“We do want a sun-cocktail once in a while,” she told Billy.
“Yep,” was his answer. “Too much fog might make us soggy. What we're after is betwixt an' between, an' we'll have to get back from the coast a ways to find it.”
This was in the fall of the year, and they turned their backs on the Pacific at old Fort Ross and entered the Russian River Valley, far below Ukiah, by way of Cazadero and Guerneville. At Santa Rosa Billy was delayed with the shipping3 of several horses, so that it was not until afternoon that he drove south and east for Sonoma Valley.
“I guess we'll no more than make Sonoma Valley when it'll be time to camp,” he said, measuring the sun with his eye. “This is called Bennett Valley. You cross a divide from it and come out at Glen Ellen. Now this is a mighty4 pretty valley, if anybody should ask you. An' that's some nifty mountain over there.”
“The mountain is all right,” Saxon adjudged. “But all the rest of the hills are too bare. And I don't see any big trees. It takes rich soil to make big trees.”
“Oh, I ain't sayin' it's the valley of the moon by a long ways. All the same, Saxon, that's some mountain. Look at the timber on it. I bet they's deer there.”
“I wonder where we'll spend this winter,” Saxon remarked.
“D'ye know, I've just been thinkin' the same thing. Let's winter at Carmel. Mark Hall's back, an' so is Jim Hazard. What d'ye say?”
Saxon nodded.
“Only you won't be the odd-job man this time.”
“Nope. We can make trips in good weather horse-buyin',” Billy confirmed, his face beaming with self-satisfaction. “An' if that walkin' poet of the Marble House is around, I'll sure get the gloves on with 'm just in memory of the time he walked me off my legs—”
“Oh! Oh!” Saxon cried. “Look, Billy! Look!”
Around a bend in the road came a man in a sulky, driving a heavy stallion. The animal was a bright chestnut-sorrel, with cream-colored mane and tail. The tail almost swept the ground, while the mane was so thick that it crested5 out of the neck and flowed down, long and wavy6. He scented7 the mares and stopped short, head flung up and armfuls of creamy mane tossing in the breeze. He bent8 his head until flaring9 nostrils10 brushed impatient knees, and between the fine-pointed11 ears could be seen a mighty and incredible curve of neck. Again he tossed his head, fretting12 against the bit as the driver turned widely aside for safety in passing. They could see the blue glaze13 like a sheen on the surface of the horse's bright, wild eyes, and Billy closed a wary14 thumb on his reins15 and himself turned widely. He held up his hand in signal, and the driver of the stallion stopped when well past, and over his shoulder talked draught-horses with Billy.
Among other things, Billy learned that the stallion's name was Barbarossa, that the driver was the owner, and that Santa Rosa was his headquarters.
“There are two ways to Sonoma Valley from here,” the man directed. “When you come to the crossroads the turn to the left will take you to Glen Ellen by Bennett Peak—that's it there.”
Rising from rolling stubble fields, Bennett Peak towered hot in the sun, a row of bastion hills leaning against its base. But hills and mountains on that side showed bare and heated, though beautiful with the sunburnt tawniness16 of California.
“The turn to the right will take you to Glen Ellen, too, only it's longer and steeper grades. But your mares don't look as though it'd bother them.”
“Which is the prettiest way?” Saxon asked.
“Oh, the right hand road, by all means,” said the man. “That's Sonoma Mountain there, and the road skirts it pretty well up, and goes through Cooper's Grove17.”
Billy did not start immediately after they had said good-by, and he and Saxon, heads over shoulders, watched the roused Barbarossa plunging18 mutinously19 on toward Santa Rosa.
“Gee!” Billy said. “I'd like to be up here next spring.”
At the crossroads Billy hesitated and looked at Saxon.
“What if it is longer?” she said. “Look how beautiful it is—all covered with green woods; and I just know those are redwoods in the canyons20. You never can tell. The valley of the moon might be right up there somewhere. And it would never do to miss it just in order to save half an hour.”
They took the turn to the right and began crossing a series of steep foothills. As they approached the mountain there were signs of a greater abundance of water. They drove beside a running stream, and, though the vineyards on the hills were summer-dry, the farmhouses23 in the hollows and on the levels were grouped about with splendid trees.
“Maybe it sounds funny,” Saxon observed; “but I 'm beginning to love that mountain already. It almost seems as if I'd seen it before, somehow, it's so all-around satisfying—oh!”
Crossing a bridge and rounding a sharp turn, they were suddenly enveloped24 in a mysterious coolness and gloom. All about them arose stately trunks of redwood. The forest floor was a rosy25 carpet of autumn fronds26. Occasional shafts27 of sunlight, penetrating28 the deep shade, warmed the somberness of the grove. Alluring29 paths led off among the trees and into cozy30 nooks made by circles of red columns growing around the dust of vanished ancestors—witnessing the titanic31 dimensions of those ancestors by the girth of the circles in which they stood.
Out of the grove they pulled to the steep divide, which was no more than a buttress32 of Sonoma Mountain. The way led on through rolling uplands and across small dips and canyons, all well wooded and a-drip with water. In places the road was muddy from wayside springs.
“The mountain's a sponge,” said Billy. “Here it is, the tail-end of dry summer, an' the ground's just leakin' everywhere.”
“I know I've never been here before,” Saxon communed aloud. “But it's all so familiar! So I must have dreamed it. And there's madronos!—a whole grove! And manzanita! Why, I feel just as if I was coming home... Oh, Billy, if it should turn out to be our valley.”
“No; I don't mean that. I mean on the way to our valley. Because the way—all ways—to our valley must be beautiful. And this; I've seen it all before, dreamed it.”
“It's great,” he said sympathetically. “I wouldn't trade a square mile of this kind of country for the whole Sacramento Valley, with the river islands thrown in and Middle River for good measure. If they ain't deer up there, I miss my guess. An' where they's springs they's streams, an' streams means trout.”
They passed a large and comfortable farmhouse22, surrounded by wandering barns and cow-sheds, went on under forest arches, and emerged beside a field with which Saxon was instantly enchanted35. It flowed in a gentle concave from the road up the mountain, its farther boundary an unbroken line of timber. The field glowed like rough gold in the approaching sunset, and near the middle of it stood a solitary36 great redwood, with blasted top suggesting a nesting eyrie for eagles. The timber beyond clothed the mountain in solid green to what they took to be the top. But, as they drove on, Saxon, looking back upon what she called her field, saw the real summit of Sonoma towering beyond, the mountain behind her field a mere37 spur upon the side of the larger mass.
Ahead and toward the right, across sheer ridges38 of the mountains, separated by deep green canyons and broadening lower down into rolling orchards39 and vineyards, they caught their first sight of Sonoma Valley and the wild mountains that rimmed41 its eastern side. To the left they gazed across a golden land of small hills and valleys. Beyond, to the north, they glimpsed another portion of the valley, and, still beyond, the opposing wall of the valley—a range of mountains, the highest of which reared its red and battered42 ancient crater43 against a rosy and mellowing44 sky. From north to southeast, the mountain rim40 curved in the brightness of the sun, while Saxon and Billy were already in the shadow of evening. He looked at Saxon, noted45 the ravished ecstasy46 of her face, and stopped the horses. All the eastern sky was blushing to rose, which descended47 upon the mountains, touching48 them with wine and ruby49. Sonoma Valley began to fill with a purple flood, laving the mountain bases, rising, inundating50, drowning them in its purple. Saxon pointed in silence, indicating that the purple flood was the sunset shadow of Sonoma Mountain. Billy nodded, then chirruped to the mares, and the descent began through a warm and colorful twilight51.
On the elevated sections of the road they felt the cool, delicious breeze from the Pacific forty miles away; while from each little dip and hollow came warm breaths of autumn earth, spicy52 with sunburnt grass and fallen leaves and passing flowers.
They came to the rim of a deep canyon21 that seemed to penetrate53 to the heart of Sonoma Mountain. Again, with no word spoken, merely from watching Saxon, Billy stopped the wagon55. The canyon was wildly beautiful. Tall redwoods lined its entire length. On its farther rim stood three rugged56 knolls57 covered with dense58 woods of spruce and oak. From between the knolls, a feeder to the main canyon and likewise fringed with redwoods, emerged a smaller canyon. Billy pointed to a stubble field that lay at the feet of the knolls.
“It's in fields like that I've seen my mares a-pasturing,” he said.
They dropped down into the canyon, the road following a stream that sang under maples59 and alders62. The sunset fires, refracted from the cloud-driftage of the autumn sky, bathed the canyon with crimson63, in which ruddy-limbed madronos and wine-wooded manzanitas burned and smoldered64. The air was aromatic65 with laurel. Wild grape vines bridged the stream from tree to tree. Oaks of many sorts were veiled in lacy Spanish moss66. Ferns and brakes grew lush beside the stream. From somewhere came the plaint of a mourning dove. Fifty feet above the ground, almost over their heads, a Douglas squirrel crossed the road—a flash of gray between two trees; and they marked the continuance of its aerial passage by the bending of the boughs67.
“I've got a hunch,” said Billy.
“Let me say it first,” Saxon begged.
“We've found our valley,” she whispered. “Was that it?”
He nodded, but checked speech at sight of a small boy driving a cow up the road, a preposterously69 big shotgun in one hand, in the other as preposterously big a jackrabbit. “How far to Glen Ellen?” Billy asked.
“Mile an' a half,” was the answer.
“Wild Water. It empties into Sonoma Creek half a mile down.”
“Trout?”—this from Billy.
“If you know how to catch 'em,” grinned the boy.
“Deer up the mountain?”
“I guess you never shot a deer,” Billy slyly baited, and was rewarded with:
“I got the horns to show.”
“Deer shed their horns,” Billy teased on. “Anybody can find 'em.”
“I got the meat on mine. It ain't dry yet—”
The boy broke off, gazing with shocked eyes into the pit Billy had dug for him.
“It's all right, sonny,” Billy laughed, as he drove on. “I ain't the game warden72. I 'm buyin' horses.”
More leaping tree squirrels, more ruddy madronos and majestic73 oaks, more fairy circles of redwoods, and, still beside the singing stream, they passed a gate by the roadside. Before it stood a rural mail box, on which was lettered “Edmund Hale.” Standing74 under the rustic75 arch, leaning upon the gate, a man and woman composed a pieture so arresting and beautiful that Saxon caught her breath. They were side by side, the delicate hand of the woman curled in the hand of the man, which looked as if made to confer benedictions76. His face bore out this impression—a beautiful-browed countenance78, with large, benevolent79 gray eyes under a wealth of white hair that shone like spun80 glass. He was fair and large; the little woman beside him was daintily wrought81. She was saffron-brown, as a woman of the white race can well be, with smiling eyes of bluest blue. In quaint82 sage-green draperies, she seemed a flower, with her small vivid face irresistibly83 reminding Saxon of a springtime wake-robin.
Perhaps the picture made by Saxon and Billy was equally arresting and beautiful, as they drove down through the golden end of day. The two couples had eyes only for each other. The little woman beamed joyously84. The man's face glowed into the benediction77 that had trembled there. To Saxon, like the field up the mountain, like the mountain itself, it seemed that she had always known this adorable pair. She knew that she loved them.
“How d'ye do,” said Billy.
“You blessed children,” said the man. “I wonder if you know how dear you look sitting there.”
That was all. The wagon had passed by, rustling85 down the road, which was carpeted with fallen leaves of maple60, oak, and alder61. Then they came to the meeting of the two creeks86.
“Oh, what a place for a home,” Saxon cried, pointing across Wild Water. “See, Billy, on that bench there above the meadow.”
“It's a rich bottom, Saxon; and so is the bench rich. Look at the big trees on it. An' they's sure to be springs.”
“Drive over,” she said.
Forsaking87 the main road, they crossed Wild Water on a narrow bridge and continued along an ancient, rutted road that ran beside an equally ancient worm-fence of split redwood rails. They came to a gate, open and off its hinges, through which the road led out on the bench.
“This is it—I know it,” Saxon said with conviction. “Drive in, Billy.”
A small, whitewashed88 farmhouse with broken windows showed through the trees.
“Talk about your madronos—”
Billy pointed to the father of all madronos, six feet in diameter at its base, sturdy and sound, which stood before the house.
They spoke54 in low tones as they passed around the house under great oak trees and came to a stop before a small barn. They did not wait to unharness. Tying the horses, they started to explore. The pitch from the bench to the meadow was steep yet thickly wooded with oaks and manzanita. As they crashed through the underbrush they startled a score of quail89 into flight.
“How about game?” Saxon queried.
Billy grinned, and fell to examining a spring which bubbled a clear stream into the meadow. Here the ground was sunbaked and wide open in a multitude of cracks.
Disappointment leaped into Saxon's face, but Billy, crumbling90 a clod between his fingers, had not made up his mind.
“It's rich,” he pronounced; “—the cream of the soil that's been washin' down from the hills for ten thousan' years. But—”
He broke off, stared all about, studying the configuration91 of the meadow, crossed it to the redwood trees beyond, then came back.
“It's no good as it is,” he said. “But it's the best ever if it's handled right. All it needs is a little common sense an' a lot of drainage. This meadow's a natural basin not yet filled level. They's a sharp slope through the redwoods to the creek. Come on, I'll show you.”
They went through the redwoods and came out on Sonoma Creek. At this spot was no singing. The stream poured into a quiet pool. The willows92 on their side brushed the water. The opposite side was a steep bank. Billy measured the height of the bank with his eye, the depth of the water with a driftwood pole.
“Fifteen feet,” he announced. “That allows all kinds of high-divin' from the bank. An' it's a hundred yards of a swim up an' down.”
They followed down the pool. It emptied in a riffle, across exposed bedrock, into another pool. As they looked, a trout flashed into the air and back, leaving a widening ripple93 on the quiet surface.
“I guess we won't winter in Carmel,” Billy said. “This place was specially94 manufactured for us. In the morning I'll find out who owns it.”
Half an hour later, feeding the horses, he called Saxon's attention to a locomotive whistle.
“You've got your railroad,” he said. “That's a train pulling into Glen Ellen, an' it's only a mile from here.”
“Suppose the guy that owns it won't sell?”
“There isn't the slightest doubt,” Saxon answered with unruffled certainty. “This is our place. I know it.”
该作者的其它作品
野性的呼唤 The Call of the WildThe Iron Heel 铁蹄
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trout
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| n.鳟鱼；鲑鱼(属) | |
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countless
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| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
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shipping
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| n.船运（发货，运输，乘船） | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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crested
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| adj.有顶饰的，有纹章的，有冠毛的v.到达山顶（或浪峰）( crest的过去式和过去分词 )；到达洪峰，达到顶点 | |
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wavy
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| adj.有波浪的，多浪的，波浪状的，波动的，不稳定的 | |
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scented
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| adj.有香味的；洒香水的；有气味的v.嗅到(scent的过去分词) | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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flaring
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| a.火焰摇曳的，过份艳丽的 | |
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nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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fretting
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| n. 微振磨损 adj. 烦躁的, 焦虑的 | |
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glaze
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| v.因疲倦、疲劳等指眼睛变得呆滞，毫无表情 | |
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wary
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| adj.谨慎的，机警的，小心的 | |
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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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tawniness
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grove
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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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mutinously
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| adv.反抗地，叛变地 | |
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canyons
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canyon
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farmhouse
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| n.农场住宅（尤指主要住房） | |
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farmhouses
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enveloped
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rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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fronds
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shafts
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| n.轴( shaft的名词复数 )；（箭、高尔夫球棒等的）杆；通风井；一阵（疼痛、害怕等） | |
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penetrating
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| adj.（声音）响亮的，尖锐的adj.（气味）刺激的adj.（思想）敏锐的，有洞察力的 | |
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alluring
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cozy
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titanic
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buttress
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queried
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skeptical
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enchanted
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solitary
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mere
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ridges
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| n.脊( ridge的名词复数 )；山脊；脊状突起；大气层的)高压脊 | |
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orchards
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| （通常指围起来的）果园( orchard的名词复数 ) | |
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rim
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| n.(圆物的)边，轮缘；边界 | |
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rimmed
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| adj.有边缘的，有框的v.沿…边缘滚动；给…镶边 | |
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battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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crater
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| n.火山口，弹坑 | |
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mellowing
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| 软化，醇化 | |
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noted
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ecstasy
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| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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descended
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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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ruby
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| n.红宝石，红宝石色 | |
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inundating
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| v.淹没( inundate的现在分词 )；（洪水般地）涌来；充满；给予或交予（太多事物）使难以应付 | |
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twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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spicy
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| adj.加香料的；辛辣的，有风味的 | |
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penetrate
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| v.透(渗)入；刺入，刺穿；洞察，了解 | |
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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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wagon
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| n.四轮马车，手推车，面包车；无盖运货列车 | |
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rugged
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| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
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knolls
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| n.小圆丘，小土墩( knoll的名词复数 ) | |
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dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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maples
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| 槭树，枫树( maple的名词复数 )； 槭木 | |
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maple
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alder
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| n.赤杨树 | |
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alders
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| n.桤木( alder的名词复数 ) | |
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63
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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64
smoldered
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| v.用文火焖烧，熏烧，慢燃( smolder的过去式 ) | |
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65
aromatic
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| adj.芳香的，有香味的 | |
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66
moss
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| n.苔，藓，地衣 | |
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67
boughs
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| 大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
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68
rapture
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| n.狂喜；全神贯注；着迷；v.使狂喜 | |
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69
preposterously
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| adv.反常地；荒谬地；荒谬可笑地；不合理地 | |
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70
creek
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| n.小溪，小河，小湾 | |
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71
evaded
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| 逃避( evade的过去式和过去分词 )； 避开； 回避； 想不出 | |
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72
warden
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| n.监察员，监狱长，看守人，监护人 | |
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73
majestic
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| adj.雄伟的，壮丽的，庄严的，威严的，崇高的 | |
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74
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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75
rustic
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| adj.乡村的，有乡村特色的；n.乡下人，乡巴佬 | |
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76
benedictions
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| n.祝福( benediction的名词复数 )；（礼拜结束时的）赐福祈祷；恩赐；（大写）（罗马天主教）祈求上帝赐福的仪式 | |
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77
benediction
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| n.祝福；恩赐 | |
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78
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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benevolent
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| adj.仁慈的，乐善好施的 | |
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80
spun
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| v.纺，杜撰，急转身 | |
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81
wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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82
quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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83
irresistibly
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| adv.无法抵抗地，不能自持地；极为诱惑人地 | |
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84
joyously
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| ad.快乐地, 高兴地 | |
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85
rustling
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| n. 瑟瑟声，沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
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86
creeks
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| n.小湾( creek的名词复数 )；小港；小河；小溪 | |
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87
forsaking
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| 放弃( forsake的现在分词 )； 弃绝； 抛弃； 摒弃 | |
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88
whitewashed
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| 粉饰，美化，掩饰( whitewash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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89
quail
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| n.鹌鹑；vi.畏惧，颤抖 | |
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90
crumbling
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| adj.摇摇欲坠的 | |
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91
configuration
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| n.结构，布局，形态，(计算机)配置 | |
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92
willows
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| n.柳树( willow的名词复数 )；柳木 | |
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93
ripple
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| n.涟波，涟漪，波纹，粗钢梳；vt.使...起涟漪，使起波纹； vi.呈波浪状，起伏前进 | |
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94
specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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95
dozing
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| v.打瞌睡,假寐 n.瞌睡 | |
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