Notwithstanding her apparent sang-froid, and the presence of mind she surely possesses, the rider of Lolita is affrighted—far more than the vultures, that have soared higher at her approach.
And no wonder that she is affrighted at such a strange apparition—the head of a man, with a dark moustache on his lip, holding in his hand a blade that shows blood upon it! This, too, in such a solitary1 place!
Her first thought is to turn Lolita’s head and hurry off from the spot. Then a reflection stays her. The man is evidently alone, and the expression on his countenance2 is neither that of villainy nor anger. The colour of his skin, with the moustache, bespeak3 him a white man, and not an Indian. Besides, there is pallor upon his cheeks—a wan4, wasted look, that tells of suffering, not sin.
All this the quick eye of the huntress takes in at a glance, resolving her how to act. Instead of galloping5 away she urges the mustang on towards the yucca.
When close up to it she flings herself out of the saddle, and, whip in hand, rushes up to the hounds, that are still giving tongue and threatening to spring upon the stranger.
“Abajo, perros! abajo, feos!” (Down, dogs! down, you ugly brutes7!)
“A tierra!” she continues to scold, giving each a sharp cut that at once reduces them to quiescence8, causing them to cower9 at her feet. “Do you not see the mistake you have made?” she goes on addressing the dogs; “don’t you see the caballero is not an Indio? It is well, sir!” she adds, turning to the caballero, “well that your skin is white. Had it been copper-coloured, I’m not certain I could have saved you from getting it torn. My pets are not partial to the American aboriginal10.”
During these somewhat bizarre speeches and the actions that accompany them, Frank Hamersley—for it is he—stands staring in silent wonder. What sees he before him? Two huge, fierce-looking dogs, a horse oddly caparisoned, a young girl, scarce a woman, strangely and picturesquely11 garbed12. What has he heard? First, the loud baying of two bloodhounds, threatening to tear him to pieces; then a voice, sweet and musical as the warbling of a bird!
Is it all a dream?
Dreaming he had been, when aroused by the growling13 of the dogs. But that was a horrid14 vision. What he now sees is the very reverse. Demons15 had been assaulting him in his sleep. Now there is an angel before his eyes.
The young girl has ceased speaking; and as the vertigo16, caused by his sudden uprising, has cleared away from his brain, he begins to believe in the reality of the objects around him.
The shock of surprise has imparted a momentary17 strength that soon passes; and his feebleness once more returning, he would fall back to the earth did he not clutch hold of the yucca, whose stiff blades sustain him.
“Valga me Dios!” exclaims the girl, now more clearly perceiving his condition. “Ay de mi!” she repeats in a compassionate18 tone, “you are suffering, sir? Is it hunger? Is it thirst? You have been lost upon the Llano Estacado?”
“Hunger, thirst—both, senorita,” he answers, speaking for the first time. “For days I have not tasted either food or drink.”
“Virgen santissima! is that so?”
As she says this she returns to her horse; and, jerking a little wallet from the saddle, along, with a suspended gourd19, again advances towards him.
“Here, señor!” she says, plunging20 her hand into the bag and bringing forth21 some cold tortillas, “this is all I have; I’ve been the whole day from home, and the rest I’ve eaten. Take the water first; no doubt you need that most. I remember how I suffered myself. Mix some of this with it. Trust me, it will restore your strength.”
While speaking she hands him the gourd, which, by its weight, contains over a pint22; and then from another and smaller one she pours some liquid first into the water and then over the tortillas. It is vinegar, in which there is an infusion23 of chile Colorado.
“Am I not robbing you?” inquires Hamersley, as he casts a significant glance over the wide, sterile24 plain.
“No, no! I am not in need, besides I have no great way to go to where I can get a fresh supply. Drink, señor, drink it all.”
In ten seconds after the calabash is empty.
“Now eat the tortillas. ’Tis but poor fare, but the chili25 vinagre will be sure to strengthen you. We who dwell in the desert know that.”
Her words proved true, for after swallowing a few morsels26 of the bread she has besprinkled, the famished27 man feels as if some restorative medicine had been administered to him.
“Do you think you are able to ride?” she asks.
“I can walk—though, perhaps, not very far.”
“If you can ride there is no need for your walking. You can mount my mare28; I shall go afoot. It is not very far—only six miles.”
“But,” protests he, “I must not leave this spot.”
“Indeed!” she exclaims, turning upon her protégé a look of surprise. “For what reason, señor? To stay here would be to perish. You have no companions to care for you?”
“I have companions—at least, one. That is why I must remain. Whether he may return to assist me I know not. He has gone off in search of water. In any case, he will be certain to seek for me.”
“But why should you stay for him?”
“Need you ask, senorita? He is my comrade, true and faithful. He has been the sharer of my dangers—of late no common ones. If he were to come back and find me gone—”
“What need that signify, caballero? He will know where to come after you.”
“How should he know?”
“Oh, that will be easy enough. Leave it to me. Are you sure he will find his way back to this place?”
“Quite sure. This tree will guide him. He arranged it so before leaving.”
“In that case, there’s not any reason for your remaining. On the contrary. I can see that you need a better bed than sleeping among these sage29-plants. I know one who will give it. Come with me, caballero? By the time your comrade can get back there’ll be one here to meet him. Lest he should arrive before the messenger I shall send, this will save him from going astray.”
While speaking she draws forth a small slip of paper from a pouch30 carried â la chatelaine; along with it a pencil. She is about to write, when a thought restrains her.
“Does your comrade understand Spanish?” she asks.
“Only a word or two. He speaks English, or, as we call it, American.”
“Can he read?”
“Indifferently. Enough, I suppose, for—”
“Señor,” she says, interrupting him, “I need not ask if you can write. Take this, and put it in your own language. Say you are gone south, due south, to a distance of about six miles. Tell your friend to stay here till some one comes to meet and conduct him to where you’ll be found.”
Hamersley perceives the rationality of these instructions. There is no reason why he should not do as desired, and go at once with her who gives them. By staying some mischance might still happen, and he may never see his fair rescuer again. Who can tell what may arise in the midst of that mysterious desert? By going he will the sooner be able to send succour to his comrade.
He hesitates no longer, but writes upon the piece of paper—in large, carefully-inscribed letters, so that the ci-devant Ranger6 need have no difficulty in deciphering them:—
“Saved by an Angel.—Strike due south. Six miles from this you will find me. There is a horse, and you can take up his tracks. If you stay here for a time, one will come and guide you.”
The huntress takes the paper from his hand, and glances at the writing, as if out of curiosity to read the script of a language unknown to her. But something like a smile playing around her lips might lead one to believe she has divined the meaning of at least the initial sentence.
She makes no remark, but stepping towards the yucca and reaching up, impales31 the piece of paper on one of its topmost spikes32.
“Now, caballero,” she says, “you mount my mare. See, she stands ready for you.”
Hamersley again protests, saying he can walk well enough.
But his tottering33 steps contradict him, and he urges his objections in vain.
The young girl appealingly persists, until at length the gallantry of the Kentuckian gives way, and he climbs reluctantly into the saddle.
“Now, Lolita!” cries her mistress, “see that your step is sure, or you shan’t have the pinons I promised you. Adelante! Nos vamos, señor!”
So saying, she strikes off through the sage, the mustang stepping by her side, and the two great hounds, like a rear guard, bringing up behind.
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收听单词发音
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1
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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bespeak
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| v.预定；预先请求 | |
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wan
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| (wide area network)广域网 | |
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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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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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7
brutes
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| 兽( brute的名词复数 )； 畜生； 残酷无情的人； 兽性 | |
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8
quiescence
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| n.静止 | |
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cower
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| v.畏缩，退缩，抖缩 | |
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aboriginal
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| adj.（指动植物）土生的，原产地的，土著的 | |
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picturesquely
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garbed
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| v.（尤指某类人穿的特定）服装，衣服，制服( garb的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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13
growling
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| n.吠声, 咆哮声 v.怒吠, 咆哮, 吼 | |
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14
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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15
demons
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| n.恶人( demon的名词复数 )；恶魔；精力过人的人；邪念 | |
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16
vertigo
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| n.眩晕 | |
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17
momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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compassionate
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| adj.有同情心的，表示同情的 | |
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19
gourd
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| n.葫芦 | |
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plunging
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| adj.跳进的，突进的v.颠簸( plunge的现在分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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pint
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| n.品脱 | |
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infusion
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| n.灌输 | |
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sterile
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| adj.不毛的，不孕的，无菌的，枯燥的，贫瘠的 | |
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chili
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| n.辣椒 | |
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morsels
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| n.一口( morsel的名词复数 )；（尤指食物）小块，碎屑 | |
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famished
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| adj.饥饿的 | |
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mare
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| n.母马，母驴 | |
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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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30
pouch
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| n.小袋，小包，囊状袋；vt.装...入袋中，用袋运输；vi.用袋送信件 | |
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31
impales
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| 钉在尖桩上( impale的第三人称单数 ) | |
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32
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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33
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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