Nick Nicholson looked serious. "He got an abscess ia his tooth, sir. Real bad. Had to send him in to Sav' La Mar2 to have it out. He'll be okay by this afternoon."
"Too bad. Dock him half a day's pay. No room for sleepers9 on this outfit10. We're shorthanded as it is. Should have had his choppers attended to before he took the job on. Okay?"
"Very good, Mr. Scaramanga. I'll tell him."
Scaramanga turned to the waiting group. "Okay, fellows, here's the picture. We drive a mile down the road to the station. We get aboard this little train. Quite an outfit, that. Fellow by the name of Lucius Beebe had it copied for the Thunderbird company from the engine and rolling stock on the little old Denver, South Park and Pacific line. Okay. So we steam along this old cane11-field line about twenty miles to Green Island Harbour. Plenty birds, bush rats, crocs in the rivers. Maybe we get a little hunting. Have some fun with the hardware. All you guys got your guns with you? Fine, fine. Champagne12 lunch at Green Island and the girls and the music'll be there to keep us happy. After lunch we get aboard the Thunder Bird big Chris-craft, and take a cruise along to Lucea, that's a little township up the coast, and see if we can catch our dinner. Those that don't want to fish can play stud. Right? Then back here for drinks. Okay? Everyone satisfied? Any suggestions? Then let's go."
Bond was told to get in the back of the car. They set off. Once again that offered neck! Crazy not to take him now! But it was open country with no cover and there were five guns riding behind. The odds13 simply weren't good enough. What was the plan for his removal? During the "hunting" presumably. James Bond smiled grimly to himself. He was feeling happy. He wouldn't have been able to explain the emotion. It was a feeling of being keyed up, wound taut14. It was the moment, after twenty passes, when you got a hand you could bet on-not necessarily win, but bet on. He had been after this man for over six weeks. Today, this morning perhaps, was to come the payoff he had been ordered to bring about. It was win or lose. The odds? Foreknowledge was playing for him. He was more heavily forearmed than the enemy knew. But the enemy had the big battalions15 on their side. There were more of them. And, taking only Scaramanga, perhaps more talent. Weapons? Again leaving out the others, Scaramanga had the advantage. The long-barrelled Colt .45 would be a fraction slower on the draw, but its length of barrel would give it more accuracy than the Walther automatic. Rate of fire? The Walther should have the edge-and the first empty chamber16 of Scaramanga's gun, if it hadn't been discovered, would be an additional bonus. The steady hand? The cool brain? The sharpness of the lust17 to kill? How did they weigh up? Probably nothing to choose on the first two,. Bond might be a shade trigger-happy-of necessity. That he must watch. He must damp down the fire in his belly18. Get ice-cold. In the lust to kill, perhaps he was the strongest. Of course. He was fighting for his life. The other man was just amusing himself-providing sport for his friends, displaying his potency19, showing off. That was good! That might be decisive! Bond said to himself that he must increase the other man's unawareness20, his casual certitude, his lack of caution. He must be the P. G. Wodehouse Englishman, the limey of the cartoons. He must play easy to take. The adrenalin coursed into James Bond's bloodstream. His pulse rate began to run a fraction high. He felt it on his wrist. He breathed deeply and slowly to bring it down. He found that he was sitting forward, tensed. He sat back and tried to relax. All of his body relaxed except his right hand. This was in the control of someone else. Resting on his right thigh21, it still twitched22 slightly from time to time like the paw of a sleeping dog chasing rabbits.
He put it into his coat pocket and watched a turkey buzzard a thousand feet up, circling. He put himself into the mind of the John Crow, watching out for a squashed toad23 or a dead bush rat. The circling buzzard had found its offal. It came lower and lower. Bond wished it bon appetit. The predator24 in him wished the scavenger25 a good meal. He smiled at the comparison between them. They were both following a scent26. The main difference was that the John Crow was a protected bird. No one would shoot back at it when it made its final dive. Amused by his thoughts, Bond's right hand came out of his pocket and lit a cigarette for him, quietly and obediently. It had stopped going off chasing rabbits on its own.
The station was a brilliant mockup from the Colorado narrow-gauge28 era-a low building in faded clapboard ornamented29 with gingerbread along its eaves. Its name, Thunderbird Halt, was in old-style ornamental30 type, heavily seriffed. Advertisements proclaimed
CHEW ROSELEAF
FINE CUT WARRANTED
FINEST VIRGINIA LEAF,
TRAINS stop for all meals,
no checks accepted.
The engine, gleaming in black and yellow varnish31 and polished brass32, was a gem33. It stood, panting quietly in the sunshine, a wisp of black smoke curling up from the tall stack behind the big brass headlight. The engine's name, The Belle34, was on a proud brass plate on the gleaming black barrel, and its number, No. 1, on a similar plate below the headlight. There was one carriage, an open affair with padded foam-rubber seats and a surrey roof of daffodil-yellow fringed canvas to keep off the sun, and then the brake van, also in black and yellow, with a resplendent gilt-armed chair behind the conventional wheel of the brake. It was a wonderful toy, even down to the old-fashioned whistle which now gave a sharp admonitory blast.
Scaramanga was in ebullient35 form. "Hear the train blow, folks! All aboard!" There was an anticlimax36. To Bond's dismay he took out his golden pistol, pointed37 it at the sky, and pressed the trigger. He hesitated only momentarily and fired again. The deep boom echoed back from the wall of the station, and the stationmaster, resplendent in old-fashioned uniform, looked nervous. He pocketed the big silver turnip38 watch he had been holding and stood back obsequiously39, the green flag now drooping40 at his side. Scaramanga checked his gun. He looked thoughtfully at Bond and said, "All right, my friend. Now then, you get up front with the driver."
Bond smiled happily. "Thanks. I've always wanted to do that since I was a child. What fun!"
"You said it," said Scaramanga. He turned to the others. "And you, Mr. Hendriks. In the first seat behind the coal-tender, please. Then Sam and Leroy. Then Hal and Louie. I'll be up back in the brake van. Good place to watch out for game. Okay?"
Everybody took their seats. The stationmaster had recovered his nerve and went through his ploy41 with the watch and the flag. The engine gave a triumphant42 hoot27 and with a series of diminishing puffs43 got under way, and they bowled off along the three-foot gauge line that disappeared, as straight as an arrow, into a dancing shimmer44 of silver.
Bond read the speed gauge. It said twenty. For the first tune45 he paid attention to the driver. He was a villainous-looking Rastafari in dirty khaki overalls46 with a sweat rag round his forehead. A cigarette drooped47 from between the thin moustache and the straggling beard. He smelled quite horrible. Bond said, "My name's Mark Hazard. What's yours?"
"Rass, man! Ah doan talk wid buckra."
The expression "rass" is Jamaican for "shove it." "Buckra" is a tough colloquialism48 for "white man."
Bond said equably, "I thought part of your religion was to love thy neighbour."
The Rasta gave the whistle lanyard a long pull. When the shriek49 had died away, he simply said "Sheeit," kicked the furnace door open, and began shovelling50 coal.
Bond looked surreptitiously round the cabin. Yes. There it was! The long Jamaican cutlass, this one filed to an inch blade with a deadly point. It was on a rack by the man's hand. Was this the way he was supposed to go? Bond doubted it. Scaramanga would do the deed in a suitably dramatic fashion and one that could give him an alibi51. Second executioner would be Hendriks. Bond looked back over the low coal-tender. Hendriks' eyes, bland52 and indifferent, met his. Bond shouted above the iron clang of the engine, "Great fun, what?" Hendriks' eyes looked away and back again. Bond stooped so that he could see under the surrey roof. All the other four men were sitting motionless, their eyes also fixed53 on Bond. Bond waved a cheerful hand. There was no response. So they had been told! Bond was a spy in their midst, and this was his last ride. In mobese, he was "going to be hit." It was an uncomfortable feeling having those ten enemy eyes watching him like ten gun barrels. Bond straightened himself. Now the top half of his body, like the iron "man" in a pistol range, was above the roof of the surrey, and he was looking straight down the flat yellow surface to where Scaramanga sat on his solitary54 throne, perhaps twenty feet away, with all his body in full view. He also was looking down the little train at Bond-the last mourner in the funeral cortege behind the cadaver55 that was James Bond. Bond waved a cheery hand and turned back. He opened his coat and got a moment's reassurance56 from the cool butt57 of his gun. He felt in his trouser pocket. Three spare magazines. Ah well! He'd take as many of them as he could with him. He flipped58 down the codriver's seat and sat on it. No point in offering a target until he had to. The Rasta flicked59 his cigarette over the side and lit another. The engine was driving herself. He leant against the cabin wall and looked at nothing.
Bond had done his homework on the 1:50,000 Overseas Survey map that Mary had provided, and he knew exactly the route the little cane line took. First there would be five miles of the cane fields, between whose high green walls they were now travelling. Then came Middle River, followed by the vast expanse of swamplands, now being slowly reclaimed60 but still shown on the map as the great morass61. Then would come Orange River leading into Orange Bay, and then more sugar and mixed forest and agricultural smallholdings until they came to the little hamlet of Green Island at the head of the excellent anchorage of Green Island Harbour.
A hundred yards ahead, a turkey buzzard rose from beside the line, and after a few heavy flaps, caught the inshore breeze and soared up and away. There came the boom of Scaramanga's gun. A feather drifted down from the great right-hand wing of the big bird. The turkey buzzard swerved62 and soared higher. A second shot rang out. The bird gave a jerk and began to tumble untidily down out of the sky. It jerked again as a third bullet hit it before it crashed into the cane. There was applause from under the yellow roof. Bond leant out and called to Scaramanga, "That'll cost you five pounds unless you've squared the Rasta. That's the fine for killing63 a John Crow."
A shot whistled past Bond's head. Scarmanga laughed. "Sorry. Thought I saw a rat." And then, "Come on, Mr. Hazard. Let's see some gun play from you. There's some cattle grazing by the line up there. See if you can hit a cow at ten paces."
The hoods guffawed64. Bond put his head out again. Scar-amanga's gun was on his lap. Out of the corner of his eye he saw that Mr. Hendriks, perhaps ten feet behind him, had his right hand in his coat pocket. Bond called, "I never shoot game that I don't eat. If you'll eat the whole cow, I'll shoot it for you."
The gun flashed and boomed as Bond jerked his head under cover of the coal-tender. Scaramanga laughed harshly. "Watch your lip, limey, or you'll end up without it." The hoods hawhawed.
Beside Bond, the Rasta gave a curse. He pulled hard on the whistle lanyard. Bond looked down the line. Far ahead, across the rails, something pink showed. Without releasing the whistler, the driver pulled on a lever. Steam belched65 from the train's exhaust, and the engine began to slow. Two shots rang out, and the bullets clanged against the iron roof over his head. Scaramanga shouted angrily, "Keep steam up, damn you to hell!"
The Rasta quickly pushed up the lever and the speed of the train gathered back to twenty miles an hour. He shrugged66. He glanced at Bond. He licked his lips wetly. "Dere's white trash across de line. Guess mebbe it's some frien' of de boss."
Bond strained his eyes. Yes! It was a naked pink body with golden blonde hair! A girl's body!
Scaramanga's voice boomed against the wind. "Folks. Just a little surprise for you all. Something from the good old Western movies. There's a girl on the line ahead. Tied across it. Take a look. And you know what? It's the girl friend of a certain man we've been hearing of called James Bond. Would you believe it? And her name's Goodnight, Mary Goodnight. It sure is good night for her. If only that fellow Bond was aboard now, I guess we'd be hearing him holler for mercy."
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1
attire
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| v.穿衣，装扮[同]array；n.衣着；盛装 | |
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mar
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| vt.破坏，毁坏，弄糟 | |
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plantation
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| n.种植园，大农场 | |
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stuffy
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| adj.不透气的，闷热的 | |
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suede
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| n.表面粗糙的软皮革 | |
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hoods
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| n.兜帽( hood的名词复数 )；头巾；（汽车、童车等的）折合式车篷；汽车发动机罩v.兜帽( hood的第三人称单数 )；头巾；（汽车、童车等的）折合式车篷；汽车发动机罩 | |
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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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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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sleepers
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| n.卧铺（通常以复数形式出现）；卧车( sleeper的名词复数 )；轨枕；睡觉（呈某种状态）的人；小耳环 | |
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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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cane
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| n.手杖，细长的茎，藤条；v.以杖击，以藤编制的 | |
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12
champagne
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| n.香槟酒；微黄色 | |
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odds
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| n.让步，机率，可能性，比率；胜败优劣之别 | |
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taut
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| adj.拉紧的，绷紧的，紧张的 | |
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battalions
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| n.（陆军的）一营（大约有一千兵士）( battalion的名词复数 )；协同作战的部队；军队；（组织在一起工作的）队伍 | |
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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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lust
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| n.性(淫)欲；渴(欲)望；vi.对…有强烈的欲望 | |
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belly
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| n.肚子，腹部；(像肚子一样)鼓起的部分，膛 | |
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potency
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| n. 效力，潜能 | |
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unawareness
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| 不知觉；不察觉；不意；不留神 | |
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thigh
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| n.大腿；股骨 | |
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twitched
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| vt.& vi.（使）抽动，（使）颤动（twitch的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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toad
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| n.蟾蜍，癞蛤蟆 | |
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predator
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| n.捕食其它动物的动物；捕食者 | |
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scavenger
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| n.以腐尸为食的动物，清扫工 | |
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scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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hoot
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| n.鸟叫声，汽车的喇叭声； v.使汽车鸣喇叭 | |
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gauge
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| v.精确计量；估计；n.标准度量；计量器 | |
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ornamented
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| adj.花式字体的v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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30
ornamental
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| adj.装饰的；作装饰用的；n.装饰品；观赏植物 | |
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varnish
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| n.清漆；v.上清漆；粉饰 | |
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brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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gem
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| n.宝石，珠宝；受爱戴的人 [同]jewel | |
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belle
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| n.靓女 | |
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ebullient
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| adj.兴高采烈的，奔放的 | |
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anticlimax
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| n.令人扫兴的结局；突降法 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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turnip
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| n.萝卜，芜菁 | |
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obsequiously
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40
drooping
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| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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ploy
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| n.花招，手段 | |
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42
triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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43
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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44
shimmer
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| v./n.发微光，发闪光；微光 | |
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45
tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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46
overalls
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| n.（复）工装裤；长罩衣 | |
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47
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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48
colloquialism
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| n.俗话，白话，口语 | |
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49
shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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50
shovelling
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| v.铲子( shovel的现在分词 )；锹；推土机、挖土机等的)铲；铲形部份 | |
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51
alibi
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| n.某人当时不在犯罪现场的申辩或证明；借口 | |
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52
bland
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| adj.淡而无味的，温和的，无刺激性的 | |
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53
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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54
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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55
cadaver
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| n.尸体 | |
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56
reassurance
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| n.使放心，使消除疑虑 | |
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57
butt
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| n.笑柄；烟蒂；枪托；臀部；v.用头撞或顶 | |
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58
flipped
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| 轻弹( flip的过去式和过去分词 )； 按（开关）； 快速翻转； 急挥 | |
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59
flicked
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| （尤指用手指或手快速地）轻击( flick的过去式和过去分词 )； （用…）轻挥； （快速地）按开关； 向…笑了一下（或瞥了一眼等） | |
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60
reclaimed
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| adj.再生的；翻造的；收复的；回收的v.开拓( reclaim的过去式和过去分词 )；要求收回；从废料中回收（有用的材料）；挽救 | |
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morass
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| n.沼泽，困境 | |
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62
swerved
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| v.（使）改变方向，改变目的( swerve的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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63
killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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64
guffawed
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| v.大笑，狂笑( guffaw的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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65
belched
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| v.打嗝( belch的过去式和过去分词 )；喷出，吐出；打（嗝）；嗳（气） | |
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66
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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