Three weeks they spent among the rich farm islands, which heaped up levees and pumped day and night to keep afloat. It was a monotonous4 land, with an unvarying richness of soil and with only one landmark—Mt. Diablo, ever to be seen, sleeping in the midday azure5, limping its crinkled mass against the sunset sky, or forming like a dream out of the silver dawn. Sometimes on foot, often by launch, they criss-crossed and threaded the river region as far as the peat lands of the Middle River, down the San Joaquin to Antioch, and up Georgiana Slough6 to Walnut7 Grove8 on the Sacramento. And it proved a foreign land. The workers of the soil teemed9 by thousands, yet Saxon and Billy knew what it was to go a whole day without finding any one who spoke10 English. They encountered—sometimes in whole villages—Chinese, Japanese, Italians, Portuguese11, Swiss, Hindus, Koreans, Norwegians, Danes, French, Armenians, Slavs, almost every nationality save American. One American they found on the lower reaches of Georgiana who eked12 an illicit13 existence by fishing with traps. Another American, who spouted14 blood and destruction on all political subjects, was an itinerant15 bee-farmer. At Walnut Grove, bustling16 with life, the few Americans consisted of the storekeeper, the saloonkeeper, the butcher, the keeper of the drawbridge, and the ferryman. Yet two thriving towns were in Walnut Grove, one Chinese, one Japanese. Most of the land was owned by Americans, who lived away from it and were continually selling it to the foreigners.
A riot, or a merry-making—they could not tell which—was taking place in the Japanese town, as Saxon and Billy steamed out on the Apache, bound for Sacramento.
“We're settin' on the stoop,” Billy railed. “Pretty soon they'll crowd us off of that.”
“There won't be any stoop in the valley of the moon,” Saxon cheered him.
But he was inconsolable, remarking bitterly:
“An' they ain't one of them damn foreigners that can handle four horses like me.
“But they can everlastingly17 farm,” he added.
And Saxon, looking at his moody18 face, was suddenly reminded of a lithograph19 she had seen in her childhood. It was of a Plains Indian, in paint and feathers, astride his horse and gazing with wondering eye at a railroad train rushing along a fresh-made track. The Indian had passed, she remembered, before the tide of new life that brought the railroad. And were Billy and his kind doomed20 to pass, she pondered, before this new tide of life, amazingly industrious21, that was flooding in from Asia and Europe?
At Sacramento they stopped two weeks, where Billy drove team and earned the money to put them along on their travels. Also, life in Oakland and Carmel, close to the salt edge of the coast, had spoiled them for the interior. Too warm, was their verdict of Sacramento and they followed the railroad west, through a region of swamp-land, to Davisville. Here they were lured22 aside and to the north to pretty Woodland, where Billy drove team for a fruit farm, and where Saxon wrung23 from him a reluctant consent for her to work a few days in the fruit harvest. She made an important and mystifying secret of what she intended doing with her earnings24, and Billy teased her about it until the matter passed from his mind. Nor did she tell him of a money order inclosed with a certain blue slip of paper in a letter to Bud Strothers.
They began to suffer from the heat. Billy declared they had strayed out of the blanket climate.
“There are no redwoods here,” Saxon said. “We must go west toward the coast. It is there we'll find the valley of the moon.”
From Woodland they swung west and south along the county roads to the fruit paradise of Vacaville. Here Billy picked fruit, then drove team; and here Saxon received a letter and a tiny express package from Bud Strothers. When Billy came into camp from the day's work, she bade him stand still and shut his eyes. For a few seconds she fumbled25 and did something to the breast of his cotton work-shirt. Once, he felt a slight prick26, as of a pin point, and grunted27, while she laughed and bullied28 him to continue keeping his eyes shut.
“Close your eyes and give me a kiss,” she sang, “and then I'll show you what iss.”
She kissed him and when he looked down he saw, pinned to his shirt, the gold medals he had pawned29 the day they had gone to the moving picture show and received their inspiration to return to the land.
“You darned kid!” he exclaimed, as he caught her to him. “So that's what you blew your fruit money in on? An' I never guessed!—Come here to you.”
And thereupon she suffered the pleasant mastery of his brawn30, and was hugged and wrestled31 with until the coffee pot boiled over and she darted32 from him to the rescue.
“I kinda always been a mite33 proud of 'em,” he confessed, as he rolled his after-supper cigarette. “They take me back to my kid days when I amateured it to beat the band. I was some kid in them days, believe muh.—But say, d'ye know, they'd clean slipped my recollection. Oakland's a thousan' years away from you an' me, an' ten thousan' miles.”
“Then this will bring you back to it,” Saxon said, opening Bud's letter and reading it aloud.
Bud had taken it for granted that Billy knew the wind-up of the strike; so he devoted34 himself to the details as to which men had got back their jobs, and which had been blacklisted. To his own amazement35 he had been taken back, and was now driving Billy's horses. Still more amazing was the further information he had to impart. The old foreman of the West Oakland stables had died, and since then two other foremen had done nothing but make messes of everything. The point of all which was that the Boss had spoken that day to Bud, regretting the disappearance36 of Billy.
“Don't make no mistake,” Bud wrote. “The Boss is onto all your curves. I bet he knows every scab you slugged. Just the same he says to me—Strothers, if you ain't at liberty to give me his address, just write yourself and tell him for me to come a running. I'll give him a hundred and twenty-five a month to take hold the stables.”
Saxon waited with well-concealed anxiety when the letter was finished. Billy, stretched out, leaning on one elbow, blew a meditative37 ring of smoke. His cheap workshirt, incongruously brilliant with the gold of the medals that flashed in the firelight, was open in front, showing the smooth skin and splendid swell38 of chest. He glanced around—at the blankets bowered39 in a green screen and waiting, at the campfire and the blackened, battered40 coffee pot, at the well-worn hatchet41, half buried in a tree trunk, and lastly at Saxon. His eyes embraced her; then into them came a slow expression of inquiry42. But she offered no help.
“Well,” he uttered finally, “all you gotta do is write Bud Strothers, an' tell 'm not on the Boss's ugly tintype.—An' while you're about it, I'll send 'm the money to get my watch out. You work out the interest. The overcoat can stay there an' rot.”
But they did not prosper43 in the interior heat. They lost weight. The resilience went out of their minds and bodies. As Billy expressed it, their silk was frazzled. So they shouldered their packs and headed west across the wild mountains. In the Berryessa Valley, the shimmering44 heat waves made their eyes ache, and their heads; so that they traveled on in the early morning and late afternoon. Still west they headed, over more mountains, to beautiful Napa Valley. The next valley beyond was Sonoma, where Hastings had invited them to his ranch45. And here they would have gone, had not Billy chanced upon a newspaper item which told of the writer's departure to cover some revolution that was breaking out somewhere in Mexico.
“We'll see 'm later on,” Billy said, as they turned northwest, through the vineyards and orchards46 of Napa Valley. “We're like that millionaire Bert used to sing about, except it's time that we've got to burn. Any direction is as good as any other, only west is best.”
Three times in the Napa Valley Billy refused work. Past St. Helena, Saxon hailed with joy the unmistakable redwoods they could see growing up the small canyons47 that penetrated48 the western wall of the valley. At Calistoga, at the end of the railroad, they saw the six-horse stages leaving for Middletown and Lower Lake. They debated their route. That way led to Lake County and not toward the coast, so Saxon and Billy swung west through the mountains to the valley of the Russian River, coming out at Healdsburg. They lingered in the hop-fields on the rich bottoms, where Billy scorned to pick hops49 alongside of Indians, Japanese, and Chinese.
“I couldn't work alongside of 'em an hour before I'd be knockin' their blocks off,” he explained. “Besides, this Russian River's some nifty. Let's pitch camp and go swimmin'.”
So they idled their way north up the broad, fertile valley, so happy that they forgot that work was ever necessary, while the valley of the moon was a golden dream, remote, but sure, some day of realization50. At Cloverdale, Billy fell into luck. A combination of sickness and mischance found the stage stables short a driver. Each day the train disgorged passengers for the Geysers, and Billy, as if accustomed to it all his life, took the reins51 of six horses and drove a full load over the mountains in stage time. The second trip he had Saxon beside him on the high boxseat. By the end of two weeks the regular driver was back. Billy declined a stable-job, took his wages, and continued north.
Saxon had adopted a fox terrier puppy and named him Possum, after the dog Mrs. Hastings had told them about. So young was he that he quickly became footsore, and she carried him until Billy perched him on top of his pack and grumbled52 that Possum was chewing his back hair to a frazzle.
They passed through the painted vineyards of Asti at the end of the grape-picking, and entered Ukiah drenched53 to the skin by the first winter rain.
“Say,” Billy said, “you remember the way the Roamer just skated along. Well, this summer's done the same thing—gone by on wheels. An' now it's up to us to find some place to winter. This Ukiah looks like a pretty good burg. We'll get a room to-night an' dry out. An' to-morrow I'll hustle54 around to the stables, an' if I locate anything we can rent a shack55 an' have all winter to think about where we'll go next year.”
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1
vista
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| n.远景，深景，展望，回想 | |
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countless
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| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
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farmhouses
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| n.农舍，农场的主要住房( farmhouse的名词复数 ) | |
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monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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azure
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| adj.天蓝色的，蔚蓝色的 | |
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slough
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| v.蜕皮，脱落，抛弃 | |
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walnut
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| n.胡桃，胡桃木，胡桃色，茶色 | |
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grove
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| n.林子，小树林，园林 | |
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9
teemed
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| v.充满( teem的过去式和过去分词 )；到处都是；（指水、雨等）暴降；倾注 | |
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10
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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Portuguese
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| n.葡萄牙人；葡萄牙语 | |
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12
eked
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| v.（靠节省用量）使…的供应持久( eke的过去式和过去分词 )；节约使用；竭力维持生计；勉强度日 | |
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illicit
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| adj.非法的，禁止的，不正当的 | |
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spouted
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| adj.装有嘴的v.（指液体）喷出( spout的过去式和过去分词 )；滔滔不绝地讲；喋喋不休地说；喷水 | |
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itinerant
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| adj.巡回的；流动的 | |
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bustling
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| adj.喧闹的 | |
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everlastingly
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| 永久地，持久地 | |
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moody
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| adj.心情不稳的，易怒的，喜怒无常的 | |
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lithograph
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| n.平板印刷，平板画；v.用平版印刷 | |
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doomed
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| 命定的 | |
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industrious
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| adj.勤劳的，刻苦的，奋发的 | |
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lured
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| 吸引，引诱（lure的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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wrung
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| 绞( wring的过去式和过去分词 )； 握紧（尤指别人的手）； 把（湿衣服）拧干； 绞掉（水） | |
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earnings
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| n.工资收人；利润，利益，所得 | |
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fumbled
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| （笨拙地）摸索或处理（某事物）( fumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 乱摸，笨拙地弄； 使落下 | |
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26
prick
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| v.刺伤，刺痛，刺孔；n.刺伤，刺痛 | |
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27
grunted
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| （猪等）作呼噜声( grunt的过去式和过去分词 )； （指人）发出类似的哼声； 咕哝着说 | |
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28
bullied
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| adj.被欺负了v.恐吓，威逼( bully的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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29
pawned
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| v.典当，抵押( pawn的过去式和过去分词 )；以（某事物）担保 | |
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brawn
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| n.体力 | |
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wrestled
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| v.（与某人）搏斗( wrestle的过去式和过去分词 )；扭成一团；扭打；（与…）摔跤 | |
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darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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mite
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| n.极小的东西；小铜币 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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disappearance
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| n.消失，消散，失踪 | |
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meditative
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| adj.沉思的，冥想的 | |
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swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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39
bowered
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| adj.凉亭的，有树荫的 | |
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battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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41
hatchet
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| n.短柄小斧；v.扼杀 | |
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42
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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43
prosper
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| v.成功，兴隆，昌盛；使成功，使昌隆，繁荣 | |
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44
shimmering
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| v.闪闪发光，发微光( shimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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45
ranch
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| n.大牧场，大农场 | |
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46
orchards
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| （通常指围起来的）果园( orchard的名词复数 ) | |
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47
canyons
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| n.峡谷( canyon的名词复数 ) | |
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48
penetrated
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| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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49
hops
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| 跳上[下]( hop的第三人称单数 )； 单足蹦跳； 齐足（或双足）跳行； 摘葎草花 | |
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50
realization
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| n.实现；认识到，深刻了解 | |
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51
reins
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| 感情，激情； 缰( rein的名词复数 )； 控制手段； 掌管； （成人带着幼儿走路以防其走失时用的）保护带 | |
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52
grumbled
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| 抱怨( grumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 发牢骚； 咕哝； 发哼声 | |
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53
drenched
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| adj.湿透的；充满的v.使湿透( drench的过去式和过去分词 )；在某人（某物）上大量使用（某液体） | |
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54
hustle
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| v.推搡；竭力兜售或获取；催促；n.奔忙(碌) | |
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55
shack
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| adj.简陋的小屋，窝棚 | |
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