Soon I sped into a wan1 circle of light, and, reaching a door upon which was a hotel sign, I burst in. Chairs were scattered2 about a bare office; a man stirred on a couch, and then sat up, blinking.
“I'm afraid—I believe some one's chasing me,” I said.
He sat there eying me, and then drawled, sleepily:
“Thet ain't no call to wake a feller, is it?”
The man settled himself comfortably again, and closed his eyes.
“Say, isn't this a hotel? I want a room!” I cried.
“Up-stairs; first door.” And with that the porter went to sleep in good earnest.
I made for the stairs, and, after a backward look into the street, I ran up. A smelly lamp shed a yellowish glare along a hall. I pushed open the first door, and, entering the room, bolted myself in. Then all the strength went out of my legs. When I sat down on the bed I was in a cold sweat and shaking like a leaf. Soon the weakness passed, and I moved about the room, trying to find a lamp or candle. Evidently the hotel, and, for that matter, the town of Holston, did not concern itself with such trifles as lights. On the instant I got a bad impression of Holston. I had to undress in the dark. When I pulled the window open a little at the top the upper sash slid all the way down. I managed to get it back, and tried raising the lower sash. It was very loose, but it stayed up. Then I crawled into bed.
Though I was tired and sleepy, my mind whirled so that I could not get to sleep. If I had been honest with myself I should have wished myself back home. Pennsylvania seemed a long way off, and the adventures that I had dreamed of did not seem so alluring3, now that I was in a lonely room in a lonely, dark town. Buell had seemed friendly and kind—at least, in the beginning. Why had he not answered my call? The incident did not look well to me. Then I fell to wondering if the Mexican had really followed me. The first thing for me in the morning would be to buy a revolver. Then if any Mexicans—
A step on the tin roof outside frightened me stiff. I had noticed a porch, or shed, under my window. Some one must have climbed upon it. I stopped breathing to listen. For what seemed moments there was no sound. I wanted to think that the noise might have been made by a cat, but I couldn't. I was scared—frightened half to death.
If there had been a bolt on the window the matter would not have been so disturbing. I lay there a-quiver, eyes upon the gray window space of my room. Dead silence once more intervened. All I heard was the pound of my heart against my ribs4.
Suddenly I froze at the sight of a black figure against the light of my window. I recognized the strange hat, the grotesque5 outlines. I was about to shout for help when the fellow reached down and softly began to raise the sash.
That made me angry. Jerking up in bed, I caught the heavy pitcher6 from the wash-stand and flung it with all my might.
Crash!
Had I smashed out the whole side of the room it could scarcely have made more noise. Accompanied by the clinking of glass and the creaking of tin, my visitor rolled off the roof. I waited, expecting an uproar7 from the other inmates8 of the hotel. No footstep, no call sounded within hearing. Once again the stillness settled down.
Then, to my relief, the gray gloom lightened, and dawn broke. Never had I been so glad to see the morning. While dressing9 I cast gratified glances at the ragged10 hole in the window. With the daylight my courage had returned, and I began to have a sort of pride in my achievement.
“If that fellow had known how I can throw a baseball he'd have been careful,” I thought, a little cockily.
I went down-stairs into the office. The sleepy porter was mopping the floor. Behind the desk stood a man so large that he made Buell seem small. He was all shoulders and beard.
“Can I get breakfast?”
“Nobody's got a half-hitch on you, has they?” he replied, jerking a monstrous11 thumb over his shoulder toward a door.
I knew the words half-hitch had something to do with a lasso, and I was rather taken back by the hotel proprietor's remark. The dining-room was more attractive than anything I had yet seen about the place: the linen12 was clean, and the ham and eggs and coffee that were being served to several rugged13 men gave forth14 a savory15 odor. But either the waiter was blind or he could not bear, for he paid not the slightest attention to me. I waited, while trying to figure out the situation. Something was wrong, and, whatever it was, I guessed that it must be with me. After about an hour I got my breakfast. Then I went into the office, intending to be brisk, businesslike, and careful about asking questions.
“I'd like to pay my bill, and also for a little damage,” I said, telling what had happened.
“Somebody'll kill thet Greaser yet,” was all the comment the man made.
I went outside, not knowing whether to be angry or amused with these queer people. In the broad light of day Holston looked as bad as it had made me feel by night. All I could see were the station and freight-sheds, several stores with high, wide signs, glaringly painted, and a long block of saloons. When I had turned a street corner, however, a number of stores came into view with some three-storied brick buildings, and, farther out, many frame houses.
Moreover, this street led my eye to great snowcapped mountains, and I stopped short in my tracks, for I realized they were the Arizona peaks. Up the swelling16 slopes swept a black fringe that I knew to be timber. The mountains appeared to be close, but I knew that even the foot-bills were miles away. Penetier, I remembered from one of Dick's letters, was on the extreme northern slope, and it must be anywhere from forty to sixty miles off. The sharp, white peaks glistened17 in the morning sun; the air had a cool touch of snow and a tang of pine. I drew in a full breath, with a sense on being among the pines.
Now I must buy my outfit18 and take the trail for Penetier. This I resolved to do with as few questions as possible. I never before was troubled by sensitiveness, but the fact had dawned upon me that I did not like being taken for a tenderfoot. So, with this in mind, I entered a general merchandise store.
It was very large, and full of hardware, harness, saddles, blankets—everything that cowboys and ranchmen use. Several men, two in shirt-sleeves, were chatting near the door. They saw me come in, and then, for all that it meant to them, I might as well not have been in existence at all. So I sat down to wait, determined19 to take Western ways and things as I found them. I sat there fifteen minutes by my watch. This was not so bad; but when a lanky20, red-faced, leather-legged individual came in too he at once supplied with his wants, I began to get angry. I waited another five minutes, and still the friendly chatting went on. Finally I could stand it no longer.
“Will somebody wait on me?” I demanded.
One of the shirt-sleeved men leisurely21 got up and surveyed me.
“Do you want to buy something?” he drawled.
“Yes, I do.”
“Why didn't you say so?”
The reply trembling on my lips was cut short by the entrance of Buell.
“Hello!” he said in a loud voice, shaking hands with me. “You've trailed into the right place. Smith, treat this lad right. It's guns an' knives an' lassoes he wants, I'll bet a hoss.”
“Yes, I want an outfit,” I said, much embarrassed. “I'm going to meet a friend out in Penetier, a ranger—Dick Leslie.”
Buell started violently, and his eyes flashed. “Dick—Dick Leslie!” he said, and coughed loudly. “I know Dick.... So you're a friend of his'n? ... Now, let me help you with the outfit.”
Anything strange in Buell's manner was forgotten, in the absorbing interest of my outfit. Father had given me plenty of money, so that I had but to choose. I had had sense enough to bring my old corduroys and boots, and I had donned them that morning. One after another I made my purchases—Winchester, revolver, holsters, ammunition22, saddle, bridle23, lasso, blanket. When I got so far, Buell said: “You'll need a mustang an' a pack-pony24. I know a feller who's got jest what you want.” And with that he led me out of the store.
“Now you take it from me,” he went on, in a fatherly voice, “Holston people haven't got any use for Easterners. An' if you mention your business—forestry an' that—why, you wouldn't be safe. There's many in the lumberin' business here as don't take kindly26 to the Government. See! That's why I'm givin' you advice. Keep it to yourself an' hit the trail today, soon as you can. I'll steer27 you right.”
I was too much excited to answer clearly; indeed, I hardly thanked him. However, he scarcely gave me the chance. He kept up his talk about the townspeople and their attitude toward Easterners until we arrived at a kind of stock-yard full of shaggy little ponies28. The sight of them drove every other thought out of my head.
“Mustangs!” I exclaimed.
“Sure. Can you ride?”
“Oh yes. I have a horse at home.... What wiry little fellows! They're so wild-looking.”
“You pick out the one as suits you, an' I'll step into Cless's here. He's the man who owns this bunch.”
It did not take me long to decide. A black mustang at once took my eye. When he had been curried29 and brushed he would be a little beauty. I was trying to coax30 him to me when Buell returned with a man.
“Thet your pick?” he asked, as I pointed31. “Well, now, you're not so much of a tenderfoot. Thet's the best mustang in the lot. Cless, how much for him, an' a pack-pony an' pack-saddle?”
“I reckon twenty dollars'll make it square,” replied the owner.
This nearly made me drop with amazement32. I had only about seventy-five dollars left, and I had been very much afraid that I could not buy the mustang, let alone the pack-pony and saddle.
“Cless, send round to Smith for the lad's outfit, an' saddle up for him at once.” Then he turned to me. “Now some grub, an' a pan or two.”
Having camped before, I knew how to buy supplies. Buell, however, cut out much that I wanted, saying the thing to think of was a light pack for the pony.
“I'll hurry to the hotel and get my things,” I said, “and meet you here. I'll not be a moment.”
But Buell said it would be better for him to go with me, though he did not explain. He kept with me, still he remained in the office while I went up-stairs. Somehow this suited me, for I did not want him to see the broken window. I took a few things from my grip and rolled them in a bundle. Then I took a little leather case of odds33 and ends I had always carried when camping and slipped it into my pocket. Hurrying down-stairs I left my grip with the porter, wrote and mailed a postal34 card to my father, and followed the impatient Buell.
“You see, it's a smart lick of a ride to Penetier, and I want to get there before dark,” he explained, kindly.
I could have shouted for very glee when I saw the black mustang saddled and bridled35.
“He's well broke,” said Cless. “Keep his bridle down when you ain't in the saddle. An' find a patch of grass fer him at night. The pony'll stick to him.”
Cless fell to packing a lean pack-pony.
“Watch me do this,” said he; “you'll hev trouble if you don't git the hang of the diamondhitch.”
I watched him set the little wooden criss-cross on the pony's back, throw the balance of my outfit (which he had tied up in a canvas) over the saddle, and then pass a long rope in remarkable36 turns and wonderful loops round pony and pack.
“What's the mustang's name?” I inquired.
“Never had any,” replied the former owner.
“Then it's Hal.” I thought how that name would please my brother at home.
“Climb up. Let's see if you fit the stirrups,” said Cless. “Couldn't be better.”
“Now, young feller, you can hit the trail,” put in Buell, with his big voice. “An' remember what I told you. This country ain't got much use for a feller as can't look out for himself.”
He opened the gate, and led my mustang into the road and quite some distance. The pony jogged along after us. Then Buell stopped with a finger outstretched.
“There, at the end of this street, you'll find a trail. Hit it an' stick to it. All the little trail's leadin' into it needn't bother you.”
He swept his hand round to the west of the mountain. The direction did not tally37 with the idea I had gotten from Dick's letter.
“I thought Penetier was on the north side of the mountains.”
“Who said so?” he asked, staring. “Don't I know this country? Take it from me.”
I thanked him, and, turning, with a light heart I faced the black mountain and my journey.
It was about ten o'clock when Hal jogged into a broad trail on the outskirts38 of Holston. A gray flat lay before me, on the other side of which began the slow rise of the slope. I could hardly contain myself. I wanted to run the mustang, but did not for the sake of the burdened pony. That sage-flat was miles wide, though it seemed so narrow. The back of the lower slope began to change to a dark green, which told me I was surely getting closer to the mountains, even if it did not seem so. The trail began to rise, and at last I reached the first pine-trees. They were a disappointment to me, being no larger than many of the white oaks at home, and stunted39, with ragged dead tops. They proved to me that trees isolated40 from their fellows fare as poorly as trees overcrowded. Where pines grow closely, but not too closely, they rise straight and true, cleaning themselves of the low branches, and making good lumber25, free of knots. Where they grow far apart, at the mercy of wind and heat and free to spread many branches, they make only gnarled and knotty41 lumber.
As I rode on the pines became slowly more numerous and loftier. Then, when I had surmounted42 what I took to be the first foot-hill, I came upon a magnificent forest. A little farther on the trail walled me in with great seamed trunks, six feet in diameter, rising a hundred feet before spreading a single branch.
Meanwhile my mustang kept steadily43 up the slow-rising trail, and the time passed. Either the grand old forest had completely bewitched me or the sweet smell of pine had intoxicated44 me, for as I rode along utterly45 content I entirely46 forgot about Dick and the trail and where I was heading. Nor did I come to my senses until Hal snorted and stopped before a tangled47 windfall.
Then I glanced down to see only the clean, brown pine-needles. There was no trail. Perplexed48 and somewhat anxious, I rode back a piece, expecting surely to cross the trail. But I did not. I went to the left and to the right, then circled in a wide curve. No trail! The forest about me seemed at once familiar and strange.
It was only when the long shadows began to creep under the trees that I awoke fully49 to the truth.
I had missed the trail! I was lost in the forest!
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1
wan
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| (wide area network)广域网 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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3
alluring
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| adj.吸引人的，迷人的 | |
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4
ribs
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| n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 )；（船或屋顶等的）肋拱；肋骨状的东西；（织物的）凸条花纹 | |
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5
grotesque
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| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
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pitcher
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| n.(有嘴和柄的)大水罐；(棒球)投手 | |
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7
uproar
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| n.骚动，喧嚣，鼎沸 | |
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8
inmates
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| n.囚犯( inmate的名词复数 ) | |
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9
dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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10
ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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12
linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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13
rugged
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| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
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14
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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15
savory
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| adj.风味极佳的，可口的，味香的 | |
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16
swelling
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| n.肿胀 | |
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glistened
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| v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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18
outfit
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| n.（为特殊用途的）全套装备，全套服装 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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lanky
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| adj.瘦长的 | |
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leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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ammunition
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| n.军火，弹药 | |
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bridle
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| n.笼头，束缚；vt.抑制，约束；动怒 | |
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pony
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| adj.小型的；n.小马 | |
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lumber
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| n.木材，木料；v.以破旧东西堆满；伐木；笨重移动 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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steer
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| vt.驾驶，为…操舵；引导；vi.驾驶 | |
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28
ponies
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| 矮种马，小型马( pony的名词复数 )； ￡25 25 英镑 | |
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curried
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| adj.加了咖喱（或咖喱粉的），用咖哩粉调理的 | |
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coax
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| v.哄诱，劝诱，用诱哄得到，诱取 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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32
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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33
odds
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| n.让步，机率，可能性，比率；胜败优劣之别 | |
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postal
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| adj.邮政的，邮局的 | |
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35
bridled
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| 给…套龙头( bridle的过去式和过去分词 )； 控制； 昂首表示轻蔑（或怨忿等）； 动怒，生气 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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tally
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| n.计数器，记分，一致，测量；vt.计算，记录，使一致；vi.计算，记分，一致 | |
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outskirts
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| n.郊外，郊区 | |
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39
stunted
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| adj.矮小的；发育迟缓的 | |
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40
isolated
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| adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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41
knotty
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| adj.有结的，多节的，多瘤的，棘手的 | |
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42
surmounted
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| 战胜( surmount的过去式和过去分词 )； 克服（困难）； 居于…之上； 在…顶上 | |
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43
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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44
intoxicated
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| 喝醉的，极其兴奋的 | |
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45
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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47
tangled
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| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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48
perplexed
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| adj.不知所措的 | |
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49
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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