And brown women in skirts of gaudy5 calico still sat under the shadow of wide shutters6, dispensing7 such goods as Poverty can buy, while their babies and their pigs rolled comfortably together in the dust. The shaggy thatch8 still rustled9 in the sultry breeze, and a few dejected palm-trees clicked their branches as of old. And, very far away across the waveless green sea of the half-grown rice, the same dark and threatening mountains towered into the clouds. It was all unchanged. The merciless sun struck down just as hotly. The very smells were smells I had often smelled before.
Suddenly there was a stir of excitement in the town. The women crawled from the litter of their wares11. The men, lighting12 fresh cigarettes from the remnants of their old ones, stood up to gaze. For down the street was coming, with the curious in-toeing shuffle13 of a barefoot mountaineer, a squat14, huge-muscled, naked man.
He carried a long, broad-bladed spear in his right hand, and a head-axe was thrust through his belt, and at his back a bag, swollen15 as if it held something big and round, bobbed and dangled16 heavily, and something dripped from it slowly, thickly, in the dust. The man's broad, sweat-streaked face was all agrin with excitement and good-nature, but the natives of the town shrank back from him as he passed. "Donde 'Mericanos?" he kept asking eagerly.
A bystander pointed17 to a house, one a little taller than the others, where a flag of dingy18 white, barred with dingier19 red and blue, hung drooping20, and a group of tall, lean, sun-bronzed men dressed in frayed21 shirts of blue flannel22, and breeches of stained and faded khaki, and battered23 campaign hats, were lounging in the dusty shade. The bystander pointed to them, and the naked man, his face stretching in a wider grin, broke into a clumsy trot24 and ran to them.
"Me got," he said, and pulled the heavy, bobbing bag from his shoulders, and thrust it at them. They fell back hastily. "It's something, all right," said one of them judicially26. "Something plenty dead. Sergeant27," he called, "I reckon it's your deal. Here's an Igaroot with another dead-head lookin' for you." And the others laughed.
At that an oldish man with a long, drooping, gray moustache, and gray eyes that were bright below their sun-burned lids, stepped from the door. The naked man cried out again, "Me got," and held out his dripping bag. And the saturnine28 old sergeant fell back, as the men had done.
"You open it, Johnnie," he commanded. "It's too dead for me. Patay, sabe? Me no likum thataway. Icao abieria."
So the man undid29 the string that bound his bag, and opened it, and the sergeant took one peep inside. "It's a big American nigger, all right," he announced. "And he's sure dead. It might be him. Better call the Captain over here, some one; I don't reckon he wants that in his quarters. Where you catch him, hombre?"
The little man jerked his chin over his shoulder at those distant mountains. "You buy?" he asked anxiously.
"You'll get the reward all right, if it's him," said the sergeant reassuringly30. "But you'll have to wait till it's identified. There've been a lot of duplicates brought in, sabe."
Presently other men in khaki and flannel, who in spite of their undress showed, somehow, as officers, came down the street, and they, and the sergeant, and the man with the bag, went into the house.
After a long wait, an orderly came out, pale and shaken, and turned toward the military telegraph station. "It's him," he said briefly31, to his waiting fellows. "That Contract Dentist in there knowed him by his teeth. God! I'm plumb32 glad I ain't no kind of medico."
The men looked at each other, silently, for a long minute. The spirit of jesting seemed to have left them. The judicial25 one spoke33 first. "Well, he got his good and hard at last," said he. "But he sure got a run for his money."
Then I understood what it was all about. I wrote of that thing in the bag once, not knowing it then for a pawn35 in the Game of the Little Gods. There was a time when men called it Fagan.
While Fagan was still a kinky-haired youngster, clad only in the traditional shirt, a question forced itself on his attention. "Why ain't I got a pappy?" he asked his mother, and the great, deep-bosomed woman laughed the deep, melodious36 laugh of her race.
"Lawszee, honey, I raickon you has," she replied. "Mos' chillen has."
"Who is my pappy?" the child persisted.
The woman laughed again. "Lawszee, chile, how you spaik me to 'maimber that? I'se got other things to 'maimber, I raickon."
We couldn't expect much of a Fagan, born of that race and class, and he learned not to expect much of us. A bit of food, a bit of clothing, and a chance to roll around on the levee with the other pickaninnies, and bask37 in the sunshine and sniff38 the sweety-sour smells from the sugar-ships, sufficed him. For many years these pleasures were his for the taking. And as he grew older they still sufficed, with the addition of a little cheap tobacco and cheaper gin, and he found that a modicum39 of labor40 and a care never to offend one of the heaven-born white race would procure41 them. The labor was easy, for the son of the deep-bosomed, supple42-limbed woman had grown, as the rank, free growth of a swamp shoots up, into a great, broad, graceful43 man to whom the toil44 of others was mere2 play. And he was of a nature so easy-going and joyous45 and childishly obliging that the heaven-born pointed him out with approval as "a nigger like we had before the war."
He might have lived on thus indefinitely, but one day, over a lazy roll of the dice46, another black man took advantage of his known good nature. And Fagan, the kindly47, felt a sudden, blinding impulse to strike. The huge black fist shot out like lightning under the impulse of the supple, writhing48 muscles, and the other man dropped with a broken neck.
Then Fagan came to the Army, and the Army received him with joy. The surgeon's eye glistened49 with an artist's fervor50 as he thumped51 and kneaded the great, perfect animal, and a wise old recruiting sergeant guided the pen for him to sign his name. Thus he was made welcome in that most catholic of societies, which cares not a whit3 for your past, your present, or your future, so long as you have mind and body sufficient to obey orders.
But even this slight requirement was much for Fagan. His careless, soapless, buttonless existence was a poor training for the rigid53 minuti? of military life. And he was unfortunate in his immediate54 commander. Most of the officers of the Fifty-fourth were of the South, able to deal firmly yet kindly with the big black children committed to their charge. But Sharpe was new to the Army, the son of a small tradesman in the North, and had an exalted55 reverence56 for the Regulations, and his own rank. So when he saw that the buttons of Fagan's blouse were uncleaned, one morning at guard-mounting, he did not announce the fact impersonally57, as an officer should.
And Fagan, in serene58 ignorance of any law against immediate explanation, replied with boyish, surprised chuckle59, "Lawszee, Lootenant, I raickon I plumb forgot them buttons."
"That's enough," snapped the officer. "Sergeant, put this man under arrest."
Fagan followed to the guard-house, mildly expostulant. "He suah'd orter give me a fairah show," he said to the sergeant. "I was jus' a gwine to tell him. I didn't mean no hahm. All I wanted was a fayah show."
"All I wanted was a fayah show."
"All I wanted was a fayah show."
Thus began a series of petty persecutions. Fagan, with his good nature, tried his best, but the Lieutenant60 would not be pleased. He was not a bad sort in intent, simply a common, weak, official bully61. Such men usually resign early, or if they linger on in the service, learn to shun62 getting in front of their men when there is firing.
By the time the regiment63 was ordered to the Philippines Fagan's record loomed64 black with five trials. But the campaigning brought relief. A man was required only to have his rifle in good condition, and be on hand to use it. The regiment spent weary days, dragging about like a slow snake under the burning sun, soaking and shivering in the mists of evening, till men began to sicken. But not Fagan. His melodious bellow65 would ring triumphant66 along the lines each night, "I'se been wo'okin' on the ra'alroad," and cheer the drooping men, till the voices of the company wits were demanding, "Who's dat ar white man got a ra'alroad?"
And then, one day, the scouts67 reported that the main body of the enemy was near, that elusive68 body for which the regiment had been groping so long. After a little the snake broke out into a fan, and went crawling across a muddy rice-paddy toward a cane-brake. Then a flight of strangely drawling insects sang overhead, and as always, when firing is wild and high, some men in the reserve, 'way in the rear, lay down very suddenly.
The merry bugles70 rattled71, and the fan dissolved into a thin brown line of men who advanced swiftly to the edge of the brake, firing as they went. And then, all at once, the brake was alive with dizzily flashing steel. A little brown man rose in front of Fagan, and a flash darted72 straight at his head. Instinctively73 his muscles reacted, and he ducked backward like a boxer74. So the bolo missed his head, but the sharp point, tearing downward, ripped through shirt and flesh on his breast.
Fagan stared stupidly at the dripping red edges of the blue cloth till the sharp tingle75 of the flesh stirred him. As before, he felt a blinding impulse to strike, and whirled his heavy rifle in one hand, as a boy might a stick. He looked down at the quivering, moaning thing before him, and a mad joy of strength surged over him. A little way apart a struggling group was weaving in and out with darts76 of steel and quick flashes of rifles, and hoarse77 gruntings and cursings. He ran toward it, swinging his broken rifle round his head. "Give 'em heyell, boys," he shouted. "Kill the damn niggers."
From that day he was called Wild Fagan, and Fagan the Nigger-Killer, and as the campaign progressed, his renown78 passed beyond his regiment. "Heard about that wild nigger in the Fifty-fourth?" asked the Cavalry79, borrowing a pinch of Durham and a pit of paper from the Mountain Battery. "Don't sabe fire his rifle. Just butts80 in and swats 'em with it, like he was wantin' to play gollf." The story grew till the Marines, returning from shore service, told the Fleet, half-seriously, of a wild regiment come straight from Africa, "what only knew how to fight with war-clubs." And jacky, ever ready to believe, swore softly in admiration81, and spat82 over the rail, and dreamed of having a little go with that regiment, some night in Nagasaki, when every one had had about seven drinks all round.
Even the officers began to boast. "Oh, you mean our man Fagan," the Colonel would say to guests at mess. "Yes, he's a good man. Expensive—a rifle lasts him about a day when things are lively;—but efficient. Yes, highly efficient. The natives are beginning to dodge83 the regiment. Yes, I'll let you see him after dinner. Finest build of a man you ever laid eyes on. Like a cat, you know, like a cat and a grizzly84 rolled into one."
And Fagan through it all was unchanged, good-natured, childlike as ever. He was even a bit ashamed of his strength. "That little scrap85 down by the bridge?" he would say to a group of admirers. "Oh, that all wa'n't nothin'. That big Fillypeeno? Oh, yes, I hit him. Yes, I raickon I smashed him some," he would muse88 with his slow smile. "I broke my gun on him. Anybody got any tobacca? I nevah can keep no tobacca."
It was after the fighting was done and the regiment went into stations of companies in the villages that the change began to come. The men, keyed to exertion89 and excitement, found the idleness of barrack life first pleasant, then irksome. And they were at home in these sunny islands, far more at home than ever in the States. They read the freedom of the land in the burning sky, and the clicking palms, and the lazy air. More than anywhere else, they read it in the dark, admiring eyes of the brown, slim, soft-moving girls. The men began to be absent at check roll-call at Taps.
Then all the wisdom and tact90 of an officer was needed. Too great easiness meant loss of control, harshness meant desertions. For a time Lieutenant Sharpe did very well. He overlooked what he could, and was unangered in his firmness when he must be firm. But nature and fixed91 habit overcame him, and Fagan was naturally the chief sufferer, for the officer had grown into the belief that Fagan was the probable cause of every misdemeanor in the company. So it was a reprimand, and then another sharper, and then the summary court—where the Lieutenant was prosecutor92 and jury and judge—sentenced Fagan to the loss of a month's pay for attempting to run the guard at some unearthly hour of the night. Within a week he repeated the offence, and Lieutenant Sharpe, with the fear of God and the Regulations in his heart, and wondrous93 small understanding in his head, sentenced him to a "month and a month." A month of confinement94 will give any man much time for reflection, and the Lieutenant hoped it might prove salutary.
Fagan received his sentence with ominous95 lack of his former protestations, and went quietly to the guard-house. But being neither an accomplished96 thinker nor an expert in moral theory, he did not reflect. He merely sat there and brooded. "All I'm lookin' for is jus' a fayah show," he told himself, over and over again. "He use me right, an' I'll use him right. Ain't I the bes' fightin' man in the regiment, ain't the Kuhnel done said so, a whole plainty o' times? When they's fightin', I'll be there. But that little Lootenant—Lawszee, couldn' I smash him—all I want is jus' a straight deal."
Fagan emerged at the end of his month still a child, but a sullen97 child now, moping over a bitter sense of injustice98. "I ain' nevah gwine to stay in theah anothah night," he told his friend the Sergeant. "All I want is a fayah deal, an' I'll use ev'rybody straight. But no one ain't gwine to keep me in theah again." The Sergeant, wise as most old soldiers, made no answer. If the Lieutenant and Wild Fagan were to fight it out, it was no affair of the Sergeant's.
But Fagan, over the drinks, repeated his ultimatum99 to other men, who waited joyously100 for the clash, and were surprised and disappointed when Fagan went quietly to the guard-house once again, placed there to await the sitting of a general court martial101. The quietness was only because he was learning to plan. When the silence of midnight came, he stole over to an inner window, braced102 a shoulder and a knee, and the rusted103 bars yielded noiselessly. He crept up-stairs to his squad-room and took the rifle and the belt, heavy with two hundred rounds of ammunition104, from the head of his bunk105, and crept as silently down. He tried to steal by the guard at the gate, but the man turned and leveled his rifle, hardly six feet away.
Fagan gripped his rifle by the muzzle109, and stepped swiftly toward the leveled one. "You git out o' heah, Sam," he ordered. "Git, or I'll smash you."
The sentry dropped his rifle. "Ah ain' nevah troubled you all, Fagan," he whined110. "Ah'm a frien' o' you all's. You lait me alone." He sank to his knees. "You lait me alone. Don' you touch me, don' you touch—" His voice rose to a shriek111, but he was talking to empty air. Fagan had picked up the extra rifle and slipped away toward the town.
"Ah couldn' he'ep it, sah. He done come up out o' the dahk, with his eyes a buhnin', an' he sa-ays, 'Ah'll maash you, Sam.' Ah couldn' he'ep mase'ef. Ah've seen him maash these yere Fillypeenos." Thus the sentry to the Lieutenant next morning, with heartfelt earnestness. "Ah wouldn' cared if he was gwine to shoot, but he comes a grinnin', an' he sa-ays, 'Ah'll maash you, Sam.' That's what he sa-ays, an' he'd a done it," he explained later, to a group of sympathizing men. "Ah don' min' gettin' shot, but Ah suah don' wantah git maashed. So Ah dropped ma rifle. Ah've seen him maash these yere Fillypeenos. He ain' no man, he's a plumb bawn devil, tha's what he is," and Sam wiped the sweat drops from his throat with the back of his big, shaking hand.
Then ensued many tentative pushings at the bars, to prove that no two mere men could spring them back into position, and many side-long glances at Fagan's ownerless cot and the chest which stood beside it, closed and mysterious. When the men turned in, no one objected that Sam placed a lighted candle on it. "They don' come roun' wheah it's light," he explained vaguely112 to the room, and every one knew what "they" meant. Even the old Sergeant, coming through at roll-call, apparently113 did not see the forbidden light.
And now the United States Army lapsed114 into a state of hysteria which often amused and puzzled those who witnessed it. It became haunted by a big black man who mashed87 people instead of shooting them decently. There happened to be a recrudescence of fighting, and the Army imputed115 it to Fagan. That stupid, brooding, grown-up child became a tactician116, a strategist, a second De Wet of guerilla warfare117.
"I have the honor to report," wrote young Shavetail to the A.G.O.—through proper channels—"a sharp engagement wherein the enemy hindered the development of my flanking movement by—unusual brilliancy for native leaders—honor to suggest—deserter Fagan rumored118 to be in vicinity."
"Scouts report," wired Major Oakleaf, "two hours' ride southeast of camp, huge negro. Request description renegade Fagan."
"We're out gunnin' fer that big buck119 nigger answers to the name of Fagan," remarked Mountain Battery to Cavalry, borrowing back the "makings" and a match to boot. "He's seen up back here in the foot-hills last night."
"Wire through this mornin'," jeered120 Signal Corps121, overhearing, "reportin' him up Cagayan way. An' yesterday he was down in Batangas. He sure must hike light."
"Well, he's a lively nigger, from all I hear," said Cavalry judicially. "Some one'll likely get hurt 'fore10 they get him."
"He'll maybe get hurt a little bit himself, just a shade, if this old girl falls on him," laughed Mountain Battery, patting the nose of the vicious little gun in the packsaddle. "Ho' still, you old mule-horse, you! Think I'll stand for you kickin' me?"
So the little armies marched and sweated, and the wires carried bulletins to every little post: "Inform troops and natives—renegade Fagan, deserter Fifty-fourth—very big black negro, age twenty-one, large bolo scar on breast—five hundred dollars, gold, alive or dead."
And all the while Fagan was living quietly with the girl who had been the chief cause of all his insubordination, in a little mountain village not fifty miles from the place where his ghost first rose and called for lighted candles.
The reports of his evil fame brought him no joy. "Why can't they let us alone," he complained to Patricia. "I never hurt them, and if they don't trouble us we won't trouble them. Eh, Patsí?" and he swept the slender girl up to his shoulder.
"Pooh," cried Patricia disdainfully, from her height. "What do we care for them! You will kill them all, won't you?" She pinched the great supporting arm with a sigh of satisfaction. "Hola, there's Enrique's cock fighting with Juan's. Let's go and watch them." And as they walked down the narrow grassy122 street, the people stepped aside with cheerful smiles, for all the world like the dusty pickaninnies on the levee when one of the heaven-born passes by.
For a long time Fagan and Patricia lived on in the village, till the man was becoming a myth. A dozen enterprising hunters had brought in his head, and the papers in Manila had ceased to give circumstantial accounts of his capture even when news was short. But at last an American prisoner came to the town, the only white man who saw Fagan alive after his desertion. By a strange chance he was an officer of the Fifty-fourth, and Fagan received him with sober joy.
"I'se right glad to see you, Lootenant," he said. "I raickoned they'd bring you up heah, when I hea'd you was done capchuhed. They kind brings mos' ev'ything up to me, these days."
The white man was not joyous, though undismayed. "What are you going to do with me, now you've got me?" he demanded.
"Don' you worry, Lootenant," Fagan answered. "I wouldn' huht you. No, sir, you nevah troubled me. You jus' set down an' have a smoke. I'se a gwine to send you down, jus' as soon as I can."
They sat and smoked in silence, the giant negro, the prisoner in his draggled uniform, the little brown guards with their naked bobs. At last Fagan said, "I raickon we could talk bettah if these yere guards was away. You git," he pointed to them. "Course you give you' wohd, Lootenant, you won't try to 'scape."
The officer nodded, and fell to watching the great, quiet, unshapen black face. It roused his curiosity for a certain non-offensive air of self-reliance which he had never seen in a black face before. "Fagan," he asked suddenly, "why did you do it?"
"Do what, Lootenant?"
"Desert, and lead the natives against us, and all that."
The negro clenched123 his great fist. "This yere fool talk makes me plumb riled," he said. "I ain' nevah fought the 'Mericans. I'se a 'Merican myse'f, ain't I? An' what would I want to go yampin' roun' the country for, anyway? I'se got all I want right heah, chickens, an' yams, an' a good dry house, an'—" He reached out his hand and grasped Patricia's little one, and they smiled at each other. "No, sir, I don' want no moah fightin'. I'se got a good home, an' I goes to sleep when I wants to, an' I gits up when I wants to, an' I has clean clo'es ev'y day. You tell the Kuhnel, Lootenant, you tell him Fagan nevah went to huht no 'Mericans, an' nevah will, less'n they goes to huht me first. You believe that, don' you, Lootenant?" And the officer gravely nodded "Yes."
"Bout34 that desertin', now. I'se thought a whole lot about that, an' I raickon I done it jus' because I had to have mo' room. I'se some big, I raickon—" he let his eyes travel slowly down his body and chuckled125—"seems like I has to have a whole plainty o' room. Seems like they wahn't room fo' me an' Lootenant Sha'ap in one ahmy. No, sir. An' then, I dunno, Lootenant, maybe you nevah felt how a woman can make you 'shamed of youse'f? This Patricia lady, maybe she don' seem like much to you, but she's a heap to me—yes, sir,—an' she kep' sayin', 'What for you go calabozo, Fagan? Kill the little pig of a teniente,' she says. 'Kill ev'rybody. You'se big enough.' An' then she laughs at me. 'Is you 'fraid, big man?' she says. 'Lend me youah revolvah, then. I'se little, but I ain't afraid.' She jus' made me plumb scairt of myse'f, an' we come away, 'cause Patsí an' me needed more room 'n what Lootenant Sha'ap could give us. 'Pears like you couldn' understan' it, but that's the way it was, I raickon. I jus' had to desert or huht somebody bad."
He stopped, and the woman began to speak to him. The white man watched her, and a great light burst upon him. She was glorious, this slim, soft brown thing with the dusky hair and the straight, slender neck, and—"I'se little, but I ain't afraid." Ages of civilization dropped from the man as he gazed, and with a graceless pity he compared the pale fettered126 women he had known with this free, wild, perfect thing whose feeling was her life. She was talking with her tongue and eyes and hands, and Fagan answered a few words and laughed, and she laughed, too, a sound as natural and sweet as the ripple127 of a stream, and then her great eyes lighted with earnestness as she went on. The Lieutenant felt a pang128 of something almost jealousy129. He could never bring fire to those eyes, he was not a man to her, only a thing, not to be compared with that black giant.
Fagan turned to him with an amused chuckle. "She's full o' ginger130," he said. "I raickon it's lucky I was heah when you come. She's jus' been askin' when I was goin' to kill you. 'You must,' she says, 'or else he'll lead soldiers up heah.' That's all right, Lootenant," he said, as the officer moved uneasily. "That's you' duty, an' it's all right, only she don' understand that. 'Le's kill him now,' she says. 'You keep a talkin' with him, an' I'll put the knife into him from behin'. It won' be no trouble at all.' Lawszee," he chuckled admiringly, "I raickon she'd a done it, too. She's got moah ginger!"
The Lieutenant smiled with him, but he soon rose, unobtrusively, and seated himself with his back to the solid corner-post of the house. Patricia watched the manoeuvre131 with unfathomable eyes, and the men burst into laughter; then she hung her head like a child caught in some mischief132. The gesture was adorable, and suddenly sadness stifled133 the white man's laughter.
"I'm sorry about reporting your presence here," he said. "I understand, I think, and I believe you don't want to make trouble, but—"
"Don' you worry about that," Fagan broke in. "I'se a gwine to send you down to the ra'alroad this afternoon. An' now Patsí's goin' to get you some dinner."
"Fagan," said the Lieutenant, yet more earnestly, while his guard waited for him to mount, "I'm right sorry about this. But—why don't you come down with me now and surrender?" he asked impulsively134. "That will help, and I can explain some things to the court, and you'll only get six months or so, for desertion. Only six months, and then—you can come back to Patricia," he ended almost enviously135.
The negro seemed to swell136 before the white man's astonished eyes. "I'se sorry, too. It's been mighty137 pleasant, livin' heah," he said simply. "An' thank you fer askin' me to come down. I know you means it straight. But you can't see it like I do. Down theah I'se a niggah soldier. Up heah I'se— Nobody ain't got any right to try me," he burst out. "I nevah troubled them. You tell the Kuhnel that, I want he should understan'. I don' want to huht no one, but I'se nevah gwine into no gahd-house again. Good-by, Lootenant, an' luck. I don' raickon we all'll evah meet up again."
Fagan and Patricia.
Fagan and Patricia.
So Fagan and Patricia must needs leave the snug138 little house at the end of the sleepy, grass-grown street, and go out on the High Trail, the unknown of the people of the plains, a broad highway to things with hoofs139 and claws and wings, and to men little less wild than they, the men of the hills. At times the brown thread of the Trail was twined amid the giant roots of trees, and they wandered in a cool twilight140, alone with the long creepers and the ferns and the bright birds which played about some opening in the matted roof, far above their heads, where the sun dropped through for a brief hour. Sometimes it clung to the massive walls of a ca?on, where a river boiled so far below that the sound of its torment141 came to their ears like the babble142 of a brook143. Sometimes it shot upward to the realm of the clouds, and from the bare, grassy heights they peered out through shifting mist wreaths over all the cities and fields of the plains to the blue hint of the distant sea.
Fagan and Patricia followed the Trail steadily144 but leisurely145, day after day. There was no call for haste, no white pursuer knew that road. So they laughed and played, and lay for hours beside some cool spring, basking146 in the warm sunshine and the thin, sharp air, and camped at night in little valleys under a pall147 of cloud. Once Fagan shot a deer, and they delayed for days, drying the meat over pungent148 wood-smoke. But as their muscles hardened to the Trail, they insensibly made greater progress, in spite of their dallying149.
Two weeks brought them to the land of the Unknown, had they but known it. The mountains were higher and wilder, the cloud-caps more frequent. Often the forest on some huge hill, towering black above the Trail, was thin and pointed at the top, as if it had been torn, and there, unseen of them, was a village perched high on the trunks of trees, whence keen-eyed men watched their progress. But they were children of the plains and could not know, so they walked undismayed. And the keen-eyed men walked with them, unseen, frisking along above them over ground where others would have crept—short, huge-limbed men, whose stiff black hair flowed over their shoulders, and was tied out of their eyes with fillets, men who squatted150 naked in the mists of evening and did not shiver, men who brought their sweethearts hideous151 dowries of human heads. They hung about the Trail, watching these strange creatures who walked openly and undismayed in the land of Fear. Often, when the camp-fire was lighted, they stole up with their muscles twitching152 like a cat's before she springs, and then halted as a great voice rang over the forest—"I'se been wo'okin' on the ra'alroad"—and they clawed their way up the slopes to the long-legged villages, and took counsel together in the queer fire-shadows.
One evening as they camped, Patricia missed a little bundle of venison and strolled back along the Trail to look for it. Fagan kindled153 the fire and then strolled back, too. "Hoy, Patsí," he called. The forest was silent. He turned a bend in the Trail, and there—Fagan gazed at it stupidly. Then the blind impulse of wrath154 swept over him again. But there was naught155 to strike. The long shadows of the trees lay across the Trail, the creepers swayed lazily in the evening breeze; far up, a crow called petulantly156 to her belated mate. Fagan swung his arm helplessly at the forest.
"Come out," he moaned, "come out wheah I can see you. Come out, you cowards, you sneakin' dogs that kills women from behind. I'se not afraid of you. Oh, I'll mash86 you! Come!" With a soft chug, a lance stuck quivering in the tree beside him. Otherwise all was silent; even the crow had ceased to scold. He looked down. A darker shadow was stealing among the lengthening157 ones on the Trail. The spirit of the forest gripped Fagan with an icy hand, the spirit of Dread158. He ran blindly to the fire, seized his rifle, and took up the Trail alone.
For three days and nights he hurried on. The empty pain of his stomach, the dizzying, numbing159 lack of sleep, could not hold him against the dread of his unseen escort. It gave little sign, simply the rustling160 of a fern now and then, the swaying of one creeper when others were still, but he felt its presence and staggered on. On the evening of the third day, he stepped suddenly from the forest into a little theatre among the hills. A clear brook bubbled over golden gravel124; the turf beneath a great solitary161 tree was thick and soft. Wild cocks in the wood were crowing their families to roost.
Everything was quiet and peaceful, and Fagan, as he gazed, became peaceful and quiet, too. He flung himself on the soft turf, and drank his fill from the little brook. As always, when he sought to rest, the forest became vague with life. A covey of jungle-fowl, flushed by a sudden fright, whirred across the opening. A stone rolled somewhere close at hand, dislodged by a purposely careless foot. But this time Fagan merely grinned, and shook off his clinging cartridge162-belt. "You can' bluff163 me no moah," he said to the forest, a trick he had learned of late. A fern swayed not a dozen yards away, and he clicked a cartridge into his Krag and fired. "You git out," he chuckled. "I'se a gittin' tired of you' company."
When he was rested a little, he kindled a fire and toasted a bit of venison. Then he lay back lazily and twisted his last bit of tobacco into a cigarette. Between puffs164 he bellowed165 his evening song, and the rude melody took on the sweetness of a ballad166. "Don' you heah the bugle69 callin'?" Fagan sang, and tossed the butt52 of the cigarette into the fire. It was quite dark now in the hollow, and he sat in a little circle of dancing light. He looked at the wall of blackness with quiet, unfrightened eyes that presently began to close with the pressure of a mighty drowsiness167.
"I'se po'owful sleepy now," he announced at length, "an' I'se a gwine to bed. I was hopin' to set up an' meet some of you all, but I can't do it. When you all wants me, you all can wake me up." The fire flickered168, and he pillowed his head on his arm, and watched the dance of the shadows grow shorter. "Lawszee," he murmured, drowsily169, as the great numbness170 of sleep overcame him, "I raickon Patricia'd think I was scairt again. She'd a sat up an' waited foh them, but I can't. That little girl did have the po'owf'les' lot o' ginger in her." He threw his great arm protectingly over the empty ground beside him. "Good night, Patsí," he murmured.
In that well-remembered town among the paddies, a squat and naked man, huge-muscled, came out of the door of the quarters. In his hand he carried a broad-bladed spear. A head-axe, bright as only speckless171 steel can be in sunlight, flashed in his girdle. And at his back a bag, plumply round, bobbed heavily, and as it bobbed it gave out a dull jingle172, as of coined metal.
"Got his money, all right," said one of the group that watched him.
The savage173 halted, and grinned widely at each in turn. "Me got," he announced proudly. "Mucho dinero. Mucho mucho dinero. Me got." He could scarcely contain his joy.
One of the watchers growled. "I'm not in favior," said he, "of payin' gu-gus for killin' white men, no matter whether they're white or black. It's a catchin' habit." It was the judicial soldier. He swung his lean bulk toward the grinning little man. "Now you've got it," he commanded, "git!"
The savage, half-comprehending, turned and passed down the path they opened for him, and down the sun-beaten, dusty street, where the silent people fell away before him as if he carried pestilence174. And so they saw the last of him, making for those distant, cloud-hung hills of his, moving clumsily but swiftly across the paddies at his shuffling175 trot, while the price of a man's rebellion bobbed, and jingled176 dully at his back.
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1
shimmered
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| v.闪闪发光，发微光( shimmer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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2
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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whit
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| n.一点，丝毫 | |
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marshy
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| adj.沼泽的 | |
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gaudy
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| adj.华而不实的；俗丽的 | |
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6
shutters
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| 百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 )； （照相机的）快门 | |
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7
dispensing
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| v.分配( dispense的现在分词 )；施与；配（药） | |
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8
thatch
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| vt.用茅草覆盖…的顶部；n.茅草(屋) | |
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9
rustled
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| v.发出沙沙的声音( rustle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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10
fore
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| adv.在前面；adj.先前的；在前部的；n.前部 | |
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wares
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| n. 货物, 商品 | |
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12
lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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13
shuffle
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| n.拖著脚走，洗纸牌；v.拖曳，慢吞吞地走 | |
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14
squat
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| v.蹲坐，蹲下；n.蹲下；adj.矮胖的，粗矮的 | |
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15
swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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16
dangled
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| 悬吊着( dangle的过去式和过去分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
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17
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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18
dingy
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| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
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19
dingier
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| adj.暗淡的，乏味的( dingy的比较级 )；肮脏的 | |
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20
drooping
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| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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21
frayed
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| adj.磨损的v.（使布、绳等）磨损，磨破( fray的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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22
flannel
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| n.法兰绒；法兰绒衣服 | |
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23
battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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24
trot
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| n.疾走，慢跑；n.老太婆；现成译本；(复数）trots:腹泻（与the 连用）；v.小跑，快步走，赶紧 | |
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25
judicial
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| adj.司法的，法庭的，审判的，明断的，公正的 | |
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26
judicially
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| 依法判决地，公平地 | |
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27
sergeant
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| n.警官，中士 | |
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28
saturnine
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| adj.忧郁的，沉默寡言的，阴沉的，感染铅毒的 | |
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29
Undid
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| v. 解开, 复原 | |
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30
reassuringly
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| ad.安心，可靠 | |
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31
briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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32
plumb
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| adv.精确地，完全地；v.了解意义，测水深 | |
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33
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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34
bout
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| n.侵袭，发作；一次(阵，回)；拳击等比赛 | |
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35
pawn
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| n.典当，抵押，小人物，走卒；v.典当，抵押 | |
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36
melodious
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| adj.旋律美妙的，调子优美的，音乐性的 | |
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37
bask
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| vt.取暖，晒太阳，沐浴于 | |
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38
sniff
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| vi.嗅…味道；抽鼻涕；对嗤之以鼻，蔑视 | |
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39
modicum
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| n.少量，一小份 | |
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40
labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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41
procure
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| vt.获得，取得，促成；vi.拉皮条 | |
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42
supple
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| adj.柔软的，易弯的，逢迎的，顺从的，灵活的；vt.使柔软，使柔顺，使顺从；vi.变柔软，变柔顺 | |
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43
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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44
toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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45
joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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46
dice
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| n.骰子；vt.把（食物）切成小方块，冒险 | |
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47
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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48
writhing
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| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的现在分词 ) | |
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49
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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50
fervor
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| n.热诚；热心；炽热 | |
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51
thumped
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| v.重击， （指心脏）急速跳动( thump的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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52
butt
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| n.笑柄；烟蒂；枪托；臀部；v.用头撞或顶 | |
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53
rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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54
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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55
exalted
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| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
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56
reverence
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| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
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57
impersonally
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| ad.非人称地 | |
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58
serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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59
chuckle
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| vi.／n.轻声笑，咯咯笑 | |
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60
lieutenant
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| n.陆军中尉，海军上尉；代理官员，副职官员 | |
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61
bully
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| n.恃强欺弱者，小流氓；vt.威胁，欺侮 | |
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62
shun
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| vt.避开，回避，避免 | |
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63
regiment
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| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
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64
loomed
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| v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的过去式和过去分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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65
bellow
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| v.吼叫，怒吼；大声发出，大声喝道 | |
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66
triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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67
scouts
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| 侦察员[机，舰]( scout的名词复数 )； 童子军； 搜索； 童子军成员 | |
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68
elusive
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| adj.难以表达(捉摸)的；令人困惑的；逃避的 | |
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69
bugle
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| n.军号，号角，喇叭；v.吹号，吹号召集 | |
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70
bugles
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| 妙脆角，一种类似薯片但做成尖角或喇叭状的零食； 号角( bugle的名词复数 )； 喇叭； 匍匐筋骨草； （装饰女服用的）柱状玻璃（或塑料）小珠 | |
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71
rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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72
darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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73
instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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74
boxer
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| n.制箱者，拳击手 | |
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75
tingle
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| vi.感到刺痛，感到激动；n.刺痛，激动 | |
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76
darts
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| n.掷飞镖游戏；飞镖( dart的名词复数 )；急驰，飞奔v.投掷，投射( dart的第三人称单数 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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77
hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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78
renown
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| n.声誉，名望 | |
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79
cavalry
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| n.骑兵；轻装甲部队 | |
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80
butts
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| 笑柄( butt的名词复数 )； （武器或工具的）粗大的一端； 屁股； 烟蒂 | |
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81
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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82
spat
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| n.口角，掌击；v.发出呼噜呼噜声 | |
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83
dodge
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| v.闪开，躲开，避开；n.妙计，诡计 | |
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84
grizzly
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| adj.略为灰色的，呈灰色的；n.灰色大熊 | |
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85
scrap
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| n.碎片；废料；v.废弃，报废 | |
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86
mash
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| n.麦芽浆，糊状物，土豆泥；v.把…捣成糊状，挑逗，调情 | |
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87
mashed
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| a.捣烂的 | |
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88
muse
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| n.缪斯（希腊神话中的女神），创作灵感 | |
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89
exertion
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| n.尽力，努力 | |
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90
tact
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| n.机敏，圆滑，得体 | |
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91
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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92
prosecutor
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| n.起诉人；检察官，公诉人 | |
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93
wondrous
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| adj.令人惊奇的，奇妙的；adv.惊人地；异乎寻常地；令人惊叹地 | |
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94
confinement
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| n.幽禁，拘留，监禁；分娩；限制，局限 | |
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95
ominous
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| adj.不祥的，不吉的，预兆的，预示的 | |
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96
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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97
sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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98
injustice
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| n.非正义，不公正，不公平，侵犯（别人的）权利 | |
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99
ultimatum
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| n.最后通牒 | |
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100
joyously
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| ad.快乐地, 高兴地 | |
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101
martial
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| adj.战争的，军事的，尚武的，威武的 | |
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102
braced
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| adj.拉牢的v.支住( brace的过去式和过去分词 )；撑牢；使自己站稳；振作起来 | |
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103
rusted
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| v.（使）生锈( rust的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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104
ammunition
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| n.军火，弹药 | |
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105
bunk
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| n.(车、船等倚壁而设的)铺位；废话 | |
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106
sentry
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| n.哨兵，警卫 | |
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107
growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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108
tremor
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| n.震动，颤动，战栗，兴奋，地震 | |
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109
muzzle
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| n.鼻口部；口套；枪(炮)口；vt.使缄默 | |
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110
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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111
shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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112
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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113
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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114
lapsed
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| adj.流失的，堕落的v.退步( lapse的过去式和过去分词 )；陷入；倒退；丧失 | |
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115
imputed
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| v.把（错误等）归咎于( impute的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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116
tactician
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| n. 战术家, 策士 | |
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117
warfare
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| n.战争(状态)；斗争；冲突 | |
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118
rumored
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| adj.传说的，谣传的v.传闻( rumor的过去式和过去分词 )；[古]名誉；咕哝；[古]喧嚷 | |
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119
buck
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| n.雄鹿，雄兔；v.马离地跳跃 | |
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120
jeered
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| v.嘲笑( jeer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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121
corps
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| n.(通信等兵种的)部队；(同类作的)一组 | |
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122
grassy
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| adj.盖满草的；长满草的 | |
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123
clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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124
gravel
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| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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125
chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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126
fettered
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| v.给…上脚镣，束缚( fetter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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127
ripple
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| n.涟波，涟漪，波纹，粗钢梳；vt.使...起涟漪，使起波纹； vi.呈波浪状，起伏前进 | |
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128
pang
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| n.剧痛，悲痛，苦闷 | |
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129
jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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130
ginger
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| n.姜，精力，淡赤黄色；adj.淡赤黄色的；vt.使活泼，使有生气 | |
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131
manoeuvre
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| n.策略，调动；v.用策略，调动 | |
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132
mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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133
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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134
impulsively
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| adv.冲动地 | |
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135
enviously
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| adv.满怀嫉妒地 | |
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136
swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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137
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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138
snug
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| adj.温暖舒适的，合身的，安全的；v.使整洁干净，舒适地依靠，紧贴；n.（英）酒吧里的私房 | |
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139
hoofs
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| n.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的名词复数 )v.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的第三人称单数 ) | |
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140
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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141
torment
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| n.折磨；令人痛苦的东西(人)；vt.折磨；纠缠 | |
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142
babble
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| v.含糊不清地说，胡言乱语地说，儿语 | |
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143
brook
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| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
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144
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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145
leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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146
basking
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| v.晒太阳，取暖( bask的现在分词 )；对…感到乐趣；因他人的功绩而出名；仰仗…的余泽 | |
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147
pall
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| v.覆盖，使平淡无味；n.柩衣，棺罩；棺材；帷幕 | |
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148
pungent
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| adj.（气味、味道）刺激性的，辛辣的；尖锐的 | |
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149
dallying
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| v.随随便便地对待( dally的现在分词 )；不很认真地考虑；浪费时间；调情 | |
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150
squatted
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| v.像动物一样蹲下( squat的过去式和过去分词 )；非法擅自占用（土地或房屋）；为获得其所有权；而占用某片公共用地。 | |
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151
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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152
twitching
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| n.颤搐 | |
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153
kindled
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| （使某物）燃烧，着火( kindle的过去式和过去分词 )； 激起（感情等）； 发亮，放光 | |
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154
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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155
naught
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| n.无，零 [=nought] | |
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156
petulantly
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157
lengthening
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| （时间或空间）延长，伸长( lengthen的现在分词 )； 加长 | |
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158
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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159
numbing
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| adj.使麻木的，使失去感觉的v.使麻木，使麻痹( numb的现在分词 ) | |
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160
rustling
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| n. 瑟瑟声，沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
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161
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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162
cartridge
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| n.弹壳，弹药筒；(装磁带等的)盒子 | |
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163
bluff
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| v.虚张声势，用假象骗人；n.虚张声势，欺骗 | |
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164
puffs
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| n.吸( puff的名词复数 )；（烟斗或香烟的）一吸；一缕（烟、蒸汽等）；（呼吸或风的）呼v.使喷出( puff的第三人称单数 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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165
bellowed
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| v.发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的过去式和过去分词 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫 | |
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166
ballad
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| n.歌谣，民谣，流行爱情歌曲 | |
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167
drowsiness
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| n.睡意；嗜睡 | |
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168
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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169
drowsily
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| adv.睡地，懒洋洋地，昏昏欲睡地 | |
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170
numbness
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| n.无感觉，麻木，惊呆 | |
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171
speckless
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| adj.无斑点的，无瑕疵的 | |
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172
jingle
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| n.叮当声，韵律简单的诗句；v.使叮当作响，叮当响，押韵 | |
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173
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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174
pestilence
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| n.瘟疫 | |
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175
shuffling
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| adj. 慢慢移动的, 滑移的 动词shuffle的现在分词形式 | |
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176
jingled
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| 喝醉的 | |
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