The first day went quickly enough. At sunrise Gary and the spotted3 cat searched the bluff4 where the voice had called beseechingly5 in the night. Gary carried a two-quart canteen filled with water, knowing that a man who has lain injured all night will have a maddening thirst by morning.
At noon he sat on a bowlder just under the rim rock, helped himself to a long drink from the canteen and stared disheartened down into the cañon. He was hoarse6 from shouting, but not so much as a whisper had he got in reply. The spotted cat had given up in disgust long ago and gone off on business of her own. He was willing to swear that he had covered every foot of that hillside, and probably he had, very nearly. And he had found no trace of any man, living or dead.
He slid off the bowlder and went picking his way down the steep bluff to the cabin. A humane7 impulse had sent him out as soon as he opened his eyes that morning. He was half-starved and more nearly exhausted8 than he had ever been after a hard day’s work doing “stunts” for the movies.
Now and then he looked up the cañon to where Pat’s alfalfa field lay, a sumptuous9 patch of deep green, like an emerald set deep in some dull metal. Nearer the cabin were the rows of potato plants which Monty had mentioned. There was a corral, too, just beyond a clump10 of trees behind the cabin. And from the head of the cañon to the mouth he could glimpse here and there the twisted thread of Johnnywater Creek11.
By the time he had cooked and eaten breakfast and lunch together, and had fed the chickens, and located the whereabouts of two pigs whose grunting12 came to him from the bushes, the afternoon was well gone. And, on the whole, it had not gone so badly; except that he rather resented his fruitless search for a man who had shouted in the night and then disappeared.
“Drunk, maybe,” Gary finally dismissed the subject from his mind. “He sure as heck couldn’t be hurt so bad, if he was able to get out of the cañon in the dark. It’ll be something to tell about when I get back. I’ll ask Monty what he thinks about it, to-morrow.”
But he didn’t ask Monty. He rather expected that Monty would be along rather early in the forenoon, and he was ready by nine o’clock. He had filled the feed box for the chickens, had given the cat a farewell talk, and locked his pyjamas13 into his suit case. The rest of the day he spent in waiting.
One bit of movie training helped him now. By the time an actor has reached stardom, he knows how to sit and wait; doing nothing, thinking nothing in particular, gossiping a little, perhaps, but waiting always. Gary had many a time sat around killing14 time for hours at a stretch, that he might work for fifteen minutes on a scene. Waiting for Monty, then, was not such a hardship that second day.
But when the third day and the fourth and the fifth had gone, Gary began to register impatience15 and concern. He walked down the cañon and out upon the trail as far as was practical, half hoping that he might see some chance traveler. But the whole world seemed to be empty and waiting, with a still patience that placed no limit upon its quiescent16 expectancy17.
Steeped in that desert magic which makes beautiful all distances, the big land shamed him somehow and sent him back into the cañon in a better frame of mind. Any trivial thing could have delayed Monty Girard. It was slightly comforting to know that the big world out there was smiling under the sky.
He was sitting at supper just after sundown that evening when a strange thing happened. The spotted cat—Gary by this time was calling her Faith because of her trustful disposition—was squatted18 on all fours beside the table, industriously19 lapping a saucer of condensed milk. For the want of more human companionship, Gary was joking with the cat, which responded now and then with a slight wave of her tail.
“You’re the only thing I like about the whole darn outfit,” Gary was saying. “I don’t remember your being mentioned in the deed, so I think I’ll just swipe you when I go. As a souvenir. Only I don’t know what the heck I’ll do with you—give you to Pat, I reckon.”
Faith looked up with an amiable20 mew, but she did not look at Gary. Had a person been standing21 near the foot of the bunk22 six feet or so away, she would have been looking up into his face. She went back to lapping her milk, but Gary eyed her curiously23. There was something odd about that look and that friendly little remark of hers, but for the life of him he could not explain just what was wrong.
Once again, while Gary watched her, the cat looked up at that invisible point the height of a man from the floor. She finished her milk, licked her lips satisfiedly and got up. She glanced at Gary, glanced again toward the bunk, arched her back, walked deliberately24 over and curved her body against nothing at all, purring her contented25 best.
Gary watched her with a contraction26 of the scalp on the back of his head. Faith stood there for a moment rubbing her side against empty air, looked up inquiringly, came over and jumped upon Gary’s knee. There she tucked her feet under her, folded her tail close to her curiously mottled fur and settled herself for a good, purry little nap. Now and then she opened her eyes to look toward the bunk, her manner indifferent.
“The cat’s got ’em, too,” Gary told himself—but it is significant that he did not speak the words aloud as he had been doing those five days, just to combat the awful stillness of the cañon.
He stared intently toward the place where the cat had stood arching her body and purring. There was nothing there, so far as Gary could see. But slowly, as he stared toward the place, a mental picture formed in his mind.
He pictured to himself a man whom he had never seen; a tall, lean man with shoulders slightly stooped and a face seamed by rough weather and hard living more than with the years he had lived. The man was, Gary guessed, in his late forties. His eyes were a keen blue, his mouth thin-lipped and firm. Gary felt that if he removed the stained gray hat he wore, he would reveal a small bald spot on the crown of his head. Over one eye was a jagged scar. Another puckered27 the skin on his left cheek bone. He was dressed in gray flannel28 shirt and khaki overalls29 tucked into high, laced boots.
Gary visualized30 him as being the man who had built this cabin. He thought that he was picturing Waddell, and it occurred to him that Waddell might have been mining a little in Johnnywater Cañon. The man he was mentally visualizing31 seemed to be of the type of miner who goes prospecting32 through the desert. And Johnnywater Cañon certainly held mineral possibilities, if one were to judge by the rock formation and the general look of the cañon walls.
Gary himself had once known something about minerals, his dad having sent him to take a course in mineralogy at Denver with a view to making of his son a respectable mining engineer. Gary had spent two years in the school and almost two years doing field work for practice, and had shown a certain aptitude33 for the profession. But Mills, the motion-picture director, had taken a company into Arizona where Gary was making a report on the minerals of a certain district, and Gary had been weaned away from mines. Now, he was so saturated34 in studio ideals and atmosphere that he had almost forgotten he had ever owned another ambition than to become a star with a company of his own.
Well, this man then—the man about whom he found himself thinking so intently—must have found something here in the cañon. He did not know why he believed it, but he began to think that Waddell had found gold; though it was not, properly speaking, a gold country. But Gary remembered to have noticed a few pieces of porphyry float on the bluff the morning that he had spent in looking for the man who shouted in the night. The float might easily be gold-bearing. Gary had not examined it, since he had been absorbed in another matter. It is only the novice35 who becomes excited and builds air castles over a piece of float.
Gary turned his head abruptly36 and looked back, exactly as he would have done had a man approached and stood at his shoulder. He was conscious of a slight feeling of surprise that the man of whom he was thinking did not stand there beside him.
“I’ll be getting ’em too, if I don’t look out,” he snorted, and dumped the mottled cat unceremoniously on the floor.
It has been said by many that thoughts are things. Certainly Gary’s thoughts that evening seemed live things. While he was washing the dishes and sweeping37 the cabin floor, he more than once glanced up, expecting to see the man who looked like a miner. The picture he had conjured38 seemed a living personality, unseen, unheard, but nevertheless present there in the cabin.
Gary was an essentially39 practical young man, not much given to fanciful imaginings. He did not believe in anything to which one may permissibly40 attach the word psychic41. Imagination of a sort he had possessed42 since he was a youngster, and stories he could weave with more or less originality43. He did not, therefore, run amuck44 in a maze45 of futile46 conjecturing47. He believed in hunches48, and there his belief stopped short, satisfied to omit explanations.
That night fell pitch black, with inky clouds pushing out over the rim rock and a wind from the west that bellowed49 across the cañon and whipped the branches of the pines near the cabin. Above the clouds played the lightning, the glare of it seeping50 through between the folds and darting51 across small open spaces.
Gary sat in the doorway52 watching the clouds with the lightning darting through. True to his type and later training, he was thinking what a wonderful storm scene it would make in a picture. And then, without warning, he heard a voice shouting a loud halloo from the bluff. Again it called, and ended with a wail53 of pain.
Gary started. He turned his face to the cañon side and listened, deep lines between his eyebrows54. It was almost a week since he had heard the call, and it did not seem natural that the man should be shouting again from the same point on the bluff. He had been so sure that the fellow, whoever he was, had left the cañon that first night. It was absolutely illogical that he should return without coming near the cabin.
Gary got up and stood irresolute55 in the doorway. The voice was insistent56, calling again and again a summons difficult to resist.
“Hello-oo-ooh! Hello-oo-ooh!” called the voice.
Gary cupped his hands around his mouth to reply, then hesitated and dropped them to his side. He turned to go in for the lantern and abandoned that idea also. On that first night he had answered repeatedly the call and had searched gropingly amongst the bowlders and ledges57. His trouble had gone for nothing, and Gary could think of but one reason why he had failed to find the man: he believed the man had not wanted to be found, although there was no sense in that either. The stubborn streak58 in Gary dominated his actions now. He meant to find the fellow and have it out with him. He remembered Monty’s remark about Waddell imagining he heard things, and selling out in a hurry, his nerves gone to pieces. Probably the man up on the bluff could explain why Waddell left Johnnywater!
Gary crossed the creek during spurts59 of lightning, and made his way cautiously up the bluff. After spending a long forenoon there he knew his way fairly well and could negotiate ledges that had stopped him that first night. He went carefully, making himself as inconspicuous as possible. The voice kept shouting, with now and then a high note that almost amounted to a shriek60.
The storm broke, and Gary was drenched61 to the skin within five minutes. Flashes of lightning blinded him. He stumbled back down the bluff and reached the cabin, the storm beating upon him furiously. As he closed the door, the voice on the bluff shrieked62 at him, and Gary thought there was a mocking note in the call.
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1
spurt
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| v.喷出；突然进发；突然兴隆 | |
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rim
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| n.(圆物的)边，轮缘；边界 | |
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spotted
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| adj.有斑点的，斑纹的，弄污了的 | |
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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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beseechingly
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| adv. 恳求地 | |
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hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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7
humane
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| adj.人道的，富有同情心的 | |
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8
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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sumptuous
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| adj.豪华的，奢侈的，华丽的 | |
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10
clump
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| n.树丛，草丛；vi.用沉重的脚步行走 | |
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creek
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| n.小溪，小河，小湾 | |
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grunting
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| 咕哝的，呼噜的 | |
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pyjamas
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| n.（宽大的）睡衣裤 | |
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killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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quiescent
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| adj.静止的，不活动的，寂静的 | |
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17
expectancy
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| n.期望，预期，（根据概率统计求得）预期数额 | |
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18
squatted
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| v.像动物一样蹲下( squat的过去式和过去分词 )；非法擅自占用（土地或房屋）；为获得其所有权；而占用某片公共用地。 | |
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19
industriously
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20
amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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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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22
bunk
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| n.(车、船等倚壁而设的)铺位；废话 | |
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23
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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contraction
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| n.缩略词，缩写式，害病 | |
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puckered
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| v.（使某物）起褶子或皱纹( pucker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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28
flannel
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| n.法兰绒；法兰绒衣服 | |
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overalls
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| n.（复）工装裤；长罩衣 | |
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visualized
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| 直观的，直视的 | |
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visualizing
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| 肉眼观察 | |
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prospecting
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| n.探矿 | |
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aptitude
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| n.(学习方面的)才能，资质，天资 | |
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saturated
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| a.饱和的，充满的 | |
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novice
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| adj.新手的，生手的 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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38
conjured
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| 用魔术变出( conjure的过去式和过去分词 )； 祈求，恳求； 变戏法； （变魔术般地） 使…出现 | |
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39
essentially
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| adv.本质上，实质上，基本上 | |
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permissibly
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| 得到许可地，获准地 | |
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41
psychic
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| n.对超自然力敏感的人；adj.有超自然力的 | |
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42
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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43
originality
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| n.创造力，独创性；新颖 | |
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44
amuck
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| ad.狂乱地 | |
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45
maze
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| n.迷宫，八阵图，混乱，迷惑 | |
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46
futile
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| adj.无效的，无用的，无希望的 | |
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47
conjecturing
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| v. & n. 推测，臆测 | |
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48
hunches
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| 预感，直觉( hunch的名词复数 ) | |
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49
bellowed
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| v.发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的过去式和过去分词 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫 | |
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50
seeping
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| v.（液体）渗( seep的现在分词 )；渗透；渗出；漏出 | |
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51
darting
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的现在分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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52
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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53
wail
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| vt./vi.大声哀号，恸哭；呼啸，尖啸 | |
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54
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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55
irresolute
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| adj.无决断的，优柔寡断的，踌躇不定的 | |
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56
insistent
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| adj.迫切的，坚持的 | |
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57
ledges
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| n.（墙壁，悬崖等）突出的狭长部分( ledge的名词复数 )；（平窄的）壁架；横档；（尤指）窗台 | |
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58
streak
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| n.条理，斑纹，倾向，少许，痕迹；v.加条纹，变成条纹，奔驰，快速移动 | |
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59
spurts
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| 短暂而突然的活动或努力( spurt的名词复数 )； 突然奋起 | |
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60
shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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61
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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62
shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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