No mail had been forwarded to her from Los Angeles, and the utter silence served to deepen her general pessimism5. And then, an hour before closing time on the hottest day she had ever experienced in her life, here came the telegram for P. Connolly.
“Gary Marshall mysteriously missing from Johnnywater——” Patricia blinked and read again incredulously. The remainder of the message, “evidence points to foul6 play suspect Hawkins wire instructions” sounded to her suspiciously like one of Gary’s jokes. She was obliged to read the signature, “M. Girard,” over several times, and to make sure that it was sent from Las Vegas, Nevada, before she could even begin to accept the message as authentic7.
How in the world could Gary be mysteriously missing from Johnnywater when he had flatly refused to go there? How could Hawkins be suspected? P. Connolly went suddenly into a white, wilted8 heap in her chair.
When she opened her eyes the assistant bookkeeper was standing9 over her with a glass of water, and her boss was hurrying in from his office. Some one had evidently called him. Her boss was not the kind of man who wastes time on nonessentials. He did not ask Patricia if she were ill or what was the matter. He picked up the open telegram and read it with one long, comprehensive glance. Then he placed his hand under Patricia’s arm, told her that she was all right, that the heat did those things in Kansas City, and added the information that there was a breeze blowing in the corner window of his office. Patricia suffered him to lead her away from the gaping10 office force.
“Sit right there until you feel better,” her boss commanded, pushing her rather gently into a chair in the coolest corner of the room.
“I feel better now,” Patricia told him gamely. “I received a telegram that knocked me over for a minute. I didn’t know what it meant. If you don’t mind, Mr. Wilson, I should like to go and attend to the matter.”
Mr. Wilson handed her the telegram with a dry smile. “It sounds rather ominous11, I admit,” he observed, omitting an apology for having read it. “Naturally I cannot advise you, since I do not understand what it is all about. But if you wish to wire any instructions, just write your message here while I call the messenger. There was a delay, remember. The message was forwarded from Los Angeles.”
“Thank you, Mr. Wilson,” Patricia answered in her prim12 office tone. “I should like to reply at once, if you don’t mind. And, Mr. Wilson, if you will be so good as to O. K. a check for me, I shall take the next train to Las Vegas, Nevada.”
“I’ll ’phone for a ticket and reservations,” her boss announced without hesitation13. “You will want to be sure of having enough money to see you through, of course. I can arrange an advance on your salary, if you wish.”
Patricia told him, in not quite so prim a tone, that it would not be necessary. She wrote her message asking Monty Girard to wait until she arrived, as she was taking the next train. The messenger, warned by a certain look in the eye of the boss, ducked his head and departed almost running. Patricia wrote her check and the boss sent it to the cashier by the office boy; and telephoned the ticket office. Patricia read the telegram again very slowly.
“Johnnywater is the name of a cattle ranch14 which I happen to own in Nevada, Mr. Wilson,” Patricia said in the steadiest voice she could command. “Hawkins is a man I sent over to take charge of the ranch and run it on shares. You’ll see why I must go and look into this matter.” You will observe that Patricia, having come up gasping15 for breath, was still saying, “Scissors!” with secret relish16.
Even in her confused state of apprehension17, there was a certain gratification to Patricia in seeing that the boss was impressed by the fact that she owned a cattle ranch in Nevada. She was also glad that it had not been necessary to explain the identity of Gary Marshall. But immediately it became necessary.
“This Gary Marshall who disappeared; do you know him?”
“I’m engaged to marry him,” Patricia replied in as neutral a tone as she could manage. “I didn’t know he was at Johnnywater,” she added truthfully. “That’s why I thought it was a joke when I first read it. I still don’t understand how he could be there at all. He was playing the lead in a picture when I left Los Angeles.”
“You don’t mean Gary Marshall, the Western star?” The boss’s tone was distinctly exclamatory. Patricia saw that her engagement to Gary Marshall impressed the boss much more deeply than did her ownership of Johnnywater ranch. “That young man is going right to the top in pictures. He acts with his brains and forgets his good looks. Most of ’em do it the other way round. Why, I’d rather go and see Gary Marshall in a picture than any star I know! And you’re engaged to him! Well, well! I didn’t know, Miss Connolly, that I was so closely related to my favorite movie star. May I see that telegram again? Lord, I’d hate to think anything’d happened to that boy—but don’t you worry! If I’m not mistaken, he’s a lad that can take care of himself where most men would go under. By all means, go and see what’s wrong. And I wish, Miss Connolly, you’d wire me as soon as you find that everything is all right. You will find it all right—I’m absolutely positive on that point.”
Patricia cherished a deep respect for her boss. She felt suddenly convicted of a great wrong. She had never dreamed that a man with the keen, analytical18 mind of John S. Wilson could actually respect a fellow who worked in the movies. She left the office humbled19 and anxious to make amends20.
That evening the boss himself took her to the train and saw that she was comfortable, and spoke21 encouragingly of Gary’s ability to take care of himself, no matter what danger threatened. His encouragement, however, only served to alarm Patricia the more. She was a shrewd young woman, and she read deep concern in the mind of her boss, from the very fact that he had taken the pains to reassure22 her.
That night Gary dreamed that Steve Carson stood suddenly before him and spoke to him. He dreamed that Steve Carson told him he would not starve to death in there, for his sweetheart was coming with men who would dig him out.
Gary woke with the dream so vivid in his mind that he could scarcely reason himself out of the belief that Steve Carson had actually talked with him. Gary lay thinking of Sir Ernest Shackleton, of whose voyages to the Antarctic he had read again and again. He recalled how close Shackleton and his companions had shaved starvation, not from necessity, but from choice, in the interests of science. He tried to guess what Shackleton would do, were he in Gary’s predicament, with four candles and the stub of a fifth in his possession, and approximately two gallons of water.
“I bet he’d go strong for several days yet,” Gary whispered. “He’d cut the candles into little bits and eat one piece and call it a meal. And he’d figure out just how many wallops he could give that damned rock on the strength of his gorgeous feed of one inch of candle. And then, when he’d dined on the last wick and hit the rock a last wallop, he’d grin and say it had been a great game.” He turned painfully over upon the other side and laid his face upon his bent23 arm.
“Shackleton never was shut up in a hole a hundred miles from nowhere,” he murmured, “with nobody knowing a word about it but a pinto cat that’s crazy over spiritualism. If Shackleton was here, I bet he’d say, ‘Eat the candles, boy, and take your indigestion all at one time and finish the game.’ No use dragging out the suspense24 till the audience gets the gapes25. First time I ever starred in a story that had an unhappy ending. I didn’t think the Big Director would do it!”
He lay for a time dozing26 and trying to forget the terrible gnawing27 in his stomach. Then his thoughts wandered on and he mumbled28,
“I’m not kicking—if this is the way it’s supposed to be. But I did want Pat to have her gold mine. And now the location work is all covered up—so maybe it won’t count. And some other gink will maybe come along and jump the claim, and my Pat won’t get her gold mine. I guess it’s all right. But I didn’t think the Big Director would do this!”
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1
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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depressed
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| adj.沮丧的，抑郁的，不景气的，萧条的 | |
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enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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cyclone
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| n.旋风，龙卷风 | |
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pessimism
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| n.悲观者，悲观主义者，厌世者 | |
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6
foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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7
authentic
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| a.真的，真正的；可靠的，可信的，有根据的 | |
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wilted
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| （使）凋谢，枯萎( wilt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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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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10
gaping
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| adj.口的；张口的；敞口的；多洞穴的v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的现在分词 )；张开，张大 | |
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ominous
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| adj.不祥的，不吉的，预兆的，预示的 | |
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prim
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| adj.拘泥形式的，一本正经的；n.循规蹈矩，整洁；adv.循规蹈矩地，整洁地 | |
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hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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ranch
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| n.大牧场，大农场 | |
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gasping
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| adj. 气喘的, 痉挛的 动词gasp的现在分词 | |
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relish
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| n.滋味，享受，爱好，调味品；vt.加调味料，享受，品味；vi.有滋味 | |
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apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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18
analytical
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| adj.分析的；用分析法的 | |
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humbled
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| adj. 卑下的，谦逊的，粗陋的 vt. 使 ... 卑下，贬低 | |
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amends
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| n. 赔偿 | |
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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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reassure
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| v.使放心，使消除疑虑 | |
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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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suspense
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| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
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gapes
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| v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的第三人称单数 )；张开，张大 | |
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26
dozing
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| v.打瞌睡,假寐 n.瞌睡 | |
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gnawing
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| a.痛苦的，折磨人的 | |
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mumbled
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| 含糊地说某事，叽咕，咕哝( mumble的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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