This time it was his image in the mirror, meeting him as he turned. That deep wrinkle in the middle of the forehead was half erased3. The lips were neither compressed nor loose and shaking, and the eye was calm—it rested him to meet that glance in the mirror.
A mood of idle content always brings one to the window: Connor looked out on the street. A horseman hopped4 past like a day shadow, the hoofbeats muffled5 by thick sand, and the wind, moving at an exactly equal pace, carried a mist of dust just behind the horse's tail. Otherwise there was neither life nor color in the street of weather-beaten, low buildings, and the eye of Connor went beyond the roofs and began to climb the mountains. Here was a bald bright cliff, there a drift of trees, and again a surface of raw clay from which the upper soil had recently slipped; but these were not stopping points—they were rather the steps which led the glance to a sky of pale and transparent6 blue, and Connor felt a great desire to have that sky over him in place of a ceiling.
He splashed through a hasty bath, dressed, and ran down the stairs, humming. Jack7 Townsend stood on a box in the corner of the room, probing at a spider web in the corner.
"Too late for breakfast?" asked Connor.
The fat shoulders of the proprietor8 quivered, but he did not turn.
"Too late," he snapped. "Breakfast over at nine. No favorites up here."
Connor waited for the wave of irritation9 to rise in him, but to his own surprise he found himself saying:
"All right; you can't throw a good horse off his feed by cutting out one meal."
Jack Townsend faced his guest, rubbing his many-folded chin.
"I'll tell you what," said Connor. "It isn't the air so much; it's the people that do a fellow good."
"Well," admitted the proprietor modestly, "they may be something in that. Kind of heartier13 out here, ain't they? More than in the city, I guess. I'll tell you what," he added. "I'll go out and speak to the missus about a snack for you. It's late, but we like to be obligin'."
He climbed carefully down from the box and started away.
"That girl again," thought Connor, and snapped his fingers. His spirits continued to rise, if that were possible, during the breakfast of ham and eggs, and coffee of a taste so metallic14 that only a copious15 use of cream made it drinkable. Jack Townsend, recovering to the full his customary good nature, joined his guest in a huge piece of toast with a layer of ham on it—simply to keep a stranger from eating alone, he said—and while he ate he talked about the race. Connor had noticed that the lobby was almost empty.
"They're over lookin' at the hosses," said Townsend, "and gettin' their bets down."
Connor laid down knife and fork, and resumed them hastily, but thereafter his interest in his food was entirely16 perfunctory. From the corner of his eye a gleam kept steadily17 upon the face of Townsend, who continued:
"Speaking personal, Mr. Connor, I'd like to have you look over them hosses yourself."
"Because," continued Townsend, "if I had your advice I might get down a little stake on one of 'em. You see?"
"Who told you I know anything about horses?" he asked.
"You told me yourself," grinned the proprietor, "and I'd like to figure how you knew the mare21 come from the Ballor Valley."
"From which?"
"From the Ballor Valley. You even named the irrigation and sand and all that. But you'd seen her brand before, I s'pose?"
"Hoofs22 like hers never came out of these mountains," smiled Ben Connor. "See the way she throws them and how flat they are."
"Well, that's true," nodded Jack Townsend. "It seems simple, now you say what it was, but it had me beat up to now. That is the way with most things. Take a fine hand with a rope. He daubs it on a cow so dead easy any fool thinks he can do the same. No, Mr. Connor, I'd still like to have you come out and take a look at them hosses. Besides"—he lowered his voice—"you might pick up a bit of loose change yourself. They's a plenty rolling round to-day."
Connor laughed, but there was excitement behind his mirth.
"Sure—sure," said the hotel man. "I know all that. Well, if you're dead set it ain't hardly Christian24 to lure25 you into betting on a hoss race, I suppose."
He munched26 at his sandwich in savage27 silence, while Connor looked out the window and began to whistle.
"They race very often up here?" he asked carelessly.
"Once in a while."
"A pleasant sport," sighed Connor.
"Ain't it, now?" argued Townsend. "But these gents around here take it so serious that it don't last long."
"That so?"
"Yep. They bet every last dollar they can rake up, and about the second or third race in the year the money's all pooled in two or three pockets. Then the rest go gunnin' for trouble, and most generally find a plenty. Any six races that's got up around here is good for three shooting scrapes, and each shooting's equal to one corpse28 and half a dozen put away for repairs." He touched his forehead, marked with a white line. "I used to be considerable," he said.
"H-m," murmured Connor, grown absentminded again.
"Yes, sir," went on the other. "I've seen the boys come in from the mines with enough dust to choke a mule29, and slap it all down on the hoss. I've seen twenty thousand cold bucks30 lost and won on a dinky little pinto that wasn't worth twenty dollars hardly. That's how crazy they get."
Connor wiped his forehead.
"Where do they race?" he asked.
"Right down Washington Avenue. That is the main street, y'see. Gives 'em about half a mile of runnin'."
A cigarette appeared with magic speed between the fingers of Connor, and he began to smoke, with deep inhalations, expelling his breath so strongly that the mist shot almost to the ceiling before it flattened31 into a leisurely32 spreading cloud. Townsend, fascinated, seemed to have forgotten all about the horse race, but there was in Connor a suggestion of new interest, a certain businesslike coldness.
"That's the talk!" exclaimed Townsend. "And I'll take any tip you have!"
This made Connor look at his host narrowly, but, dismissing a suspicion from his mind, he shrugged35 his shoulders, and they went out together.
The conclave36 of riders and the betting public had gathered at the farther end of the street, and it included the majority of Lukin. Only the center of the street was left religiously clear, and in this space half a dozen men led horses up and down with ostentatious indifference37, stopping often to look after cinches which they had already tested many times. As Connor came up he saw a group of boys place their wagers38 with a stakeholder—knives, watches, nickels and dimes39. That was a fair token of the spirit of the crowd. Wherever Connor looked he saw hands raised, brandishing40 greenbacks, and for every raised hand there were half a dozen clamorous41 voices.
"Quite a bit of sporting blood in Lukin, eh?" suggested Townsend.
"Sure," sighed Connor. He looked at the brandished42 money. "A field of wheat," he murmured, "waiting for the reaper43. That's me."
He turned to see his companion pull out a fat wallet.
Connor observed him with a smile that tucked up the corners of his mouth.
"Wait a while, friend. Plenty of time to get stung where the ponies are concerned. We'll look them over."
Townsend began to chatter45 in his ear: "It's between Charlie Haig's roan and Cliff Jones's Lightning—You see that bay? Man, he can surely get across the ground. But the roan ain't so bad. Oh, no!"
"Sure they are."
The gambler frowned. "I was about to say that there was only one horse in the race, but—" He shook his head despairingly as he looked over the riders. He was hunting automatically for the fleshless face and angular body of a jockey; among them all Charlie Haig came the closest to this light ideal. He was a sun-dried fellow, but even Charlie must have weighed well over a hundred and forty pounds; the others made no pretensions46 toward small poundage, and Cliff Jones must have scaled two hundred.
"Which was the one hoss in your eyes?" asked the hotel man eagerly.
"The gray. But with that weight up the little fellow will be anchored."
"Less than fifteen hands," continued Connor, "and a hundred and eighty pounds to break his back. It isn't a race; it's murder to enter a horse handicapped like that."
"The gray?" repeated Jack Townsend, and he glanced from the corner of his eyes at his companion, as though he suspected mockery. "I never seen the gray before," he went on. "Looks sort of underfed, eh?"
Connor apparently48 did not hear. He had raised his head and his nostrils49 trembled, so that Townsend did not know whether the queer fellow was about to break into laughter or a trade.
"Yet," muttered Connor, "he might carry it. God, what a horse!"
He still looked at the gelding, and Townsend rubbed his eyes and stared to make sure that he had not overlooked some possibilities in the gelding. But he saw again only a lean-ribbed pony50 with a long neck and a high croup. The horse wheeled, stepping as clumsily as a gangling51 yearling. Townsend's amazement52 changed to suspicion and then to indifference.
Connor made no answer. He stepped up to the owner of the gray, a swarthy man of Indian blood. His half sleepy, half sullen54 expression cleared when Connor shook hands and introduced himself as a lover of fast horse-flesh.
He even congratulated the Indian on owning so fine a specimen55, at which apparently subtle mockery Townsend, in the rear, set his teeth to keep from smiling; and the big Indian also frowned, to see if there were any hidden insult. But Connor had stepped back and was looking at the forelegs of the gelding.
But his last shred59 of suspicion disappeared as Connor, working his fingers along the shoulder muscles of the animal, smiled with pleasure and admiration60.
"My name's Bert Sims," said the Indian, "and I'm glad to know you. Most of the boys in Lukin think my hoss ain't got a chance in this race."
"I think they're right," answered Connor without hesitation61.
The eyes of the Indian flashed.
"I think you're putting fifty pounds too much weight on him," explained Connor.
"Yeh?"
"Can't another man ride your horse?"
"Anybody can ride him."
"Then let that fellow yonder—that youngster—have the mount. I'll back the gray to the bottom of my pocket if you do."
"I wouldn't feel hardly natural seeing another man on him," said the Indian. "If he's rode I'll do the riding. I've done it for fifteen years."
"What?"
"Fifteen years."
"Is that horse fifteen years old?" asked Connor, prepared to smile.
"He is eighteen," answered Bert Sims quietly.
The gambler cast a quick glance at Sims and a longer one at the gray. He parted the lips of the horse, and then cursed softly.
"You're right," said Connor. "He is eighteen."
He was frowning in deadly earnestness now.
"Accident, I suppose?"
The Indian merely stared at him.
"Is the horse a strain of blood or an accident? What's his breed?"
"He's an Eden gray."
"Are there more like him?"
"The valley's full of 'em, they say," answered Bert Sims.
"What valley?" snapped the gambler.
"I ain't been in it. If I was I wouldn't talk."
"Why not?"
In reply Sims rolled the yellow-stained whites of his eyes slowly toward his interlocutor. He did not turn his head, but a smile gradually began on his lips and spread to a sinister62 hint at mirth. It put a grim end to the conversation, and Connor turned reluctantly to Townsend. The latter was clamoring.
"They're getting ready for the start. Are you betting on that runt of a gray?"
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收听单词发音
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1
doom
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| n.厄运，劫数；v.注定，命定 | |
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2
numbness
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| n.无感觉，麻木，惊呆 | |
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3
erased
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| v.擦掉( erase的过去式和过去分词 )；抹去；清除 | |
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4
hopped
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| 跳上[下]( hop的过去式和过去分词 )； 单足蹦跳； 齐足（或双足）跳行； 摘葎草花 | |
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5
muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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6
transparent
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| adj.明显的，无疑的；透明的 | |
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7
jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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8
proprietor
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| n.所有人；业主；经营者 | |
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9
irritation
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| n.激怒，恼怒，生气 | |
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10
brace
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| n. 支柱,曲柄,大括号; v. 绷紧,顶住,(为困难或坏事)做准备 | |
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11
pointedly
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| adv.尖地，明显地 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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13
heartier
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| 亲切的( hearty的比较级 )； 热诚的； 健壮的； 精神饱满的 | |
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14
metallic
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| adj.金属的；金属制的；含金属的；产金属的；像金属的 | |
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15
copious
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| adj.丰富的，大量的 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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18
verge
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| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
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morsel
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| n.一口，一点点 | |
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halfway
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| adj.中途的，不彻底的，部分的；adv.半路地，在中途，在半途 | |
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21
mare
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| n.母马，母驴 | |
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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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racing
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| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
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24
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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lure
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| n.吸引人的东西，诱惑物；vt.引诱，吸引 | |
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26
munched
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| v.用力咀嚼（某物），大嚼( munch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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27
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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28
corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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mule
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| n.骡子，杂种，执拗的人 | |
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30
bucks
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| n.雄鹿( buck的名词复数 )；钱；（英国十九世纪初的）花花公子；（用于某些表达方式）责任v.（马等）猛然弓背跃起( buck的第三人称单数 )；抵制；猛然震荡；马等尥起后蹄跳跃 | |
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31
flattened
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| [医]（水）平扁的，弄平的 | |
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leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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ponies
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| 矮种马，小型马( pony的名词复数 )； ￡25 25 英镑 | |
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queried
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| v.质疑，对…表示疑问( query的过去式和过去分词 )；询问 | |
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35
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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36
conclave
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| n.秘密会议，红衣主教团 | |
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37
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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38
wagers
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| n.赌注，用钱打赌( wager的名词复数 )v.在（某物）上赌钱，打赌( wager的第三人称单数 )；保证，担保 | |
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39
dimes
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| n.（美国、加拿大的）10分铸币( dime的名词复数 ) | |
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40
brandishing
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| v.挥舞( brandish的现在分词 )；炫耀 | |
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41
clamorous
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| adj.吵闹的，喧哗的 | |
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42
brandished
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| v.挥舞( brandish的过去式和过去分词 )；炫耀 | |
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43
reaper
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| n.收割者，收割机 | |
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44
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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45
chatter
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| vi.／n.喋喋不休；短促尖叫；(牙齿)打战 | |
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46
pretensions
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| 自称( pretension的名词复数 )； 自命不凡； 要求； 权力 | |
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47
hip
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| n.臀部，髋；屋脊 | |
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48
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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49
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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50
pony
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| adj.小型的；n.小马 | |
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51
gangling
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| adj.瘦长得难看的 | |
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52
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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53
covertly
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| adv.偷偷摸摸地 | |
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54
sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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55
specimen
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| n.样本，标本 | |
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56
exultantly
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| adv.狂欢地，欢欣鼓舞地 | |
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57
cannon
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| n.大炮，火炮；飞机上的机关炮 | |
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58
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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59
shred
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| v.撕成碎片，变成碎片；n.碎布条，细片，些少 | |
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60
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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61
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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62
sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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