It is the fourth day after forsaking3 the couch among the shin oaks, and the two fugitives5 are still travelling upon the Llano Estacado. They have made little more than sixty miles to the south-eastward6, and have not yet struck any of the streams leading out to the lower level of the Texan plain.
Their progress has been slow; for the wounded man, instead of recovering strength, has grown feebler. His steps are now unequal and tottering7. In addition to the loss of blood, something else has aided to disable him—the fierce cravings of hunger and the yet more insufferable agony of thirst.
His companion is similarly afflicted9; if not in so great a degree, enough to make him also stagger in his steps. Neither has had any water since the last drop drank amid the waggons10, before commencing the fight; and since then a fervent11 sun shining down upon them, with no food save crickets caught in the plain, an occasional horned frog, and some fruit of the opuntia cactus—the last obtained sparingly.
Hunger has made havoc12 with both, sad and quick. Already at the end of the fourth day their forms are wasted. They are more like spectres than men.
And the scene around them is in keeping. The plain, far as the eye can reach, is covered with artemisia, whose hoary13 foliage14, in close contact at the tops, displays a continuation of surface like a vast winding-sheet spread over the world.
Across this fall the shadows of the two men, proportioned to their respective heights. That of the ex-Ranger15 extends nearly a mile before him; for the sun is low down, and they have its beams upon their backs.
They are facing eastward, in the hope of being able to reach the brow of the Llano where it abuts16 on the Texan prairies; though in the heart of one of them this hope is nearly dead. Frank Hamersley has but slight hopes that he will ever again see the homes of civilisation17, or set foot upon its frontier. Even the ci-devant Ranger inclines to a similar way of thinking.
Not far off are other animated18 beings that seem to rejoice. The shadows of the two men are not the only ones that move over the sunlit face of the artemisia. There, too, are outlined the wings of birds—large birds with sable8 plumage and red naked necks, whose species both know well. They are zopilotés—the vultures of Mexico.
A score of such shadows are flitting over the sage2—a score of the birds are wheeling in the air above.
It is a sight to pain the traveller, even when seen at a distance. Over his own head it may well inspire him with fear. He cannot fail to read in it a forecast of his own fate.
The birds are following the two men, as they would a wounded buffalo19 or stricken deer. They soar and circle above them, at times swooping20 portentously21 near. They do not believe them to be spectres. Wasted as their flesh may be, there will still be a banquet upon their bones.
Now and then Walt Wilder casts a glance up towards them. He is anxious, though he takes care to hide his anxiety from his comrade. He curses the foul22 creatures, not in speech—only in heart, and silently.
For a time the wearied wayfarers23 keep on without exchanging a word. Hitherto consolation24 has come from the side of the ex-Ranger; but he seems to have spent his last effort, and is himself now despairing.
In Hamersley’s heart hope has been gradually dying out, as his strength gets further exhausted25. At length the latter gives way, the former at the same time.
“No farther, Walt!” he exclaims, coming to a stop. “I can’t go a step further. There is a fire in my throat that chokes me; something grips me within. It is dragging me to the ground.”
The hunter stops too. He makes no attempt to urge his comrade on. He perceives it would be idle.
“Go on yourself,” Hamersley adds, gasping26 out the words. “You have yet strength left, and may reach water. I cannot, but I can die, I’m not afraid to die. Leave me, Walt; leave me!”
“Niver!” is the response, in a hoarse27, husky voice, but firm, as if it came from a speaking-trumpet.
“You will; you must. Why should two lives be sacrificed for one? Yours may still be saved. Take the gun along with you. You may find something. Go, comrade—friend—go!”
Again the same response, in a similar tone.
“I sayed, when we were in the fight,” adds the hunter, “an’ aterwards, when gallupin’ through the smoke, that livin’ or dyin’ we’d got to stick thegither. Didn’t I say that, Frank Hamersley? I repeat it now. Ef you go unner hyar in the middle o’ this sage-brush, Walt Wilder air goin’ to wrap his karkiss in a corner o’ the same windin’ sheet. There ain’t much strength remainin’ in my arms now, but enuf, I reck’n, to keep them buzzarts off for a good spell yit. They don’t pick our bones till I’ve thinned thar count anyhow. Ef we air to be rubbed out, it’ll be by the chokin’ o’ thirst, and not the gripin’ o’ hunger. What durned fools we’ve been, not to a-thinked o’ ’t afore! but who’d iver think o’ eatin’ turkey buzzart? Wall, it’s die dog or swaller the hatchet28; so onpalatable as thar flesh may be, hyar goes to make a meal o’ it!”
While speaking, he has carried the gun to his shoulder.
Simultaneous with his last words comes the crack, quickly followed by the descent of a zopiloté among the sages.
“Now, Frank,” he says, stooping to pick up the dead bird, while the scared flock flies farther away, “let’s light a bit o’ a fire, an’ cook it. Thar’s plenty o’ sage for the stuffin’, an’ its own flavour’ll do for seasonin’ ’stead o’ inyuns. I reck’n we kin4 git some o’ it down, by holdin’ our noses; an’ at all events, it’ll keep us alive a leetle longer. Wagh, ef we only hed water!”
As if a fresh hope has come suddenly across his mind, he once more raises himself erect29 to the full stretch of his gigantic stature30, and standing31 thus, gazes eastwardly32 across the plain.
“Thar’s a ridge33 o’ hills out that way,” he says. “I’d jest spied it when you spoke34 o’ giein out. Whar thar’s hills, thar’s a likelihood o’ streams. Sposin’, Frank, you stay hyar, whiles I make tracks torst them. They look like they wa’n’t mor’n ten miles off anyhow. I ked easy get back by the mornin’. D’ye think ye kin hold out thet long by swallerin’ a bit o’ the buzzart?”
“I think I could hold out that long as well without it. It’s more the thirst that’s killing35 me. I feel as if liquid fire was coursing through my veins36. If you believe there be any chance of finding water, go, Walt.”
“I’ll do so; but don’t you sturve in the meanwhile. Cook the critter afore lettin’ it kim to thet. Ye’ve got punk, an’ may make a fire o’ the sage-brush. I don’t intend to run the risk o’ sturvin’ myself; an’ as I mayn’t find any thin’ on the way, I’ll jest take one o’ these sweet-smellin’ chickens along wi’ me.”
He has already re-loaded the rifle; and, once more pointing its muzzle37 towards the sky, he brings down a second of the zopilotés.
“Now,” he says, taking up the foul carcase, and slinging38 it to his belt, “keep up your heart till this chile return to ye. I’m sure o’ gettin’ back by the mornin’; an’ to make sartint ’bout the place, jest you squat39 unner the shadder o’ yon big palmetto—the which I can see far enuff off to find yur wharabouts ’thout any defeequelty.”
The palmetto spoken of is, in truth, not a “palmetto,” though a plant of kindred genus. It is a yucca of a species peculiar40 to the high table plains of Northern and Central Mexico, with long sword-shaped leaves springing aloe-like from a core in the centre, and radiating in all directions, so as to form a spherical41 chevaux-de-frize. Its top stands nearly six feet above the surface of the ground, and high over the artemisias; while its dark, rigid42 spikes43, contrasted with the frosted foliage of the sage, render it a conspicuous44 landmark45 that can be seen far off over the level plain.
Staggering on till he has reached it, Hamersley drops down on its eastern side, where its friendly shadow gives him protection from the sun, fervid46, though setting; while that of Walt Wilder is still projected to its full length upon the plain. Saying not another word, with the rifle across his shoulder and the turkey buzzard dangling47 down his thigh48, he takes departure from the spot, striking eastward towards the high land dimly discernible on the horizon.
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1
sages
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| n.圣人( sage的名词复数 )；智者；哲人；鼠尾草（可用作调料） | |
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sage
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| n.圣人，哲人；adj.贤明的，明智的 | |
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forsaking
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| 放弃( forsake的现在分词 )； 弃绝； 抛弃； 摒弃 | |
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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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fugitives
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| n.亡命者，逃命者( fugitive的名词复数 ) | |
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6
eastward
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| adv.向东；adj.向东的；n.东方，东部 | |
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tottering
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| adj.蹒跚的，动摇的v.走得或动得不稳( totter的现在分词 )；踉跄；蹒跚；摇摇欲坠 | |
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sable
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| n.黑貂；adj.黑色的 | |
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afflicted
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| 使受痛苦，折磨( afflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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waggons
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| 四轮的运货马车( waggon的名词复数 )； 铁路货车； 小手推车 | |
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fervent
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| adj.热的，热烈的，热情的 | |
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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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hoary
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| adj.古老的；鬓发斑白的 | |
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foliage
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| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
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ranger
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| n.国家公园管理员，护林员；骑兵巡逻队员 | |
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abuts
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| v.（与…）邻接( abut的第三人称单数 )；（与…）毗连；接触；倚靠 | |
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civilisation
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| n.文明，文化，开化，教化 | |
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animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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buffalo
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| n.(北美)野牛；(亚洲)水牛 | |
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swooping
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| 俯冲，猛冲( swoop的现在分词 ) | |
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portentously
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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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23
wayfarers
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| n.旅人，（尤指）徒步旅行者( wayfarer的名词复数 ) | |
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consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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gasping
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| adj. 气喘的, 痉挛的 动词gasp的现在分词 | |
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hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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hatchet
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| n.短柄小斧；v.扼杀 | |
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29
erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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stature
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| n.（高度）水平，（高度）境界，身高，身材 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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eastwardly
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| 向东，从东方 | |
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ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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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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killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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37
muzzle
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| n.鼻口部；口套；枪(炮)口；vt.使缄默 | |
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38
slinging
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| 抛( sling的现在分词 )； 吊挂； 遣送； 押往 | |
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39
squat
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| v.蹲坐，蹲下；n.蹲下；adj.矮胖的，粗矮的 | |
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40
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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41
spherical
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| adj.球形的；球面的 | |
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42
rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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43
spikes
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| n.穗( spike的名词复数 )；跑鞋；（防滑）鞋钉；尖状物v.加烈酒于( spike的第三人称单数 )；偷偷地给某人的饮料加入（更多）酒精（ 或药物）；把尖状物钉入；打乱某人的计划 | |
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44
conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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45
landmark
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| n.陆标，划时代的事，地界标 | |
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46
fervid
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| adj.热情的；炽热的 | |
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47
dangling
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| 悬吊着( dangle的现在分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
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48
thigh
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| n.大腿；股骨 | |
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