Before the time arrived for that, there were some errands to be executed for the boys on duty at the home ranch. These necessitated9 a call at the post-office, the purchase of several slabs10 of plug tobacco, some corn-cob pipes, and some writing material for Kin11 Lathrop. He must not forget the baking powder for the cook. Woe12 to him, Munson, if there were no biscuits for breakfast. Meanwhile he must not neglect to gather what little news was going. That would be a crime as heinous13 as the forgetting of the baking powder. But there didn’t seem to be anything doing to-night. Only the sheriff was playing again behind the curtain. Couldn’t fool him. Damned hypocrite!
The errands accomplished14 to his satisfaction and nothing forgotten, as frequent and close inspection15 of the list written out by the Scribe proved, his comforter swallowed, lingeringly, and regretfully, he was now riding homeward, drowsy17 but vastly contented18 with the world in general and particularly with his own lot therein. It was a sleepy night, cool and soft and still. He could walk his horse all the way if he wanted to. There was no haste. The boys would all be in bed. They would not even wait up for the mail, knowing his, Jim’s, innate20 aversion to hurry. Had he not been so drowsy, he would like to have sung a bit; but it required a little too much effort. He would just plod21 along.
Must all be in bed at Williston’s—no light anywhere. A little short of where the Williston branch left the main trail, he half paused. If it were not so late, he would ride up and give them a hail. But of course they were asleep. Everything seemed still and dark about the premises22. He would just plod along.
“Hello, there! Where’d you come from?” he cried of a sudden, and before he had had time to carry his resolve into action.
A man on horseback had drawn23 rein19 directly in front of him. Jim blinked with the suddenness of the shock.
“Might ask you the same question,” responded the other with an easy laugh. “I’m for town to see the doctor about my little girl. Been puny24 for a week.”
“New man on the X Y Z,” answered the other, lightly. “Must be gettin’ on. Worried about my baby girl.”
He touched spurs to his horse and was off with a friendly “So long,” over his shoulder.
Jim rode on thoughtfully.
“Now don’t it beat the devil,” he was thinking, “how that there cow-puncher struck this trail comin’ from the X Y Z—with the X Y Z clean t’other side o’ town? Yep, it beats the devil, for a fac’. He must be a ridin’ for his health. It beats the devil.” This last was long drawn out. He rode a little farther. “It beats the devil,” he thought again,—the wonder of it was waking him up,—“how that blamed fool could a’ struck this here trail a goin’ for Doc.”
At the branch road he stopped irresolutely26.
“It beats the devil—for a fac’.” He looked helplessly over his shoulder. The man was beyond sight and sound. “If he hadn’t said he was goin’ for Doc and belonged to the X Y Z,” he pondered. He was swearing because he could not think of a way out of the maze27 of contradiction. He was so seldom at a loss, this braggadocio28 Jim. “Well, I reckon I won’t get any he’p a moonin’ here less’n I wait here till that son-of-a-gun comes back from seein’ Doc. Lord, I’d have to camp out all night. Guess I’ll be a movin’ on. But I’m plumb29 a-foot for an idee as to how that idjit got here from the X Y Z.”
He shrugged30 his shoulders and picked up the fallen bridle-rein. He kept on straight ahead, and it was well for him that he did so. It was not the last of the affair. The old, prosaic31 trail seemed fairly bristling32 with ghostly visitants that night. He had gone but a scant33 quarter-mile when he met with a second horseman, and this time he would have sworn on oath that the man had not been on the forward trail as long as he should have been to be seen in the starlight. Jim was not dozing34 now and he knew what he was about. The fellow struck the trail from across country and from the direction of Williston’s home cattle sheds.
“The devil!” he muttered, and this time he was in deep and terrible earnest.
“Too damned pleasant—the whole bunch of em,” found quick lodgment in Jim’s active brain. Aloud, he responded with answering good-nature, “Hullo!”
“Where ye goin’?” asked the other, as if in no particular haste to part company. If he had met with a surprise, he carried it off well.
“Home. Been to town.” Jim was on tenter hooks to be off.
“Belong to the Three Bars, don’t you?”
“Yep.”
“Thought so. Well, good luck to you.”
“Say,” said Jim, suddenly, “you don’t happen to hang out at the X Y Z, do you?”
“Naw! What d’ye suppose I’d be doing here this time of night if I did?” There was scorn in his voice and suspicion, too. “Why?” he asked.
“Oh, nothin’. Thought I knew your build, but I guess I was mistaken. So long.”
He had an itching37 desire to ask if this night traveller, too, was in quest of the doctor, but caution held him silent. He had need to proceed warily38. He rode briskly along until he judged he had gone far enough to allay39 suspicion, then he halted suddenly. Very wide-awake was Jim now. His hand rested unconsciously on the Colt’s 45, protruding40 from his loosely hanging belt. His impulse was to ride boldly back and up to Williston’s door, and thus satisfy himself as to what was doing so mysteriously. There was not a cowardly drop in Jim’s circulation. But if foul41 play was abroad for Williston that night, he, Jim, of course, was spotted42 and would never be permitted to reach the house. It would mean a useless sacrifice. Now, he needed to be alive. There was a crying need for his good and active service. Afterwards—well, it was all in the day’s work. It wouldn’t so much matter then. He touched spurs lightly, bent43 his head against the friction44 of the air and urged his horse to the maddest, wildest race he had ever run since that day long ago, to be forgotten by neither, when he had been broken to his master’s will.
Paul Langford dropped one shoe nervelessly to the wolfskin in front of his bed. Though his bachelor room was plain in most respects, plain for the better convenience of the bachelor hands that had it to put to rights every day,—with the exception of a cook, Langford kept no servant,—the wolfskin here, an Indian blanket thrown over a stiff chair by the table, a Japanese screen concealing45 the ugly little sheet-iron stove that stood over in its corner all the year round, gave evidence that his tastes were really luxurious46. An oil lamp was burning dimly on the table. The soot47 of many burnings adhered to the chimney’s inner side.
“One would know it was Jim’s week by looking at that chimney,” muttered the Boss, eyeing the offending chimney discontentedly as he dropped the other shoe. “He seems to have an inborn48 aversion to cleaning chimneys. It must be a birthmark, or maybe he was too anxious to get to town to-night. I see I’ll have to discipline Jim. I have to stop and think even now, sometimes, who’s boss of this shebang, he or I. Sometimes I’m inclined to the opinion that he is. Come to think of it, though,” whimsically, “I lean to a vague misgiving49 that I didn’t touch that low-down chimney myself last week. We’re kind of an ornery set, I’m thinking, every mother’s son of us—and I’m the worst of the lot. Sometimes I wonder if it wouldn’t be better for the bunch of us, if one of the boys were to marry and bring his girl to the Three Bars. But I’ll be hanged if I know which one I’d care to give up to the feminine gender50. Besides, she’d be bossy—they all are—and she’d wear blue calico wrappers in the morning—they all do.”
He began pacing the floor in his stocking feet.
“Wish I could get that blamed little girl of Williston’s out of my head to-night. Positively51 red-headed. Well, call it auburn for the sake of politeness. What’s the difference? She’s a winner, though. Wonder why I didn’t know about her before? Wonder if Dick’s in love with her? Shouldn’t wonder. He’s plumb daffy on the subject of the old man. Never thought of that before. Or maybe it’s Jim. No, she’s not his kind.” He stopped for a moment at the open window and looked out into the still, starry52 night “Guess I’ll have to let the Scribe commit matrimony, if he’s ‘willin’.’ He’s the only one of the bunch—fit.”
The sound of galloping54 hoof-beats on the hard road below came up to him as he stood at the window. A solitary55 horseman was coming that way and he was putting his horse to the limit, too.
“Who the—deuce,” began Langford. “It’s Jim’s cow pony as sure as I’m a sinner! What brings him home at that pace, I wonder? Is he drunk?”
He peered out indifferently. The hoof-beats rang nearer and nearer, clattered56 through the stable yards and, before they ceased, two or three revolver shots rang out in rapid succession. Jim had fired into the air to arouse the house.
Springing from his reeking57 bronco, he ran quickly to the stable and threw wide the door. Here the Boss, the first to gain the outside because already dressed, found him hastily saddling a fresh mount. Langford asked no question. That would come later. He stepped silently to Sade’s stall.
In an incredibly short space of time the rest of the boys came leaping out of the ranchhouse, slamming the door behind them. To be up and doing was the meat they fed upon. In less than ten minutes they were all mounted and ready, five of them, silent, full to the brim of reckless hardihood, prime for any adventure that would serve to break the monotony of their lives. More than that, every fibre of their being, when touched, would respond, a tuneful, sounding string of loyalty58 to the traditions of the Three Bars and to its young master. Each was fully16 armed. They asked no question. Yet there could be no doubt of a surprise when the time came for action. They were always prepared, these boys of the most popular ranch outfit west of the river. Right in the face of this popularity, perhaps because of it, they were a bit overbearing, these boys, and held fellowship with any outside the Three Bars a thing not to be lightly entered into. It was a fine thing to work for the Boss, and out of the content accruing59 therefrom sprang a conservatism like that of the proudest aristocrat60 of the land.
Langford took the trail first. Jim had said but the one word, “Williston.” It was enough. Nothing was to be heard but the rapid though regular pound of hoof-beats on the level trail. It is a silent country, the cow country, and its gravity begets61 gravity.
Langford, riding slightly in advance, was having a bad time with himself. The keenest self-reproach was stabbing him like a physical pain. His honor—his good honor, that he held so high and stainless—was his word not given by it that the Willistons might count on his sure protection? What had he done to merit this proud boast? Knowing that Jesse Black was once more at liberty, fully realizing of what vast import to the State would be Williston’s testimony62 when the rustlers should be brought to trial, he had sat stupidly back and done nothing. And he had promised. Would Williston have had the courage without that promise? Why were not some of his cowboys even now sleeping with an eye upon that little claim shack64 where lived that scholar-man who was not fit for the rough life of the plains, maybe, but who had been brave enough and high-minded enough to lay his all on the white altar of telling what he knew for right’s sake. And the girl—
“God! The girl!” he cried aloud.
“What did you say, Boss?” asked Jim, pounding alongside.
He spurred his mare66 savagely67. In the shock of the surprise, and the sting that his neglected word brought him, he had forgotten the girl—Williston’s “little girl” with the grave eyes—the girl who was not ten but twenty and more—the girl who had waited for him, whom he had sent on her long way alone, joyously68, as one free of a duty that promised to be irksome—the girl who had brought the blood to his face when, ashamed, he had galloped69 off to the spring—the girl who had closed her door when a man’s curious eyes had roved that way. How could he forget?
The little cavalcade70 swept on with increased speed, following the lead of the master. Soon the sound of shooting was borne to them distinctly through the quiet night.
“Thank God, boys!” cried Langford, digging in his spurs, once more. “They are not surprised! Listen! God! What a plucky71 fight! If they can only hold out!”
At that moment a tiny tongue of flame leaped up away to the front of them, gleaming in the darkness like a beacon72 light. Now there were two—they grew, spread, leaped heavenward in mad revel73. Langford’s heart sank like lead. He groaned74 in an exceeding bitterness of spirit. The worst had happened. Would they be in time? These claim shanties75 burn like paper. And the girl! He doubted not that she had sustained her share of the good fight. She had fought like a man, she must die like a man,—would be the outlaw76’s reasoning. He believed she would die like a man—if that meant bravely,—but something clutched at his heart-strings with the thought. Her big, solemn eyes came back to him now as they had looked when she had lifted them to him gravely as he sat his horse and she had said she had waited for him. Was she waiting now?
The boys rallied to the new impetus77 gloriously. They knew now what it meant and their hardy78 hearts thrilled to the excitement of it, and the danger. They swept from the main trail into the dimmer one leading to Williston’s, without diminution79 of speed. Presently, the Boss drew rein with a suddenness that would have played havoc80 with the equilibrium81 of less seasoned horsemen than cowboys. They followed with the precision and accord of trained cavalrymen. Now and then could be seen a black, sinister82 figure patrolling the burning homestead, but hugging closely the outer skirt of darkness, waiting for the doomed83 door to open.
“Boys!” began Langford. But he never gave the intended command to charge at once with wild shouting and shooting to frighten away the marauders and give warning to the besieged84 that rescue was at hand. For at that moment the door opened, and Williston and his daughter stepped out in full view of raider and rescuer. Would there be parley85? A man, slouching in his saddle, rode up into the circle of lurid86 light. Was it Jesse Black? There was something hauntingly familiar about the droop3 of the shoulders. That was all; hardly enough to hang a man.
Langford raised his rifle quickly. His nerves were perfectly87 steady. His sight was never truer. His bullet went straight to the rifle arm of the outlaw; with a ringing shout he rallied his comrades, spurred his pony forward, and the little party charged the astounded88 raiders with a fury of shots that made each rustler63 stand well to his own support, leaving the Willistons, for the time being, free from their attention.
The desperadoes were on the run. They cared to take no risk of identification. It was not easy to determine how many there were. There seemed a half-dozen or more, but probably four or five at the most would tell their number.
The flames were sinking. Williston had disappeared. The boys scattered89 in wild pursuit. Wheeling his horse, Langford was in time to see a big, muscular fellow swing a girlish form to the saddle in front of him. Quick as a flash he spurred forward, lifted his heavy Colt’s revolver high over his head and brought it down on the fellow’s skull90 with a force that knocked him senseless without time for a sigh or moan. As his arms fell lax and he toppled in his saddle, Langford caught the girl and swung her free of entanglement91.
“Poor little girl,” he breathed over her as her white face dropped with unconscious pathos92 against his big shoulder. “Poor little girl—I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to—honest—I’m sorry.” He chafed93 her hands gently. “And I don’t know where your father is, either. Are you hurt anywhere, or have you only fainted? God knows I don’t wonder. It was hellish. Why, child, child, your arm! It is broken! Oh, little girl, I didn’t mean to—honest—honest. I’m sorry.”
Jim rode up panting, eyes blood-shot.
“We can’t find him, Boss. They’ve carried him off, dead or alive.”
“Is it so, Jim? Are you sure? How far did you follow?”
“We must have followed the wrong lead. If any one was ridin’ double, it wasn’t the ones we was after, that’s one thing sure. The blamed hoss thieves pulled clean away from us. Our hosses were plumb winded anyway. And—there’s a deader out there, Boss,” lowering his voice; “I found him as I came back.”
“That explains why no one was riding double,” said Langford, thoughtfully.
“I don’t know, Jim. I—don’t know what to do now.”
His eyes were full of trouble.
“Ain’t no use cryin’ over spilt milk and that’s a fac’. ’Bout as sensible as a tryin’ to pick it up after it is spilt. We won’t find Williston this here night, that’s one thing sure. So we’ll just tote the little gal home to the Three Bars with us.”
The boys were returning, silent, gloomy, disconsolate94. They eyed the Boss tentatively. Would they receive praise or censure95? They had worked hard.
“You’re all right, boys,” said Langford, smiling away their gloom. “But about the girl. There is no woman at the Three Bars, you know—”
“So you’d leave her out all night to the dew and the coyotes and the hoss thieves, would you,” interrupted Jim, with a fine sarcasm96, “jest because there ain’t no growed-up woman at the Three Bars? What d’ye think Williston’s little gal’d care for style? She ain’t afraid o’ us ol’ grizzled fellers. I hope to the Lord there won’t never be no growed-up woman at the Three Bars,—yep, that’s what I hope. I think that mouse-haired gal reporter’d be just tumble fussy97, and I think she’s a goin’ to marry a down Easterner chap, anyway.”
“Just pick up that fellow, will you, boys, and strap98 him to his horse, and we’ll take him along,” said Langford. “I don’t believe he’s dead.”
Langford had unconsciously ridden forward a bit to meet the boys as they had clattered up shamefacedly. Now he turned.
“Why, that fellow over there. I knocked him out.”
He rode back slowly. There was no man there, nor the trace of a man. They stared at each other a moment, silently. Then Langford spoke100.
“No, I am not going to leave Williston’s little girl out in the dew,” he said, with an inscrutable smile. “While some of you ride in to get some one to see about that body out there and bring out the doctor, I’ll take her over to White’s for to-night, anyway. Mrs. White will care for her. Then perhaps we will send for the ‘gal reporter,’ Jim.”
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1
pony
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| adj.小型的；n.小马 | |
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drooped
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| 弯曲或下垂，发蔫( droop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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droop
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| v.低垂，下垂；凋萎，萎靡 | |
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weirdly
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| 古怪地 | |
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outfit
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| n.（为特殊用途的）全套装备，全套服装 | |
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complimentary
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| adj.赠送的，免费的，赞美的，恭维的 | |
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well-being
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| n.安康，安乐，幸福 | |
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ranch
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| n.大牧场，大农场 | |
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necessitated
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| 使…成为必要，需要( necessitate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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slabs
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| n.厚板，平板，厚片( slab的名词复数 )；厚胶片 | |
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kin
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| n.家族，亲属，血缘关系；adj.亲属关系的，同类的 | |
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woe
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| n.悲哀，苦痛，不幸，困难；int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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heinous
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| adj.可憎的，十恶不赦的 | |
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accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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inspection
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| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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drowsy
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| adj.昏昏欲睡的，令人发困的 | |
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contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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rein
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| n.疆绳，统治，支配；vt.以僵绳控制，统治 | |
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innate
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| adj.天生的，固有的，天赋的 | |
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plod
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| v.沉重缓慢地走，孜孜地工作 | |
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premises
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| n.建筑物，房屋 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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puny
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| adj.微不足道的，弱小的 | |
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courteous
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| adj.彬彬有礼的，客气的 | |
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irresolutely
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maze
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| n.迷宫，八阵图，混乱，迷惑 | |
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braggadocio
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| n.吹牛大王 | |
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plumb
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| adv.精确地，完全地；v.了解意义，测水深 | |
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shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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prosaic
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| adj.单调的，无趣的 | |
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bristling
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| a.竖立的 | |
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scant
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| adj.不充分的，不足的；v.减缩，限制，忽略 | |
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dozing
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| v.打瞌睡,假寐 n.瞌睡 | |
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accosted
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| v.走过去跟…讲话( accost的过去式和过去分词 )；跟…搭讪；（乞丐等）上前向…乞讨；（妓女等）勾搭 | |
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genially
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| adv.亲切地，和蔼地；快活地 | |
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itching
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| adj.贪得的，痒的，渴望的v.发痒( itch的现在分词 ) | |
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warily
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| adv.留心地 | |
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allay
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| v.消除，减轻(恐惧、怀疑等) | |
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protruding
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| v.（使某物）伸出，（使某物）突出( protrude的现在分词 )；凸 | |
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foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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spotted
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| adj.有斑点的，斑纹的，弄污了的 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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friction
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| n.摩擦，摩擦力 | |
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concealing
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，遮住( conceal的现在分词 ) | |
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luxurious
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| adj.精美而昂贵的；豪华的 | |
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soot
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| n.煤烟，烟尘；vt.熏以煤烟 | |
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inborn
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| adj.天生的，生来的，先天的 | |
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misgiving
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| n.疑虑，担忧，害怕 | |
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50
gender
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| n.（生理上的）性，（名词、代词等的）性 | |
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positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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52
starry
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| adj.星光照耀的, 闪亮的 | |
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gal
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| n.姑娘，少女 | |
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galloping
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| adj. 飞驰的, 急性的 动词gallop的现在分词形式 | |
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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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clattered
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| 发出咔哒声（clatter的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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reeking
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| v.发出浓烈的臭气( reek的现在分词 )；散发臭气；发出难闻的气味 (of sth)；明显带有（令人不快或生疑的跡象） | |
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loyalty
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| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
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accruing
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| v.增加( accrue的现在分词 )；（通过自然增长）产生；获得；（使钱款、债务）积累 | |
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aristocrat
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| n.贵族，有贵族气派的人，上层人物 | |
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begets
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| v.为…之生父( beget的第三人称单数 )；产生，引起 | |
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testimony
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| n.证词；见证，证明 | |
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rustler
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| n.[美口]偷牛贼 | |
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shack
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| adj.简陋的小屋，窝棚 | |
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curtly
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| adv.简短地 | |
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mare
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| n.母马，母驴 | |
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savagely
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| adv. 野蛮地，残酷地 | |
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joyously
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| ad.快乐地, 高兴地 | |
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galloped
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| （使马）飞奔，奔驰( gallop的过去式和过去分词 )； 快速做[说]某事 | |
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cavalcade
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| n.车队等的行列 | |
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plucky
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| adj.勇敢的 | |
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beacon
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| n.烽火，（警告用的）闪火灯，灯塔 | |
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revel
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| vi.狂欢作乐，陶醉；n.作乐，狂欢 | |
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groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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shanties
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| n.简陋的小木屋( shanty的名词复数 )；铁皮棚屋；船工号子；船歌 | |
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outlaw
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| n.歹徒，亡命之徒；vt.宣布…为不合法 | |
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impetus
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| n.推动，促进，刺激；推动力 | |
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hardy
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| adj.勇敢的，果断的，吃苦的；耐寒的 | |
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diminution
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| n.减少；变小 | |
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havoc
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| n.大破坏，浩劫，大混乱，大杂乱 | |
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equilibrium
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| n.平衡，均衡，相称，均势，平静 | |
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sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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doomed
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| 命定的 | |
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besieged
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| 包围，围困，围攻( besiege的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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parley
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| n.谈判 | |
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lurid
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| adj.可怕的；血红的；苍白的 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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astounded
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| v.使震惊(astound的过去式和过去分词)；愕然；愕；惊讶 | |
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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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skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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entanglement
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| n.纠缠，牵累 | |
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pathos
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| n.哀婉，悲怆 | |
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chafed
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| v.擦热（尤指皮肤）( chafe的过去式 )；擦痛；发怒；惹怒 | |
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disconsolate
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| adj.忧郁的，不快的 | |
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censure
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| v./n.责备；非难；责难 | |
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sarcasm
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| n.讥讽，讽刺，嘲弄，反话 （adj.sarcastic） | |
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fussy
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| adj.为琐事担忧的，过分装饰的，爱挑剔的 | |
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strap
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| n.皮带，带子；v.用带扣住，束牢；用绷带包扎 | |
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casually
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| adv.漠不关心地，无动于衷地，不负责任地 | |
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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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