The two lads, and they were very little more, were friends, in spite of the difference in their upbringing, for there are few distinctions between caste and caste in that country where manhood is still esteemed6 the greatest thing, and the primitive7 virtues8 count for more than wealth or intellect. Courage and endurance still command respect in the new Northwest, and that both the lads possessed9 them was made evident by the fact that they were troopers of the Northwest police, a force of splendid cavalry10 whose duty it is to patrol the wilderness11 at all seasons and in all weathers, under scorching12 sun and in blinding snow.
The men who keep the peace of the prairie are taught what heat and thirst are, when they ride in couples through a desolate13 waste wherein there is only bitter water, parched14 by pitiless sunrays and whitened by the intolerable dust of alkali. They also discover just how much cold the human frame can endure, when they lie down with only the stars above them, long leagues from the nearest outpost, in a trench15 scooped16 in the snow, and they know how near one may come to suffocation17 and yet live through the grass fires' blinding smoke. It happens now and then that two who have answered to the last roster19 in the icy darkness do not awaken20 when the lingering dawn breaks across the great white waste, and only the coyote knows their resting-place, but the watch and ward21 is kept, and the lonely settler dwells as safe in the wilderness as he would in an English town.
Trooper Shannon was an Irishman from the bush of Ontario; Trooper Payne, English, and a scion22 of a somewhat distinguished23 family in the old country, but while he told nobody why he left it suddenly, nobody thought of asking him. He was known to be a bold rider and careful of his beast, and that was sufficient for his comrades and the keen-eyed Sergeant24 Stimson. He glanced at his companion thoughtfully as he said, "She was a pretty girl. You knew her in Ontario?"
Shannon's hands trembled a little. "Sure," he said. "Larry's place was just a mile beyont our clearing, an' there was never a bonnier thing than Ailly Blake came out from the old country--but is it need there is for talking when ye've seen her? There was once I watched her smile at ye with the black eyes that would have melted the heart out of any man. Waking and sleeping they're with me still."
Three generations of the Shannons had hewn the lonely clearing further into the bush of Ontario and married the daughters of the soil, but the Celtic strain, it was evident, had not run out yet. Payne, however, came of English stock, and expressed himself differently.
"It was a--shame," he said. "Of course he flung her over. I think you saw him, Pat?"
Shannon's face grew grayer, and he quivered visibly as his passion shook him, while Payne felt his own blood pulse faster as he remembered the graceful25 dark-eyed girl who had given him and his comrade many a welcome meal when their duty took them near her brother's homestead. That was, however, before one black day for Ailly and Larry Blake when Lance Courthorne also rode that way.
"Yes," said the lad from Ontario, "I was driving in for the stores when I met him in the willow26 bluff27, an' Courthorne pulls his divil of a black horse up with as little ugly smile on the lips of him when I swung the wagon28 right across the trail.
"'That's not civil, trooper,' says he.
"'I'm wanting a word,' says I, with the black hate choking me at the sight of him. 'What have ye done with Ailly?'
"'Is it anything to you?' says he.
"'It's everything,' says I. 'And if ye will not tell me I'll tear it out of ye.'
"Courthorne laughs a little, but I saw the divil in his eyes. 'I don't think you're quite man enough,' says he, sitting very quiet on the big black horse. 'Any way, I can't tell you where she is just now because she left the dancing saloon she was in down in Montana when I last saw her.'
"I had the big whip that day, and I forgot everything as I heard the hiss29 of it round my shoulder. It came home across the ugly face of him, and then I flung it down and grabbed the carbine as he swung the black around with one hand fumbling30 in his jacket. It came out empty, an' we sat there a moment, the two of us, Courthorne white as death, his eyes like burning coals, and the fingers of me trembling on the carbine. Sorrow on the man that he hadn't a pistol or I'd have sent the black soul of him to the divil it came from."
The lad panted, and Payne, who had guessed at his hopeless devotion to the girl who had listened to Courthorne, made a gesture of disapproval31 that was tempered by sympathy. It was for her sake, he fancied, Shannon had left the Ontario clearing and followed Larry Blake to the West.
"I'm glad he hadn't, Pat," said Payne. "What was the end of it?"
"I remembered," said the other with a groan32, "remembered I was Trooper Shannon, an' dropped the carbine into the wagon. Courthorne wheels the black horse round, an' I saw the red line across the face of him."
"'You'll be sorry for this, my lad,' says he."
"He's a dangerous man," Payne said, thoughtfully. "Pat, you came near being a ---- ass18 that day. Any way, it's time we went in, and as Larry's here I shouldn't wonder if we saw Courthorne again before the morning."
The icy cold went through them to the bone as they left the stables, and it was a relief to enter the loghouse which was heated to fustiness by the glowing stove. A lamp hung from a rough birch beam, and its uncertain radiance showed motionless figures wrapped in blankets in the bunks33 round the walls. Two men were, however, dressing34, and one already in uniform sat at a table talking to another swathed in furs, who was from his appearance a prairie farmer. The man at the table was lean and weather-bronzed, with grizzled hair and observant eyes. They were fixed35 steadily36 upon the farmer, who knew that very little which happened upon the prairie escaped the vigilance of Sergeant Stimson.
"It's straight talk you're giving me, Larry? What do you figure on making by it?" he said.
The farmer laughed mirthlessly, "Not much, any way, beyond the chance of getting a bullet in me back; or me best steer37 lifted one dark night, 'Tis not forgiving the rustlers are, and Courthorne's the divil," he said. "But listen now, Sergeant, I've told ye where he is, and if ye're not fit to corral him I'll ride him down meself."
Sergeant Stimson wrinkled his forehead. "If anybody knows what they're after, it should be you," he said, watching the man out of the corner of his eyes. "Still, I'm a little worried as to why, when you'll get nothing for it, you're anxious to serve the State."
The farmer clenched38 a big hand. "Sergeant, you that knows everything, will ye drive me mad--an' to ---- with the State!" he said. "Sure, it's gospel I'm telling ye, an', as you're knowing well, it's me could tell where the boys who ride at midnight drop many a keg. Well, if ye will have your reason, it was Courthorne who put the black shame on me an' mine."
Sergeant Stimson nodded, for he had already suspected this.
"Then," he said dryly, "we'll give you a chance of helping39 us to put the handcuffs on him. Now, because they wouldn't risk the bridge, and the ice is not thick yet everywhere, there are just two ways they could bring the stuff across, and I figure we'd be near the thing if we fixed on Graham's Pool. Still, Courthorne's no kind of fool, and just because that crossing seems the likeliest he might try the other one. You're ready for duty, Trooper Payne?"
The lad stood straight. "I can turn out in ten minutes, sir," he said.
"Then," and Sergeant Stimson raised his voice a trifle, "you will ride at once to the rise a league outside the settlement, and watch the Montana trail. Courthorne will probably be coming over from Winston's soon after you get there, riding the big black, and you'll keep out of sight and follow him. If he heads for Carson's Crossing, ride for Graham's at a gallop40, where you'll find me with the rest. If he makes for the bridge, you will overtake him if you can and find out what he's after. It's quite likely he'll tell you nothing, and you will not arrest him, but bearing in mind that every minute he spends there will be a loss to the rustlers you'll keep him as long as you can. Trooper Shannon, you'll ride at once to the bluff above Graham's Pool and watch the trail. Stop any man who rides that way, and if it's Courthorne keep him until the rest of the boys come up with me. You've got your duty quite straight, both of you?"
The lads saluted41, and went out, while the sergeant smiled a little as he glanced at the farmer and the men who were dressing.
"It's steep chances we'll have Mr. Courthorne's company to-morrow, boys," he said. "Fill up the kettle, Tom, and serve out a pint42 of coffee. There are reasons why we shouldn't turn out too soon. We'll saddle in an hour or so."
Two of the men went out, and the stinging blast that swept in through the open door smote43 a smoky smear44 across the blinking lamp and roused a sharper crackling from the stove. Then one returned with the kettle and there was silence, when the fusty heat resumed its sway. Now and then a tired trooper murmured in his sleep, or there was a snapping in the stove, while the icy wind moaned about the building and the kettle commenced a soft sibilation, but nobody moved or spoke45. Three shadowy figures in uniform sat just outside the light, soaking in the grateful warmth while they could, for they knew that they might spend the next night unsheltered from the arctic cold of the wilderness. The Sergeant sat with thoughtful eyes and wrinkled forehead, where the flickering46 radiance forced up his lean face and silhouetted47 his spare outline on the rough boarding behind him, and close by the farmer sucked silently at his pipe, waiting with a stony48 calm that sprang from fierce impatience49 the reckoning with the man who had brought black shame upon him.
It was about this time when Winston stood shivering a little with the bridle50 of a big black horse in his hand just outside the door of his homestead. A valise and two thick blankets were strapped51 to the saddle, and he had donned the fur cap and coat Courthorne usually wore. Courthorne himself stood close by smiling at him sardonically52.
"If you keep the cap down and ride with your stirrups long, as I've fixed them, anybody would take you for me," said he. "Go straight through the settlement, and let any man you come across see you. His testimony53 would come in useful if Stimson tries to fix a charge on me. You know your part of the bargain. You're to be Lance Courthorne for a fortnight from to-day."
"Yes," said Winston dryly. "I wish I was equally sure of yours."
Courthorne laughed. "I'm to be rancher Winston until to-morrow night, any way. Don't worry about me. I'll borrow those books of yours and improve my mind. Possible starvation is the only thing that threatens me, and it's unfortunate you've left nothing fit to eat behind you."
Winston swung himself into the saddle, a trifle awkwardly, for Courthorne rode with longer stirrup leathers than he was accustomed to, then he raised one hand, and the other man laughed a little as he watched him sink into the darkness of the shadowy prairie. When the drumming of hoofs55 was lost in the moaning of the wind he strode towards the stable, and taking up the lantern surveyed Winston's horse thoughtfully.
"The thing cuts with both edges, and the farmer only sees one of them," he said. "That beast's about as difficult to mistake as my black is."
Then he returned to the loghouse, and presently put on Winston's old fur coat and tattered56 fur cap. Had Winston seen his unpleasant smile as he did it, he would probably have wheeled the black horse and returned at a gallop, but the farmer was sweeping57 across the waste of whitened grass at least a league away by this time. Now and then a half-moon blinked down between wisps of smoky cloud, but for the most part gray dimness hung over the prairie, and the drumming of hoofs rang stridently through the silence. Winston knew a good horse, and had bred several of them--before a blizzard58 which swept the prairie killed off his finest yearlings as well as their pedigree sire--and his spirits rose as the splendid beast swung into faster stride beneath him.
For two weeks at least he would be free from anxiety, and the monotony of his life at the lonely homestead had grown horribly irksome. Winston was young, and now, when for a brief space he had left his cares behind, the old love of adventure which had driven him out from England once more awakened59 and set his blood stirring. For the first time in six years of struggle he did not know what lay before him, and he had a curious, half-instinctive feeling that the trait he was traveling would lead him farther than Montana. It was borne in upon him that he had left the old hopeless life behind, and stirred by some impulse he broke into a little song he had sung in England and long forgotten. He had a clear voice, and the words, which were filled with the hope of youth, rang bravely through the stillness of the frozen wilderness until the horse blundered, and Winston stopped with a little smile.
"It's four long years since I felt as I do to-night," he said.
Then he drew bridle and checked the horse as the lights of the settlement commenced to blink ahead, for the trail was rutted deep and frozen into the likeness60 of adamant61, but when the first frame houses flung tracks of yellow radiance across the whitened grass he dropped his left arm a trifle, and rode in at a canter as he had seen Courthorne do. Winston did not like Courthorne, but he meant to keep his bargain.
As he passed the hotel more slowly a man who came out called to him. "Hello, Lance! Taking the trail?" he said. "Well, it kind of strikes me it's time you did. One of Stimson's boys was down here, and he seemed quite anxious about you."
Winston knew the man, and was about to urge the horse forward, but in place of it drew bridle, and laughed with a feeling that was wholly new to him as he remembered that his neighbors now and then bantered62 him about his English, and that Courthorne only used the Western colloquialism63 when it suited him.
"Sergeant Stimson is an enterprising officer, but there are as keen men as he is," he said. "You will, in case he questions you, remember when you met me."
"Oh, yes," said the other. "Still, I wouldn't fool too much with him--and where did you get those mittens64 from? That's the kind of outfit65 that would suit Winston."
Winston nodded, for though he had turned his face from the light the hand he held the bridle with was visible, and his big fur gloves were very old.
"They are his. The fact is, I've just come from his place," he said. "Well, you can tell Stimson you saw me starting out on the Montana trail."
He shook the bridle, laughed softly as the frame houses flitted by, and then grew intent when the darkness of the prairie once more closed down. It was, he knew, probable that some of Stimson's men would be looking out for him, and he had not sufficient faith in Courthorne's assurances to court an encounter with them.
The lights had faded, and the harsh grass was crackling under the drumming hoofs when the blurred66 outline of a mounted man showed up on the crest67 of a rise, and a shout came down.
"Hello! Pull up there a moment, stranger."
There was nothing alarming in the greeting, but Winston recognized the ring of command, as well as the faint jingle68 of steel which had preceded it, and pressed his heels home. The black swung forward faster, and Winston glancing over his shoulder saw the dusky shape was now moving down the incline. Then the voice rose again more commandingly.
"Pull up, I want a talk with you."
Winston turned his head a moment, and remembering Courthorne's English flung back the answer, "Sorry I haven't time."
The faint musical jingle grew plainer, there was a thud of hoofs behind, and the curious exhilaration returned to Winston as the big black horse stretched out at a gallop. The soil was hard as granite69, but the matted grasses formed a covering that rendered fast riding possible to a man who took the risks, and Winston knew there were few horses in the Government service to match the one he rode. Still, it was evident that the trooper meant to overtake him, and recollecting70 his compact he tightened71 his grip on the bridle. It was a long way to the ranch54 where he was to spend the night, and he knew that the further he drew the trooper on, the better it would suit Courthorne.
So they swept on through the darkness over the empty waste, the trooper who was riding hard slowly creeping up behind. Still, Winston held the horse in until a glance over his shoulder showed him that there was less than a hundred yards between them, and he fancied he heard a portentous72 rattle73 as well as the thud of hoofs. It was not unlike that made by a carbine flung across the saddle. This suggested unpleasant possibilities, and he slackened his grip on the bridle. Then a breathless shout rang out, "Pull up or I'll fire."
Winston wondered if the threat was genuine or what is termed "bluff" in that country, but, as he had decided74 objections to being shot in the back to please Courthorne, sent his heels home. The horse shot forward beneath him, and, though no carbine flashed, the next backward glance showed him that the distance between him and the pursuer was drawing out, while when he stared ahead again the dark shape of willows75 or birches cut the sky-line. As they came back to him the drumming of hoofs swelled76 into a staccato roar, while presently the trail grew steep, and dark boughs77 swayed above him. In another few minutes something smooth and level flung back a blink of light, and the timbers of a wooden bridge rattled78 under his passage. Then he was racing79 upwards80 through the gloom of wind-dwarfed birches on the opposite side listening for the rattle behind him on the bridge, and after a struggle with the horse pulled him up smoking when he did not hear it.
There was a beat of hoofs across the river, but it was slower than when he had last heard it and grew momentarily less audible, and Winston laughed as he watched the steam of the horse and his own breath rise in a thin white cloud.
"The trooper has given it up, and now for Montana," he said.
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1
betokened
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| v.预示，表示( betoken的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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flickered
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| （通常指灯光）闪烁，摇曳( flicker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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draughts
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| n. <英>国际跳棋 | |
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pungent
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| adj.（气味、味道）刺激性的，辛辣的；尖锐的 | |
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peppermint
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| n.薄荷，薄荷油，薄荷糖 | |
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6
esteemed
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| adj.受人尊敬的v.尊敬( esteem的过去式和过去分词 )；敬重；认为；以为 | |
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primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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cavalry
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| n.骑兵；轻装甲部队 | |
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wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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scorching
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| adj. 灼热的 | |
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desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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parched
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| adj.焦干的；极渴的；v.（使）焦干 | |
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trench
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| n./v.(挖)沟，(挖)战壕 | |
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scooped
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| v.抢先报道( scoop的过去式和过去分词 )；（敏捷地）抱起；抢先获得；用铲[勺]等挖（洞等） | |
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suffocation
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| n.窒息 | |
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ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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roster
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| n.值勤表，花名册 | |
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awaken
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| vi.醒，觉醒；vt.唤醒，使觉醒，唤起，激起 | |
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ward
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| n.守卫，监护，病房，行政区，由监护人或法院保护的人（尤指儿童）；vt.守护，躲开 | |
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scion
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| n.嫩芽，子孙 | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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sergeant
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| n.警官，中士 | |
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graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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willow
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| n.柳树 | |
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bluff
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| v.虚张声势，用假象骗人；n.虚张声势，欺骗 | |
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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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hiss
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| v.发出嘶嘶声；发嘘声表示不满 | |
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fumbling
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| n. 摸索,漏接 v. 摸索,摸弄,笨拙的处理 | |
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disapproval
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| n.反对，不赞成 | |
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groan
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| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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bunks
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| n.（车、船等倚壁而设的）铺位( bunk的名词复数 )；空话，废话v.（车、船等倚壁而设的）铺位( bunk的第三人称单数 )；空话，废话 | |
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dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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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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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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steer
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| vt.驾驶，为…操舵；引导；vi.驾驶 | |
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clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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gallop
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| v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔；飞速发展 | |
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saluted
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| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的过去式和过去分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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pint
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| n.品脱 | |
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smote
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| v.猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去式 ) | |
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smear
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| v.涂抹；诽谤，玷污；n.污点；诽谤，污蔑 | |
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45
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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46
flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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silhouetted
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| 显出轮廓的，显示影像的 | |
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48
stony
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| adj.石头的，多石头的，冷酷的，无情的 | |
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impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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50
bridle
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| n.笼头，束缚；vt.抑制，约束；动怒 | |
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51
strapped
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| adj.用皮带捆住的，用皮带装饰的；身无分文的；缺钱；手头紧v.用皮带捆扎(strap的过去式和过去分词)；用皮带抽打；包扎；给…打绷带 | |
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52
sardonically
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| adv.讽刺地，冷嘲地 | |
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53
testimony
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| n.证词；见证，证明 | |
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54
ranch
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| n.大牧场，大农场 | |
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55
hoofs
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| n.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的名词复数 )v.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的第三人称单数 ) | |
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tattered
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| adj.破旧的，衣衫破的 | |
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sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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blizzard
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| n.暴风雪 | |
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awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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likeness
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| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
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adamant
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| adj.坚硬的，固执的 | |
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bantered
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| v.开玩笑，说笑，逗乐( banter的过去式和过去分词 )；（善意地）取笑，逗弄 | |
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colloquialism
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| n.俗话，白话，口语 | |
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64
mittens
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| 不分指手套 | |
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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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blurred
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| v.（使）变模糊( blur的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）难以区分；模模糊糊；迷离 | |
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crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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jingle
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| n.叮当声，韵律简单的诗句；v.使叮当作响，叮当响，押韵 | |
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granite
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| adj.花岗岩，花岗石 | |
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recollecting
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| v.记起，想起( recollect的现在分词 ) | |
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tightened
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| 收紧( tighten的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）变紧； （使）绷紧； 加紧 | |
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portentous
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| adj.不祥的，可怕的，装腔作势的 | |
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rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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willows
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| n.柳树( willow的名词复数 )；柳木 | |
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swelled
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| 增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
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boughs
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| 大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
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rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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racing
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| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
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upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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