he roared, waving the gun.
That appeared to be the cue for pandemonium to break loose.
Duane opened his lips to speak, but if he had yelled at the top
of his lungs he could not have made himself heard. In weary
disgust he looked at the gaunt man, and then at the others, who
were working themselves into a frenzy. He made no move,
however, to hold up his hands. The villagers surrounded him,
emboldened by finding him now unarmed. Then several men lay
hold of his arms and pinioned them behind his back. Resistance
was useless even if Duane had had the spirit. Some one of them
fetched his halter from his saddle, and with this they bound
him helpless.
People were running now from the street, the stores, the
houses. Old men, cowboys, clerks, boys, ranchers came on the
trot. The crowd grew. The increasing clamor began to attract
women as well as men. A group of girls ran up, then hung back
in fright and pity.
The presence of cowboys made a difference. They split up the
crowd, got to Duane, and lay hold of him with rough,
businesslike hands. One of them lifted his fists and roared at
the frenzied mob to fall back, to stop the racket. He beat them
back into a circle; but it was some little time before the
hubbub quieted down so a voice could be heard.
"Shut up, will you-all?" he was yelling. "Give us a chance to
hear somethin'. Easy now--soho. There ain't nobody goin' to be
hurt. Thet's right; everybody quiet now. Let's see what's come
off."
This cowboy, evidently one of authority, or at least one of
strong personality, turned to the gaunt man, who still waved
Duane's gun.
"Abe, put the gun down," he said. "It might go off. Here, give
it to me. Now, what's wrong? Who's this roped gent, an' what's
he done?"
The gaunt fellow, who appeared now about to collapse, lifted a
shaking hand and pointed.
"Thet thar feller--he's Buck Duane!" he panted.
An angry murmur ran through the surrounding crowd.
"The rope! The rope! Throw it over a branch! String him up!"
cried an excited villager.
"Buck Duane! Buck Duane!"
"Hang him!"
The cowboy silenced these cries.
"Abe, how do you know this fellow is Buck Duane?" he asked,
sharply.
"Why--he said so," replied the man called Abe.
"What!" came the exclamation, incredulously.
"It's a tarnal fact," panted Abe, waving his hands importantly.
He was an old man and appeared to be carried away with the
significance of his deed. "He like to rid' his hoss right over
us-all. Then he jumped off, says he was Buck Duane, an' he
wanted to see Jeff Aiken bad."
This speech caused a second commotion as noisy though not so
enduring as the first. When the cowboy, assisted by a couple of
his mates, had restored order again some one had slipped the
noose-end of Duane's rope over his head.
"Up with him!" screeched a wild-eyed youth.
The mob surged closer was shoved back by the cowboys.
"Abe, if you ain't drunk or crazy tell thet over," ordered
Abe's interlocutor.
With some show of resentment and more of dignity Abe reiterated
his former statement.
"If he's Buck Duane how'n hell did you get hold of his gun?"
bluntly queried the cowboy.
"Why--he set down thar--an' he kind of hid his face on his
hand. An' I grabbed his gun an' got the drop on him."
What the cowboy thought of this was expressed in a laugh. His
mates likewise grinned broadly. Then the leader turned to
Duane.
"Stranger, I reckon you'd better speak up for yourself," he
said.
That stilled the crowd as no command had done.
"I'm Buck Duane, all right." said Duane, quietly. "It was this
way--"
The big cowboy seemed to vibrate with a shock. All the ruddy
warmth left his face; his jaw began to bulge; the corded veins
in his neck stood out in knots. In an instant he had a hard,
stern, strange look. He shot out a powerful hand that fastened
in the front of Duane's blouse.
"Somethin' queer here. But if you're Duane you're sure in bad.
Any fool ought to know that. You mean it, then?"
"Yes."
"Rode in to shoot up the town, eh? Same old stunt of you
gunfighters? Meant to kill the man who offered a reward? Wanted
to see Jeff Aiken bad, huh?"
"No," replied Duane. "Your citizen here misrepresented things.
little gurgle and splash in the water. Try as he might, he
could not prevent this. It got to be like the hollow roar of a
rapid filling his ears with mocking sound. There was a
perceptible current out in the river, and it hindered straight
advancement. Inch by inch he crept on, expecting to hear the
bang of rifles, the spattering of bullets. He tried not to look
backward, but failed. The fire appeared a little dimmer, the
moving shadows a little darker.
Once the plank stuck in the sand and felt as if it were
settling. Bringing feet to aid his hand, he shoved it over the
treacherous place. This way he made faster progress. The
obscurity of the river seemed to be enveloping him. When he
looked back again the figures of the men were coalescing with
the surrounding gloom, the fires were streaky, blurred patches
of light. But the sky above was brighter. Dawn was not far off.
To the west all was dark. With infinite care and implacable
spirit and waning strength Duane shoved the plank along, and
when at last he discerned the black border of bank it came in
time, he thought, to save him. He crawled out, rested till the
gray dawn broke, and then headed north through the willows.
CHAPTER XIII
How long Duane was traveling out of that region he never knew.
But he reached familiar country and found a rancher who had
before befriended him. Here his arm was attended to; he had
food and sleep; and in a couple of weeks he was himself again.
When the time came for Duane to ride away on his endless trail
his friend reluctantly imparted the information that some
thirty miles south, near the village of Shirley, there was
posted at a certain cross-road a reward for Buck Duane dead or
alive. Duane had heard of such notices, but he had never seen
one. His friend's reluctance and refusal to state for what
particular deed this reward was offered roused Duane's
curiosity. He had never been any closer to Shirley than this
rancher's home. Doubtless some post-office burglary, some
gun-shooting scrape had been attributed to him. And he had been
accused of worse deeds. Abruptly Duane decided to ride over
there and find out who wanted him dead or alive, and why.
As he started south on the road he reflected that this was the
first time he had ever deliberately hunted trouble.
Introspection awarded him this knowledge; during that last
terrible flight on the lower Nueces and while he lay abed
recuperating he had changed. A fixed, immutable, hopeless
bitterness abided with him. He had reached the end of his rope.
All the power of his mind and soul were unavailable to turn him
back from his fate.
That fate was to become an outlaw in every sense of the term,
to be what he was credited with being--that is to say, to
embrace evil. He had never committed a crime. He wondered now
was crime close to him? He reasoned finally that the
desperation of crime had been forced upon him, if not its
motive; and that if driven, there was no limit to his
possibilities. He understood now many of the hitherto
inexplicable actions of certain noted outlaws--why they had
returned to the scene of the crime that had outlawed them; why
they took such strangely fatal chances; why life was no more to
them than a breath of wind; why they rode straight into the
jaws of death to confront wronged men or hunting rangers,
vigilantes, to laugh in their very faces. It was such
bitterness as this that drove these men.
Toward afternoon, from the top of a long hill, Duane saw the
green fields and trees and shining roofs of a town he
considered must be Shirley. And at the bottom of the hill he
came upon an intersecting road. There was a placard nailed on
the crossroad sign-post. Duane drew rein near it and leaned
close to read the faded print. $1000 REWARD FOR BUCK DUANE DEAD
OR ALIVE. Peering closer to read the finer, more faded print,
Duane learned that he was wanted for the murder of Mrs. Jeff
Aiken at her ranch near Shirley. The month September was named,
but the date was illegible. The reward was offered by the
woman's husband, whose name appeared with that of a sheriff's
at the bottom of the placard.
Duane read the thing twice. When he straightened he was sick
with the horror of his fate, wild with passion at those
misguided fools who could believe that he had harmed a woman.
Then he remembered Kate Bland, and, as always when she returned
to him, he quaked inwardly. Years before word had gone abroad
that he had killed her, and so it was easy for men wanting to
fix a crime to name him. Perhaps it had been done
often. Probably he bore on his shoulders a burden of numberless
crimes.
A dark, passionate fury possessed him. It shook him like a
storm shakes the oak. When it passed, leaving him cold, with
clouded brow and piercing eye, his mind was set. Spurring his
horse, he rode straight toward the village.
Shirley appeared to be a large, pretentious country town. A
branch of some railroad terminated there. The main street was
wide, bordered by trees and commodious houses, and many of the
stores were of brick. A large plaza shaded by giant cottonwood
trees occupied a central location.
Duane pulled his running horse and halted him, plunging and
snorting, before a group of idle men who lounged on benches in
the shade of a spreading cottonwood. How many times had Duane
seen just that kind of lazy shirt-sleeved Texas group! Not
often, however, had he seen such placid, lolling, good-natured
men change their expression, their attitude so swiftly. His
advent apparently was momentous. They evidently took him for an
unusual visitor. So far as Duane could tell, not one of them
recognized him, had a hint of his identity.
He slid off his horse and threw the bridle.
"I'm Buck Duane," he said. "I saw that placard--out there on a
sign-post. It's a damn lie! Somebody find this man Jeff Aiken.
I want to see him."
His announcement was taken in absolute silence. That was the
only effect he noted, for he avoided looking at these
villagers. The reason was simple enough; Duane felt himself
overcome with emotion. There were tears in his eyes. He sat
down on a bench, put his elbows on his knees and his hands to
his face. For once he had absolutely no concern for his fate.
This ignominy was the last straw.
Presently, however, he became aware of some kind of commotion
among these villagers. He heard whisperings, low, hoarse
voices, then the shuffle of rapid feet moving away. All at once
a violent hand jerked his gun from its holster. When Duane rose
a gaunt man, livid of face, shaking like a leaf, confronted him
with his own gun.
"Hands up, thar, you Buck Duane!" he roared, waving the gun.
That appeared to be the cue for pandemonium to break loose.
Duane opened his lips to speak, but if he had yelled at the top
of his lungs he could not have made himself heard. In weary
disgust he looked at the gaunt man, and then at the others, who
were working themselves into a frenzy. He made no move,
however, to hold up his hands. The villagers surrounded him,
emboldened by finding him now unarmed. Then several men lay
hold of his arms and pinioned them behind his back. Resistance
was useless even if Duane had had the spirit. Some one of them
fetched his halter from his saddle, and with this they bound
him helpless.
People were running now from the street, the stores, the
houses. Old men, cowboys, clerks, boys, ranchers came on the
trot. The crowd grew. The increasing clamor began to attract
women as well as men. A group of girls ran up, then hung back
in fright and pity.
The presence of cowboys made a difference. They split up the
crowd, got to Duane, and lay hold of him with rough,
businesslike hands. One of them lifted his fists and roared at
the frenzied mob to fall back, to stop the racket. He beat them
back into a circle; but it was some little time before the
hubbub quieted down so a voice could be heard.
"Shut up, will you-all?" he was yelling. "Give us a chance to
hear somethin'. Easy now--soho. There ain't nobody goin' to be
hurt. Thet's right; everybody quiet now. Let's see what's come
off."
This cowboy, evidently one of authority, or at least one of
strong personality, turned to the gaunt man, who still waved
Duane's gun.
"Abe, put the gun down," he said. "It might go off. Here, give
it to me. Now, what's wrong? Who's this roped gent, an' what's
he done?"
The gaunt fellow, who appeared now about to collapse, lifted a
shaking hand and pointed.
"Thet thar feller--he's Buck Duane!" he panted.
An angry murmur ran through the surrounding crowd.
"The rope! The rope! Throw it over a branch! String him up!"
cried an excited villager.
"Buck Duane! Buck Duane!"
"Hang him!"
The cowboy silenced these cries.
"Abe, how do you know this fellow is Buck Duane?" he asked,
sharply.
"Why--he said so," replied the man called Abe.
"What!" came the exclamation, incredulously.
"It's a tarnal fact," panted Abe, waving his hands importantly.
He was an old man and appeared to be carried away with the
significance of his deed. "He like to rid' his hoss right over
us-all. Then he jumped off, says he was Buck Duane, an' he
wanted to see Jeff Aiken bad."
This speech caused a second commotion as noisy though not so
enduring as the first. When the cowboy, assisted by a couple of
his mates, had restored order again some one had slipped the
noose-end of Duane's rope over his head.
"Up with him!" screeched a wild-eyed youth.
The mob surged closer was shoved back by the cowboys.
"Abe, if you ain't drunk or crazy tell thet over," ordered
Abe's interlocutor.
With some show of resentment and more of dignity Abe reiterated
his former statement.
"If he's Buck Duane how'n hell did you get hold of his gun?"
bluntly queried the cowboy.
"Why--he set down thar--an' he kind of hid his face on his
hand. An' I grabbed his gun an' got the drop on him."
What the cowboy thought of this was expressed in a laugh. His
mates likewise grinned broadly. Then the leader turned to
Duane.
"Stranger, I reckon you'd better speak up for yourself," he
said.
That stilled the crowd as no command had done.
"I'm Buck Duane, all right." said Duane, quietly. "It was this
way--"
The big cowboy seemed to vibrate with a shock. All the ruddy
warmth left his face; his jaw began to bulge; the corded veins
in his neck stood out in knots. In an instant he had a hard,
stern, strange look. He shot out a powerful hand that fastened
in the front of Duane's blouse.
"Somethin' queer here. But if you're Duane you're sure in bad.
Any fool ought to know that. You mean it, then?"
"Yes."
"Rode in to shoot up the town, eh? Same old stunt of you
gunfighters? Meant to kill the man who offered a reward? Wanted
to see Jeff Aiken bad, huh?"
"No," replied Duane. "Your citizen here misrepresented things.
- splash [splæʃ]
v.&n.溅水声；涉水而进 (初中英语单词) - reward [ri´wɔ:d] n.&v.报答；报酬；奖赏 (初中英语单词)
- doubtless [´dautlis] ad.无疑地；大概，多半 (初中英语单词)
- abruptly [ə´brʌptli] ad.突然地；粗鲁地 (初中英语单词)
- flight [flait] n.逃走；飞行；班机 (初中英语单词)
- driven [´driv(ə)n] drive 的过去分词 (初中英语单词)
- strangely [´streindʒli] ad.奇怪地；陌生地 (初中英语单词)
- breath [breθ] n.呼吸；气息 (初中英语单词)
- horror [´hɔrə] n.恐怖；战栗 (初中英语单词)
- passion [´pæʃən] n.激情；激怒；恋爱 (初中英语单词)
- running [´rʌniŋ] a.奔跑的；流动的 (初中英语单词)
- swiftly [´swiftli] ad.迅速地，敏捷地 (初中英语单词)
- evidently [´evidəntli] ad.明显地 (初中英语单词)
- visitor [´vizitə] n.访问者；来宾；参观者 (初中英语单词)
- absolute [´æbsəlu:t] a.绝对的 n.绝对 (初中英语单词)
- emotion [i´məuʃən] n.感情；情绪；激动 (初中英语单词)
- absolutely [´æbsəlu:tli] ad.绝对地；确实 (初中英语单词)
- violent [´vaiələnt] a.强暴的；猛烈的 (初中英语单词)
- working [´wə:kiŋ] a.工人的；劳动的 (初中英语单词)
- useless [´ju:sləs] a.无用的，无价值的 (初中英语单词)
- saddle [´sædl] n.鞍子 v.装鞍(于) (初中英语单词)
- fright [frait] n.惊吓；恐怖；怪人 (初中英语单词)
- circle [´sə:kəl] n.圆圈 v.环绕；盘旋 (初中英语单词)
- personality [,pə:sə´næliti] n.人；个性；人品；人物 (初中英语单词)
- dignity [´digniti] n.尊严，尊贵；高官显贵 (初中英语单词)
- likewise [´laikwaiz] ad.同样地；也，又 (初中英语单词)
- reckon [´rekən] v.计算；认为；估计 (初中英语单词)
- instant [´instənt] a.立即的 n.紧迫；瞬间 (初中英语单词)
- surrounding [sə´raundiŋ] n.周围的事物 (高中英语单词)
- infinite [´infinit] a.无限的，无穷的 (高中英语单词)
- refusal [ri´fju:zəl] n.拒绝；优先取舍权 (高中英语单词)
- post-office [´pəust-´ɔfis] a.邮政的 (高中英语单词)
- decided [di´saidid] a.明显的；决定的 (高中英语单词)
- deliberately [di´libərətli] ad.故意地；慎重地 (高中英语单词)
- confront [kən´frʌnt] vt.(使)面对；正视 (高中英语单词)
- learned [´lə:nid] a.有学问的，博学的 (高中英语单词)
- passionate [´pæʃənit] a.易动情的；易怒的 (高中英语单词)
- apparently [ə´pærəntli] ad.显然，表面上地 (高中英语单词)
- announcement [ə´naunsmənt] n.通告；宣布；言谈 (高中英语单词)
- finding [´faindiŋ] n.发现物；判断；结果 (高中英语单词)
- racket [´rækit] n.(网球等的)拍；球拍 (高中英语单词)
- collapse [kə´læps] vi.&n.崩溃；病倒；衰败 (高中英语单词)
- resentment [ri´zentmənt] n.不满；怨恨；忿恨 (高中英语单词)
- reluctantly [ri´lʌktəntli] a.不情愿地；勉强地 (英语四级单词)
- scrape [skreip] v.&n.刮，削，擦；搔 (英语四级单词)
- outlaw [´autlɔ:] n.歹徒 vt.将...放逐 (英语四级单词)
- placid [´plæsid] a.平静的；温和的 (英语四级单词)
- shuffle [´ʃʌf(ə)l] v.洗(牌) n.搅乱 (英语四级单词)
- frenzy [´frenzi] n.&vt.(使)狂乱 (英语四级单词)
- exclamation [,eksklə´meiʃən] n.喊(惊)叫；感叹词 (英语四级单词)
- commotion [kə´məuʃən] n.混乱；骚动 (英语四级单词)
- vibrate [´vaibreit, vai´breit] v.(使)振动；发抖 (英语四级单词)
- gurgle [´gə:gl] vt.&vi.潺潺而流 (英语六级单词)
- reluctance [ri´lʌktəns] n.不愿；勉强 (英语六级单词)
- hunting [´hʌntiŋ] n.打猎 (英语六级单词)
- inwardly [´inwədli] ad.内向；独自地 (英语六级单词)
- wanting [´wɔntiŋ, wɑ:n-] a.短缺的；不足的 (英语六级单词)
- piercing [´piəsiŋ] a.刺(贯)穿的；尖刻的 (英语六级单词)
- halter [´hɔ:ltə] n.缰绳，绞索 (英语六级单词)
- cowboy [´kaubɔi] n.牧童；牛仔 (英语六级单词)
- broadly [´brɔ:dli] ad.广，宽；明白；粗鲁 (英语六级单词)
文章标签:名著
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