I am his favorite horse, out of dozens. Big as he is, I have carried him eighty-one miles between nightfall and sunrise on the scout4; and I am good for fifty, day in and day out, and all the time. I am not large, but I am built on a business basis. I have carried him thousands and thousands of miles on scout duty for the army, and there’s not a gorge5, nor a pass, nor a valley, nor a fort, nor a trading post, nor a buffalo-range in the whole sweep of the Rocky Mountains and the Great Plains that we don’t know as well as we know the bugle-calls. He is Chief of Scouts6 to the Army of the Frontier, and it makes us very important. In such a position as I hold in the military service one needs to be of good family and possess an education much above the common to be worthy7 of the place. I am the best-educated horse outside of the hippodrome, everybody says, and the best-mannered. It may be so, it is not for me to say; modesty8 is the best policy, I think. Buffalo Bill taught me the most of what I know, my mother taught me much, and I taught myself the rest. Lay a row of moccasins before me—Pawnee, Sioux, Shoshone, Cheyenne, Blackfoot, and as many other tribes as you please—and I can name the tribe every moccasin belongs to by the make of it. Name it in horse-talk, and could do it in American if I had speech.
I know some of the Indian signs—the signs they make with their hands, and by signal-fires at night and columns of smoke by day. Buffalo Bill taught me how to drag wounded soldiers out of the line of fire with my teeth; and I’ve done it, too; at least I’ve dragged him out of the battle when he was wounded. And not just once, but twice. Yes, I know a lot of things. I remember forms, and gaits, and faces; and you can’t disguise a person that’s done me a kindness so that I won’t know him thereafter wherever I find him. I know the art of searching for a trail, and I know the stale track from the fresh. I can keep a trail all by myself, with Buffalo Bill asleep in the saddle; ask him—he will tell you so. Many a time, when he has ridden all night, he has said to me at dawn, “Take the watch, Boy; if the trail freshens, call me.” Then he goes to sleep. He knows he can trust me, because I have a reputation. A scout horse that has a reputation does not play with it.
My mother was all American—no alkali-spider about her, I can tell you; she was of the best blood of Kentucky, the bluest Blue-grass aristocracy, very proud and acrimonious—or maybe it is ceremonious. I don’t know which it is. But it is no matter; size is the main thing about a word, and that one’s up to standard. She spent her military life as colonel of the Tenth Dragoons, and saw a deal of rough service—distinguished service it was, too. I mean, she carried the Colonel; but it’s all the same. Where would he be without his horse? He wouldn’t arrive. It takes two to make a colonel of dragoons. She was a fine dragoon horse, but never got above that. She was strong enough for the scout service, and had the endurance, too, but she couldn’t quite come up to the speed required; a scout horse has to have steel in his muscle and lightning in his blood.
My father was a bronco. Nothing as to lineage—that is, nothing as to recent lineage—but plenty good enough when you go a good way back. When Professor Marsh9 was out here hunting bones for the chapel10 of Yale University he found skeletons of horses no bigger than a fox, bedded in the rocks, and he said they were ancestors of my father. My mother heard him say it; and he said those skeletons were two million years old, which astonished her and made her Kentucky pretensions11 look small and pretty antiphonal, not to say oblique12. Let me see. . . . I used to know the meaning of those words, but . . . well, it was years ago, and ’tisn’t as vivid now as it was when they were fresh. That sort of words doesn’t keep, in the kind of climate we have out here. Professor Marsh said those skeletons were fossils. So that makes me part blue grass and part fossil; if there is any older or better stock, you will have to look for it among the Four Hundred, I reckon. I am satisfied with it. And am a happy horse, too, though born out of wedlock13.
And now we are back at Fort Paxton once more, after a forty-day scout, away up as far as the Big Horn. Everything quiet. Crows and Blackfeet squabbling—as usual—but no outbreaks, and settlers feeling fairly easy.
The Seventh Cavalry14 still in garrison15, here; also the Ninth Dragoons, two artillery16 companies, and some infantry17. All glad to see me, including General Alison, commandant. The officers’ ladies and children well, and called upon me—with sugar. Colonel Drake, Seventh Cavalry, said some pleasant things; Mrs. Drake was very complimentary18; also Captain and Mrs. Marsh, Company B, Seventh Cavalry; also the Chaplain, who is always kind and pleasant to me, because I kicked the lungs out of a trader once. It was Tommy Drake and Fanny Marsh that furnished the sugar—nice children, the nicest at the post, I think.
That poor orphan19 child is on her way from France—everybody is full of the subject. Her father was General Alison’s brother; married a beautiful young Spanish lady ten years ago, and has never been in America since. They lived in Spain a year or two, then went to France. Both died some months ago. This little girl that is coming is the only child. General Alison is glad to have her. He has never seen her. He is a very nice old bachelor, but is an old bachelor just the same and isn’t more than about a year this side of retirement20 by age limit; and so what does he know about taking care of a little maid nine years old? If I could have her it would be another matter, for I know all about children, and they adore me. Buffalo Bill will tell you so himself.
I have some of this news from over-hearing the garrison-gossip, the rest of it I got from Potter, the General’s dog. Potter is the great Dane. He is privileged, all over the post, like Shekels, the Seventh Cavalry’s dog, and visits everybody’s quarters and picks up everything that is going, in the way of news. Potter has no imagination, and no great deal of culture, perhaps, but he has a historical mind and a good memory, and so he is the person I depend upon mainly to post me up when I get back from a scout. That is, if Shekels is out on depredation21 and I can’t get hold of him.
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《Life on the Mississippi 生活在密西西比》
《The Adventures of Tom Sawyer汤姆.索亚历险记》
《The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn哈克贝里·芬历险记》
该作者的其它作品
《Life on the Mississippi 生活在密西西比》
《The Adventures of Tom Sawyer汤姆.索亚历险记》
《The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn哈克贝里·芬历险记》
点击收听单词发音
1 buffalo | |
n.(北美)野牛;(亚洲)水牛 | |
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2 graceful | |
adj.优美的,优雅的;得体的 | |
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3 dangling | |
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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4 scout | |
n.童子军,侦察员;v.侦察,搜索 | |
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5 gorge | |
n.咽喉,胃,暴食,山峡;v.塞饱,狼吞虎咽地吃 | |
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6 scouts | |
侦察员[机,舰]( scout的名词复数 ); 童子军; 搜索; 童子军成员 | |
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7 worthy | |
adj.(of)值得的,配得上的;有价值的 | |
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8 modesty | |
n.谦逊,虚心,端庄,稳重,羞怯,朴素 | |
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9 marsh | |
n.沼泽,湿地 | |
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10 chapel | |
n.小教堂,殡仪馆 | |
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11 pretensions | |
自称( pretension的名词复数 ); 自命不凡; 要求; 权力 | |
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12 oblique | |
adj.斜的,倾斜的,无诚意的,不坦率的 | |
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13 wedlock | |
n.婚姻,已婚状态 | |
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14 cavalry | |
n.骑兵;轻装甲部队 | |
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15 garrison | |
n.卫戍部队;驻地,卫戍区;vt.派(兵)驻防 | |
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16 artillery | |
n.(军)火炮,大炮;炮兵(部队) | |
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17 infantry | |
n.[总称]步兵(部队) | |
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18 complimentary | |
adj.赠送的,免费的,赞美的,恭维的 | |
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19 orphan | |
n.孤儿;adj.无父母的 | |
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20 retirement | |
n.退休,退职 | |
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21 depredation | |
n.掠夺,蹂躏 | |
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