It rained in the night, and blew so fiercely that the windows of the little house rattled1 and the door shook upon its hinges. When Hugh got up in the morning, all eagerness for the expedition, there was watery2 sunlight showing, but great gusts3 of wind were still thundering down the valley and the air was raw and chilly4. The smiling autumn landscape of scarlet5 and gold was totally transformed; the flaming leaves had disappeared in one stormy night and the brown woods stood bare and bleak6 and cold.
“I wish this storm had waited just one day longer,” said Oscar as they were having breakfast before the welcome blaze of the big fire. “There may even be snow now before many hours.”
He did not say, “If only you had remembered one day sooner what you saw in the wood!” Hugh felt that the thought must be in his mind, so large did it loom7 in his own. But Oscar’s fashion of never wasting words was contagious8, so he, too, said nothing.
As he opened the door to go out and feed Hulda, he heard, above the booming of the wind, a steady dull roar that was quite new to his ears.
“That is the stream that runs this side of Jasper Peak,” Oscar explained. “You could hardly believe how one night’s rain can carry it over its banks. Even less of a storm than this will sometimes make it impassable. Fortunately, where I want to go to-day is on this side and I will not have to try to cross it. But I may not be back until long after dark.”
It was not like Oscar to say “I” when there were two to talk about. Hugh noted9 this with a sinking of the heart.
“Oscar,” he cried, turning back from the door, “am I not going, too?”
Oscar slowly shook his head.
“I’m so sorry,” he said with evident understanding of Hugh’s disappointment, “but you see if Jake is really back we can’t risk leaving the cabin alone. The claim is nearly established now and the closer we come to the end, the closer we come to trouble. There is bound to be one more row before the thing finally goes through.”
“What sort of a row, Oscar?”
Oscar looked down at his scarred hand and smiled reflectively.
“A row like the others we have had,” he said quietly, “only this time a really good one. Good-by.”
He took up his pack and went out without another word. The furious wind seemed to seize him and whirl him away the moment he stepped outside the door. Hugh had not answered his farewell, for he was disappointed and indignant at being left behind and he did not mind how plainly Oscar saw it. After all, it was he himself who had seen the footprints by the marsh12; he ought to be the person to go and look for them again. He went out to feed Hulda, slamming the door smartly behind him and never looking at Oscar, who was still in sight, trudging13 along the open ridge14 above the valley. Hugh understood now why Oscar had asked so many questions about the region where the footprints had been seen, about how long the boy had walked before he came in sight of the cabin, about the contour of the land and the direction in which the shadows fell.
Hugh, as he moved sulkily toward the shed, began composing bitter speeches to be launched at Oscar when he should return. He stopped for a moment and looked across at Jasper Peak and the shack15 high up on its rocky shoulder. Yes, there was the plume16 of smoke again, torn and whirled about by the wind, but still sending up its ominous17 signal. He turned to open the shed door. He would tell Oscar plainly that—that—But, after all, why should Oscar have gone at all? It was a forlorn hope at the best for which he was risking everything, leaving in Hugh’s safe-keeping property that was infinitely18 valuable in the light of the purpose it was to serve. A sudden change of feeling overcame Hugh, filling him with shame for his blind ill-temper.
He ran back to the top of the hill to see Oscar just about to disappear into the forest. It was too far for a shout to carry, but, yes, Oscar looked back just as he plunged19 into the wood. Hugh raised his arm high in a gesture of farewell and Oscar waved his woolen20 cap in generous-hearted understanding. Thus good feeling was re?stablished between them before they parted, parted for a longer time than either of them could have thought.
Hugh went back to attend to Hulda’s wants for the day. She was a patient cow, but even she looked around at him in reproachful surprise over the awkwardness of his good offices.
“And I suppose I will have to try to milk her to-night,” he reflected with some misgiving21. He was not sure that her patience and forbearance were great enough for him to attempt such a feat22.
As he returned to the cabin he was wondering how he was to spend the lonely day. There were, he found, however, any number of things to be done, pans to be cleaned, water to be carried, some last weeds and dried stalks to be cleared from Oscar’s vegetable garden and in the small field that he had cultivated. Oscar had managed to raise quite a store of wheat, had ground it by hand in the rude little mill that he had constructed himself and had put it aside for use during the winter. He had potatoes, too, and beans, turnips23 and other vegetables that could be dried or stored, so that the supplies that must be carried so laboriously24 from Rudolm need be the fewest possible.
After he had finished his work in the cabin and had cooked his dinner, trying to imitate Oscar’s skill in tossing flapjacks and not succeeding very well, Hugh took an ax and went out to the edge of the forest to cut wood. Gathering25 the winter’s fuel was an endless task, one upon which he and Oscar spent all of their extra time. He looked across at Jasper Peak again as he came out, but a curtain of rain was falling between him and the mountain and the cabin opposite was invisible. It was growing colder and colder, the wind coming in icy gusts and the roar of the flooded stream becoming louder as darkness fell. Hugh worked actively26 all afternoon, as much for the sake of keeping warm and occupied, as for what he might accomplish. He had a generous store of wood to reward him for his heavy toil27 when at last it grew so late that he could see to wield28 the ax no longer. He walked heavily back to the cabin, wet and weary and wishing that Oscar would come home. In the shelter of the trees he had not noticed the wind and was amazed at its strength when he crossed the open ridge and ran for the cabin door.
On looking at the clock he realized that he had spent more time in the forest than he had intended and that he must make haste about his evening tasks. The fire was nearly out and did not wish to burn, for the wood was wet and the wind, whistling down the chimney, filled the room with sparks and smoke. He grew impatient and irritated at last, kicked the logs into place and received in return such a puff29 of ashes in his face that he was nearly choked. As he went to the door for a breath of fresh air, he remembered, with sudden dismay, that he must milk Hulda.
For a long time after, Hugh preferred not to remember that interview between himself and the indignant cow. Even when he did think of it, he realized that Hulda showed the greatest forbearance and that the kick she gave him was probably an involuntary one, administered when cow nature could endure no more. She looked around at him a moment later with apology in her mild brown eyes, encouraging him to forget his smarting knee, to sit down upon the stool and attempt the task again. At last he straightened his aching back and stood gazing with pride at the bucket half full of foaming30 milk.
“You are a good cow, Hulda,” he confided31 to her; “there are not many who would stand for what you have.”
Very carefully he carried his prize back to the house, slipping and stumbling on the wet path, but taking the greatest care that not a drop should be spilled. He felt prouder of having milked Hulda without assistance than of anything he had ever before achieved; he did wish that Oscar would come home to see. He stood a minute by the cabin door, trying with vain eyes to peer through the darkness. Nothing was visible, hardly even the hand he held before his face, nothing would pierce that heavy blackness but the rushing of the flooded stream and the calling of the wind. With a great sigh he turned at last, fumbled32 for the latch34 of the door and stepped inside.
The fire had burned up during his absence, making the room look warm and cozy35, a welcome sight after the storm and rain without. He lit the lamp upon the table, then looked up uneasily at the clock on the wall. Its hands pointed11 to nine. He carried the lamp to the window, drew back the curtains and set it on the sill.
“I wish Oscar would come,” he said aloud.
So busy had he been that he had not had his supper yet. His unaccustomed hands and his great hunger both served to make the process a lengthy36 one, so that when he had finished and set things in order again, it was nearly eleven. To tell the truth, he had kept himself occupied as long as he could in an effort to ignore the fact that the storm, bad as it had been all day, was growing worse. Rain thundered on the roof of the cabin with a noise that was almost deafening37, paused a moment, then came pouring down again. The windows shook and the lamp flared38 and flickered39 in the sudden gusts that seemed to be trying to snatch the little dwelling40 from its foundations. Once during a momentary41 pause in the tumult42 he heard the sharp crack and then the slow crashing of a tree blown down in the forest. How could a storm be so terrible and still grow ever worse? Oh, why did not Oscar come home?
He built up the dying fire and established himself in the rough armchair to wait. He blinked up at the clock; it was midnight now. In spite of his discomfort43, in spite of all his anxiety and his determination to keep awake, he fell into a doze44.
A sound aroused him, he had no idea just how much later. It was a strange noise at the door, one that at first made him think that here was Oscar come home at last. He jumped up and ran eagerly to admit him, but stopped with his hand almost upon the latch. It was not Oscar, it was no human being that was making that panting sound outside, that pushing and shouldering of some huge body against the door. His heart seemed to stand still as he waited for a second, watching the rude boards shake and tremble under the impact of that strange pressure. Something sniffed45 and snuffled along the crack at the threshold, something padded back and forth47 out there in the dark, then the soft fumbling48 and shouldering began again.
“If I push the table across the door—” thought Hugh, but the idea came a second too late.
The latch suddenly gave way, the door flew open, letting in a blast of wind and rain and blowing out the lamp, so that the cabin was left in inky darkness. A vast white form sprang into the room, knocking Hugh into a corner, striking against a chair and upsetting it with a crash. Then there was utter silence, broken only by a quick panting over by the inner doorway49 where the invading creature must be standing10.
With a great effort Hugh managed to close the door against the fury of the wind. Still there was quiet, no movement from that corner whence the quick breathing came. Very slowly he took up the lamp, managed to steady his shaking hand and fumble33 for a match. He set the lamp on the table, lit the wick and turned the light full upon his strange visitor. Even when he saw the creature clearly he could not, for a moment, grasp what it really was. It was a dog, but such an enormous dog as Hugh had never seen before. Its shaggy coat was white, and so wet with the rain that water dripped from it and ran pattering to the floor. Motionless, it stood there, still panting from the effort of forcing its way in, and gazing steadily50 at Hugh with its great melancholy51 black eyes. He had never seen such an animal before, still there was something familiar—yes, he could have no doubt. It was the dog of the picture, Dick Edmonds’ dog, it was Nicholas!
The two stood long, staring at each other without moving, then the dog advanced very slowly and began sniffing52 delicately at the edge of Hugh’s coat. For all his size, he seemed to be shy and nervous, jumping back when the boy sought to lay a hand on his long head, advancing again when he was not looking to sniff46 at his clothes again and determine whether this was friend or foe53. All his dignity disappeared, however, when Hugh brought some food and set it upon the hearth54 before him. He fell upon it with wolfish ferocity, as though he had not eaten a full meal in weeks. He tore at the meat, crunched55 the bones and looked gratefully up at Hugh from time to time, wagging his long brush of a tail that swept the floor. But he did not eat all the food, ravenous56 as he seemed to be. When the first edge of his starvation was dulled, when the warmth of the fire had dried and warmed him so that he ceased to shiver, he stopped eating, went to the door and whined57 to be gone.
“What’s the matter, old fellow, aren’t you happy here?” Hugh asked, whereat the dog came to him, nuzzled his hand with his long wet nose, then ran to the door again.
His insistence58 was so great that at last Hugh felt forced to lift the latch, open the door and let him go. He bounded over the sill and disappeared instantly into the dark. Not for long, however, for Hugh had not had time to close the door before he was back again, shoving his nose beseechingly59 into the boy’s hand, jumping about him and whining60 again and again. There was no doubting what it was he wished.
“It’s a nice night for you to be asking me to go out with you,” remonstrated61 Hugh, “but—well, you are Dick Edmonds’ dog and we have been looking for you and him for a long time.”
He stepped back into the cabin with Nicholas at his heels and took up his coat and cap. At the sight of this, the dog’s joy knew no bounds; he leaped about so that the furniture of the little cabin rocked and swayed under the force of his gigantic delight. Hugh put on his warmest clothes, got out a pack and put into it blankets, food, matches, anything he could think of that might be needed. He had no idea how far Nicholas would lead him, how long he would be gone or what he should find. At the last minute he took Oscar’s revolver down from the wall; there had been two, but one his friend had evidently taken with him. He quenched62 the fire, put out the light and was finally ready. With Nicholas running ahead, barking in loud delight now that his desire was understood at last, they set out into the storm.
The rain was still driving in sheets across the hill and the wind sweeping63 furiously along the open spaces. The darkness was so dense64 that at first Hugh could do nothing but feel his way down the trail which Nicholas so unhesitatingly followed. When his eyes became a little more used to the dark, however, and the trees began to shelter him from the stinging rain, he could make out the windings65 of the steep path, could distinguish the dog, white and ghostly, traveling steadily ahead of him, and finally could see the foaming white flood of the stream that poured downward to the lake between him and Jasper Peak. Nicholas advanced to the very edge of the creek66, stopped and looked back.
“You don’t mean that we are to cross that?” exclaimed Hugh in dismay, gazing down at the tossing water.
Such, however, was plainly Nicholas’ intention, for without further hesitation67 he plunged in and began to swim across. The wild current caught him and whirled him down the stream, as Hugh could just make out. The black mass of a floating log shot by and barely missed him, but none the less he struggled on and finally, a dim white form in the dark, scrambled68 out upon the opposite bank.
What a dog could just barely accomplish was certainly impossible for a boy with a heavy pack. Hugh remembered that half a mile up the stream a huge tree had fallen across from bank to bank, making a bridge by which he might get over if the rush of the flood had not carried it away. Nicholas, whining with anxiety, followed along on the other shore, as Hugh made his way with difficulty to where the tree should be. Yes, it was still there, high out of water at each end but with the furious current pouring across it in the middle. It looked like none too safe a crossing, but it was the only one. He attempted, at first, to walk upright, but soon found that impossible, so stooped, and was at length reduced to crawling painfully along on hands and knees. The cold water swirled69 about him as he approached the center of the stream, the current seemed trying, with direct intent, to tear loose his hold and wash him away. The tree-trunk quivered and trembled under the mighty70 force that was hurled71 against it, but it held under his weight as slowly he crawled along, felt the current lessen72, came into quieter water and was at last safe on the other side, with Nicholas standing up to lick his face.
“Now, then, where next?” questioned Hugh as the dog immediately set off up the mountain. The rain and wind were less violent on this side of the ravine, so that their progress was quicker as they climbed upward. It was fortunate that it was so dark, Hugh thought, for it seemed as though they were about to pass uncomfortably close to the Pirate’s cabin. He plodded73 on, stumbling over roots, scrambling74 through bushes, finding the way very rough indeed. It was not until they came to the edge of a clearing and saw before him a little house with one lighted window and with Nicholas standing waiting on the doorstep that he realized what was to be the goal of this strange night journey.
Even then he thought of turning back. The perils75 of the rain-swept forest and of the swollen76 floods were as nothing to the dangers lurking77 in that evil dwelling that blinked at him with one staring red eye. Had not Nicholas run quickly through the dark to lick his hand, had he not thought once more of the lost Edmonds brothers and how he had pledged himself to help them, it is possible that he might not have gone on. Yet at last he stepped out of the woods, and, very firm and straight, walked across the clearing to the house.
He stopped for a moment upon the step and listened. There was not a sound from within. Was the place empty, or had some one heard him coming and was waiting, in stealthy quiet, until he should enter? What was that, a sigh perhaps, more like a stifled78 moan? Without further hesitation he pushed open the door and stepped inside.
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1
rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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2
watery
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| adj.有水的，水汪汪的；湿的，湿润的 | |
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3
gusts
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| 一阵强风( gust的名词复数 )； （怒、笑等的）爆发； （感情的）迸发； 发作 | |
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4
chilly
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| adj.凉快的，寒冷的 | |
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scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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bleak
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| adj.(天气)阴冷的；凄凉的；暗淡的 | |
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loom
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| n.织布机，织机；v.隐现，(危险、忧虑等)迫近 | |
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contagious
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| adj.传染性的，有感染力的 | |
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9
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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10
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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marsh
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| n.沼泽，湿地 | |
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trudging
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| vt.& vi.跋涉，吃力地走（trudge的现在分词形式） | |
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14
ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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shack
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| adj.简陋的小屋，窝棚 | |
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plume
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| n.羽毛；v.整理羽毛，骚首弄姿，用羽毛装饰 | |
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ominous
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| adj.不祥的，不吉的，预兆的，预示的 | |
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18
infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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19
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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20
woolen
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| adj.羊毛(制)的；毛纺的 | |
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misgiving
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| n.疑虑，担忧，害怕 | |
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feat
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| n.功绩；武艺，技艺；adj.灵巧的，漂亮的，合适的 | |
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23
turnips
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| 芜青( turnip的名词复数 )； 芜菁块根； 芜菁甘蓝块根； 怀表 | |
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laboriously
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| adv.艰苦地；费力地；辛勤地；（文体等）佶屈聱牙地 | |
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gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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actively
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| adv.积极地，勤奋地 | |
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toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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28
wield
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| vt.行使，运用，支配；挥，使用(武器等) | |
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29
puff
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| n.一口(气)；一阵(风)；v.喷气，喘气 | |
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foaming
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| adj.布满泡沫的；发泡 | |
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confided
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| v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的过去式和过去分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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32
fumbled
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| （笨拙地）摸索或处理（某事物）( fumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 乱摸，笨拙地弄； 使落下 | |
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fumble
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| vi.笨拙地用手摸、弄、接等，摸索 | |
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latch
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| n.门闩，窗闩；弹簧锁 | |
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35
cozy
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| adj.亲如手足的，密切的，暖和舒服的 | |
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36
lengthy
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| adj.漫长的，冗长的 | |
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deafening
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| adj. 振耳欲聋的, 极喧闹的 动词deafen的现在分词形式 | |
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38
Flared
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| adj. 端部张开的, 爆发的, 加宽的, 漏斗式的 动词flare的过去式和过去分词 | |
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39
flickered
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| （通常指灯光）闪烁，摇曳( flicker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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40
dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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41
momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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42
tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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43
discomfort
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| n.不舒服，不安，难过，困难，不方便 | |
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44
doze
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| v.打瞌睡；n.打盹，假寐 | |
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45
sniffed
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| v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的过去式和过去分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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46
sniff
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| vi.嗅…味道；抽鼻涕；对嗤之以鼻，蔑视 | |
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47
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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48
fumbling
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| n. 摸索,漏接 v. 摸索,摸弄,笨拙的处理 | |
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49
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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50
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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51
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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52
sniffing
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| n.探查法v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的现在分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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53
foe
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| n.敌人，仇敌 | |
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54
hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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55
crunched
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| v.嘎吱嘎吱地咬嚼( crunch的过去式和过去分词 )；嘎吱作响；（快速大量地）处理信息；数字捣弄 | |
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56
ravenous
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| adj.极饿的，贪婪的 | |
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57
whined
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| v.哀号( whine的过去式和过去分词 )；哀诉，诉怨 | |
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58
insistence
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| n.坚持；强调；坚决主张 | |
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beseechingly
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| adv. 恳求地 | |
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whining
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| n. 抱怨，牢骚 v. 哭诉，发牢骚 | |
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remonstrated
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| v.抗议( remonstrate的过去式和过去分词 )；告诫 | |
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quenched
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| 解（渴）( quench的过去式和过去分词 )； 终止（某事物）； （用水）扑灭（火焰等）； 将（热物体）放入水中急速冷却 | |
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sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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windings
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| （道路、河流等）蜿蜒的，弯曲的( winding的名词复数 )； 缠绕( wind的现在分词 )； 卷绕； 转动（把手） | |
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creek
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| n.小溪，小河，小湾 | |
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hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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68
scrambled
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的过去式和过去分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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swirled
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| v.旋转，打旋( swirl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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hurled
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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lessen
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| vt.减少，减轻；缩小 | |
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plodded
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| v.沉重缓慢地走（路）( plod的过去式和过去分词 )；努力从事；沉闷地苦干；缓慢进行（尤指艰难枯燥的工作） | |
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74
scrambling
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的现在分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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perils
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| 极大危险( peril的名词复数 )； 危险的事（或环境） | |
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swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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lurking
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| 潜在 | |
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stifled
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| （使）窒息， （使）窒闷( stifle的过去式和过去分词 )； 镇压，遏制； 堵 | |
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