I want to state right at the start that I am writing this story twenty years after it happened solely1 because my wife and Senor Buck2 Johnson insist on it. Myself, I don't think it a good yarn3. It hasn't any love story in it; and there isn't any plot. Things just happened, one thing after the other. There ought to be a yarn in it somehow, and I suppose if a fellow wanted to lie a little he could make a tail-twister out of it. Anyway, here goes; and if you don't like it, you know you can quit at any stage of the game.
It happened when I was a kid and didn't know any better than to do such things. They dared me to go up to Hooper's ranch4 and stay all night; and as I had no information on either the ranch or its owner, I saddled up and went. It was only twelve miles from our Box Springs ranch--a nice easy ride. I should explain that heretofore I had ridden the Gila end of our range, which is so far away that only vague rumours5 of Hooper had ever reached me at all. He was reputed a tough old devil with horrid6 habits; but that meant little to me. The tougher and horrider they came, the better they suited me--so I thought. Just to make everything entirely7 clear I will add that this was in the year of 1897 and the Soda8 Springs valley in Arizona.
By these two facts you old timers will gather the setting of my tale. Indian days over; "nester" days with frame houses and vegetable patches not yet here. Still a few guns packed for business purposes; Mexican border handy; no railroad in to Tombstone yet; cattle rustlers lingering in the Galiuros; train hold-ups and homicide yet prevalent but frowned upon; favourite tipple9 whiskey toddy with sugar; but the old fortified10 ranches11 all gone; longhorns crowded out by shorthorn blaze-head Herefords or near-Herefords; some indignation against Alfred Henry Lewis's _Wolfville_ as a base libel; and, also but, no gasoline wagons12 or pumps, no white collars, no tourists pervading13 the desert, and the Injins still wearing blankets and overalls14 at their reservations instead of bead15 work on the railway platforms when the Overland goes through. In other words, we were wild and wooly16, but sincerely didn't know it.
While I was saddling up to go take my dare, old Jed Parker came and leaned himself up against the snubbing post of the corral. He watched me for a while, and I kept quiet, knowing well enough that he had something to say.
"Know Hooper?" he asked.
"I've seen him driving by," said I.
I had: a little humped, insignificant17 figure with close-cropped white hair beneath a huge hat. He drove all hunched18 up. His buckboard was a rattletrap, old, insulting challenge to every little stone in the road; but there was nothing the matter with the horses or their harness. We never held much with grooming19 in Arizona, but these beasts shone like bronze. Good sizeable horses, clean built--well, I better not get started talking horse! They're the reason I had never really sized up the old man the few times I'd passed him.
"Well, he's a tough bird," said Jed.
"Looks like a harmless old cuss--but mean," says I.
"About this trip," said Jed, after I'd saddled and coiled my rope--"don't, and say you did."
I didn't answer this, but led my horse to the gate.
"Well, don't say as how I didn't tell you all about it," said Jed, going back to the bunk20 house.
Miserable21 old coot! I suppose he thought he _had_ told me all about it! Jed was always too loquacious22!
But I hadn't racked along more than two miles before a man cantered up who was perfectly23 able to express himself. He was one of our outfit24 and was known as Windy Bill. Nuff said!
"Hear you're goin' up to stay the night at Hooper's," said he. "Know Hooper?"
"No, I don't," said I, "are you another of these Sunbirds with glad news?"
"Know about Hooper's boomerang?"
"Boomerang!" I replied, "what's that?"
"That's what they call it. You know how of course we all let each other's strays water at our troughs in this country, and send 'em back to their own range at round up."
"Brother, you interest me," said I, "and would you mind informing me further how you tell the dear little cows apart?"
"Well, old Hooper don't, that's all," went on Windy, without paying me any attention. "He built him a chute leading to the water corrals, and half way down the chute he built a gate that would swing across it and open a hole into a dry corral. And he had a high platform with a handle that ran the gate. When any cattle but those of his own brands came along, he had a man swing the gate and they landed up into the dry corral. By and by he let them out on the range again."
"Without water?"
"Sure! And of course back they came into the chute. And so on. Till they died, or we came along and drove them back home."
"Windy," said I, "you're stuffing me full of tacks25."
"I've seen little calves26 lyin' in heaps against the fence like drifts of tumbleweed," said Windy, soberly; and then added, without apparent passion, "The old----!"
Looking at Windy's face, I knew these words for truth.
"He's a bad _hombre_," resumed Windy Bill after a moment. "He never does no actual killing27 himself, but he's got a bad lot of oilers[A] there, especially an old one named Andreas and another one called Ramon, and all he has to do is to lift one eye at a man he don't like and that man is as good as dead--one time or another."
[Footnote A: Oiler = Greaser = Mexican.]
This was going it pretty strong, and I grinned at Windy Bill.
"All right," said Windy, "I'm just telling you."
"Well, what's the matter with you fellows down here?" I challenged. "How is it he's lasted so long? Why hasn't someone shot him? Are you all afraid of him or his Mexicans?"
"No, it ain't that, exactly. I don't know. He drives by all alone, and he don't pack no gun ever, and he's sort of runty--and--I do'no _why_ he ain't been shot, but he ain't. And if I was you, I'd stick home."
Windy amused but did not greatly persuade me. By this time I was fairly conversant28 with the cowboy's sense of humour. Nothing would have tickled29 them more than to bluff30 me out of a harmless excursion by means of scareful tales. Shortly Windy Bill turned off to examine a distant bunch of cattle; and so I rode on alone.
It was coming on toward evening. Against the eastern mountains were floating tinted31 mists; and the canons were a deep purple. The cattle were moving slowly so that here and there a nimbus of dust caught and reflected the late sunlight into gamboge yellows and mauves. The magic time was near when the fierce, implacable day-genius of the desert would fall asleep and the soft, gentle, beautiful star-eyed night-genius of the desert would arise and move softly. My pony32 racked along in the desert. The mass that represented Hooper's ranch drew imperceptibly nearer. I made out the green of trees and the white of walls and building.
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solely
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| adv.仅仅，唯一地 | |
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buck
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| n.雄鹿，雄兔；v.马离地跳跃 | |
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yarn
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| n.纱，纱线，纺线；奇闻漫谈，旅行轶事 | |
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ranch
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| n.大牧场，大农场 | |
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rumours
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| n.传闻( rumour的名词复数 )；风闻；谣言；谣传 | |
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horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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soda
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| n.苏打水；汽水 | |
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tipple
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| n.常喝的酒；v.不断喝，饮烈酒 | |
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fortified
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| adj. 加强的 | |
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ranches
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| 大农场， （兼种果树，养鸡等的）大牧场( ranch的名词复数 ) | |
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wagons
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| n.四轮的运货马车( wagon的名词复数 )；铁路货车；小手推车 | |
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pervading
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| v.遍及，弥漫( pervade的现在分词 ) | |
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overalls
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| n.（复）工装裤；长罩衣 | |
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bead
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| n.念珠；(pl.)珠子项链；水珠 | |
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wooly
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| adj.毛茸茸的；糊涂的 | |
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insignificant
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| adj.无关紧要的，可忽略的，无意义的 | |
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hunched
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| （常指因寒冷、生病或愁苦）耸肩弓身的，伏首前倾的 | |
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grooming
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| n. 修饰, 美容，（动物）梳理毛发 | |
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bunk
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| n.(车、船等倚壁而设的)铺位；废话 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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loquacious
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| adj.多嘴的，饶舌的 | |
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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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outfit
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| n.（为特殊用途的）全套装备，全套服装 | |
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tacks
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| 大头钉( tack的名词复数 )； 平头钉； 航向； 方法 | |
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calves
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| n.(calf的复数)笨拙的男子，腓；腿肚子( calf的名词复数 )；牛犊；腓；小腿肚v.生小牛( calve的第三人称单数 )；（冰川）崩解；生（小牛等），产（犊）；使（冰川）崩解 | |
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killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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conversant
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| adj.亲近的，有交情的，熟悉的 | |
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tickled
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| （使）发痒( tickle的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）愉快，逗乐 | |
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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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tinted
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| adj. 带色彩的 动词tint的过去式和过去分词 | |
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pony
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| adj.小型的；n.小马 | |
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