LONG Alagwa sat, staring into the face of her dead. She knew now, for once and ever more that he was her dead, hers, hers, hers alone. A week before she had not known that he existed. Four days before she had thought she hated him for the woe1 his people had inflicted2 upon hers. Two days before she had offered to fight with him to the death, but she had told herself that she had done this because he was facing her foes3 as well as his. Now, only a moment before, she had shot down her British kinsman5, the ally of her people, in vengeance6 for his death. In dull wonder her thoughts traversed step by step the path that had brought her to this end, until in one blinding flash of enlightenment, she read her own soul. He was hers, her mate, created for her by Gitchemanitou the Mighty7, foreordained for her in the dim chaos8 out of which the world was shaped.
And he was dead! He had never known her for what she was, had never thought to call her wife. To him she had been a comrade only, not bone of his bone and flesh of his flesh. And yet she knew that he had held her dear; day by day she had felt that he was holding her dearer and dearer. If she had been granted time——
[196]But she had not been granted time, for he was dead. And she was left desolate9. She could not even follow him to the Happy Hunting Grounds, for they were for men, not women.
Suddenly a thought came to her. She remembered that she was dressed as a boy and that her costume had deceived all the men who had seen her. Might she not deceive also the guardians10 who waited at the entrance of the trail that led to the Hunting Grounds? If she faced them boldly, manfully, as a warrior11 should, might she not win her way past them to Jack12’s side? There would be no sharp-eyed women there to spy her out, and once within she would stay forever. Never by word or by sign would she betray herself; always she would remain Jack’s little comrade. No one would ever guess.
She would try it. Her hand dropped to her belt and closed on the slender hilt of the hunting knife that hung there. Then it slowly fell away.
Before she played the man and started on the long, dark trail, she would be very woman. The moments that life had denied her, that the Happy Hunting Grounds might ever deny her, she would steal now, now, from the cold hand of death himself.
Desperately13 she searched the features of her dead. They were pinched and pallid14 with the awful pallor of death. Lower and lower she bent15, yearning16 over him, more of the mother than of the sweetheart in her mien17. Gently she kissed his forehead,[197] his eyelids18, his cheeks, his firm, bold mouth, taking toll19 where she would, bride’s kiss and widow’s kiss in one. Again and again she pressed her warm lips to his till beneath her caress20 they seemed to warm, reddening to tints21 of life.
Suddenly his lips twitched22 and his eyes opened. “Bob!” he muttered. Then once more his eyelids drooped23.
Alagwa screamed, short and sharp. He was not dead. Jack was not dead. Gitchemanitou the Mighty had given him back to her. Hers it was to keep him.
Gently she laid his head upon the ground and sprang up. One of Cato’s pans lay close at hand; she snatched it and raced to the river down the protected way dug seventeen years before by General Wayne.
Soon she was back, bringing a mass of sopping24 water plants. Over the red wound on Jack’s forehead she bound them.
Under her touch Jack’s eyes reopened. But they did not meet her anxious gaze; they rolled helplessly, uncontrolled by his will. His lips formed words, but they were thick and harsh. “Where—where—No, he’s killed. I—saw—him—fall. He—he—Bob! Bob!” His voice ran up in a shriek25.
Alagwa bent till her face almost touched his. “I’m here, Jack,” she breathed. “Can’t you see me?”
[198]The lad’s eyes snapped into focus. For an instant they brightened with recognition; then they fell away. But he had recognized her. “I thought you—were dead,” he muttered. “I saw you fall. I—I tried to kill him for that—more than for all else. But—but——” his words wandered.
The color flowed into Alagwa’s cheeks. Her eyes were very soft. “I thought you were dead, too,” she murmured. “But we are both alive—both alive!” Her voice thrilled with wonder.
Jack’s fingers fumbled26 till they found the girl’s free hand and closed upon it. “You’ve been a bully27 little comrade,” he muttered. “Bully little comrade! Bully little com——” His voice died weakly away. His eyes closed for a moment, then opened again. “Cato?” he questioned.
Alagwa straightened. She had forgotten Cato since she had seen him go down beneath the Indian’s tomahawk. Anxiously she looked about her. Then, abruptly28, she started, stiffening29 like a wild thing at sight of the hunter.
Not a score of feet away sat Brito, clutching his wounded side, glaring at her with blood-shot eyes. Her hand fell to the knife in her belt, and she gathered her feet beneath her, every muscle tense, ready to spring.
“Nothing. It’s nothing!” Alagwa’s voice was low and soothing32. Brito seemed severely33 wounded. He was not attempting to approach. Perhaps he could not. She leaned forward slightly, so as to cut off Jack’s line of sight. He must not know. Not till the last possible moment must he know. Forward she leaned, features rigid34, teeth locked behind set jaws35, nostrils36 distended37, staring Brito in the face.
The Englishman tried to meet her eyes but his own dropped. He tried to rise, but his strength failed him. Then he began to edge himself backward, eyes fixed38 on the girl. Soon he reached the glacis and dragged himself slowly up it. At the top he paused, a momentary39 flash of his former spirit burning in his eyes.
“Bravo! Little one!” he faltered40, so feebly that the girl could scarcely hear the words, “Bravo! You’re a true Telfair. I wanted you before for your money. Now I want you for yourself. You’re mine and I’ll have you. I’ll have you, understand? Sooner or later I’ll have you. Remember!” His clutch upon the crest41 of the glacis loosened and he slipped out of sight.
Alagwa stared at the spot where he had vanished, listening to the thudding of the soft earth into the ditch beneath him. Toward what refuge he was[200] striving she did not know, but she was sure that he could not reach it on his own feet. If all of his party were slain42, and she did not doubt that they were, he could escape only by water. Both the Auglaize and the Maumee below the fort were navigable for small boats, and if Brito and his comrades had come in one, he might regain43 it and float down the Maumee, possibly to safety.
Should she let him go? No pity was in her heart. The frontier was grim; it translated itself into primitive44 emotions, taking no account of the shadings of civilization or of the blending of good and evil that inheres in every man. Those brought up amid its environment hated their enemies and loved their friends; they took no middle course. Brito was an enemy and Alagwa hated him. All her life she had been taught to let no wounded enemy escape. Brief had been her acquaintance with the Englishman, but it had been long enough to show her what manner of man he was. Should she let him go to come back again, perhaps to destroy the thread of life that still remained in the helpless man by her side. Or should she finish the work she had begun and make Jack safe against at least this deadly foe4. Feverishly45 she fingered the hilt of her knife.
As she hesitated Jack’s plaintive46 voice came again. “Who’s talking” he mumbled. “I—I can’t see. I can’t think. I—I—Bob! Bob!”
[201]“I’m here, Jack!” Alagwa’s fingers tightened upon his.
Over the lad’s face came a look of peace. “Something’s happened to me,” he breathed. “But you’ll stay with me, won’t you, Bob?”
“Yes! Yes! I’ll stay with you. Don’t fear. I’ll never leave you.”
“Good.... I—I seem weak somehow. Did somebody hit me?... I want to get up. I must get up. Help me.” The lad caught at her arm and tried to pull himself up.
Alagwa did not hesitate. She was sure that, for a time at least, he would far better lie flat upon the ground. “Don’t get up!” she commanded. “Lie still. You have been wounded. Very nearly have you taken the dark trail to the Land of the Hereafter. You must lie still.” Her voice was imperative47.
Jack yielded to it. “All right!” he sighed. “But—But I want Cato.”
Once more Alagwa remembered the negro. She stood up and looked about her.
The dawn was long past. The sun had risen above the tree tops and was flooding the fort with yellow glory, making plain the havoc48 that the brief fight had wrought49, searching out the tumbled dead and crowning their broken forms with pitiful gold. Prone50 they lay, grotesquely51 tossed, grim with the majesty52 of death. Round them life bourgeoned,[202] careless of their fate. The waters rippled53, the wind whispered overhead, the birds chorused in the tree tops, the jewelled flies, already gathering54, buzzed in the glowing air. Far down the Maumee, on the sunlit water, a black spot shaped itself for a moment, and then was gone. Alagwa saw it and guessed that it was Captain Brito and his boat.
Cato was lying face down where he had fallen. Across his body lay that of the warrior who had stricken him down. Close at hand lay two other braves, their well-oiled bodies and shaven heads glistening55 in the sun. Alagwa did not even look at them; they were not friends—they were outlaws—outlaws suborned by Brito to attack Jack because he had been in search of her. The Shawnees were still her friends—she was still true to Tecumseh. But these were private foes. She had been trained in a hard school and their deaths affected56 her no more than would those of so many wild beasts.
She bent over Cato. His posture57, to her trained eyes, spoke58 eloquently59 of death. Nevertheless, she would see. Panting, for the fight had torn open the half-healed wound upon her leg, she dragged the dead Indian away and gently fingered the long, broad gash60 that ran across the negro’s head. Blood from it had stiffened61 his wool into a mat of gore62. The hatchet63 had struck slantingly or had been deflected64, but it had cut deep. Never had Alagwa seen such a wound upon the head of a living man. Sorrowfully[203] she stared at it, for Cato had been kind to her. At last, hopelessly but determinedly65 she rolled his body over and placed her hand above his heart.
It was beating, slowly but strongly.
Amazed, the girl sprang up. Heedless of her injured leg she raced to the river and back again and poured the cooling water on his head, washing away the blood that had run down his forehead and had filled his eyes.
Instantly Cato gasped66 and groaned67. “Here! You Mandy,” he protested. “You quit dat! Don’t you go flingin’ no more of Mars’ Telfair’s plates at me. Massa ain’t gwine to stand havin’ his plates busted69 that a-way, no, he ain’t, not by no nigger living. You hear me.”
Alagwa heard but she did not understand. The negro accent and forms of speech were still partly beyond her. But she knew that Cato was alive and she dashed what was left of the water into his blood-streaked face.
The shock completed her work. Intelligence snapped back into the negro’s eyes and he sat up. “Lord! Massa!” he cried. “What’s done happen? Whar dem Injuns go? Whar’s Mars’ Jack?”
“Mr. Jack’s badly hurt. Very near he go to die. But Gitchemanitou save him. You are wounded, too. I thought you were dead.”
Cato fingered the cut upon his head. Then he grinned. “Lord!” he exclaimed. “Dat Injun[204] oughter knowed better than to hit a nigger on the head. But”—his grin faded—“but whar Mars’ Jack?”
“Over yonder!” Alagwa gestured with her head. “But wait. Let me wash and bind70 up your head. Sit still.”
Much against his will Cato waited while the girl’s deft71 fingers washed away the caked blood and bound a poultice of healing leaves across the gaping72 cut. Then he took the hand that she offered and scrambled73 to his feet and tried to make his way to Jack’s recumbent form.
But at the first step he limped and groaned. “Lord!” he muttered. “I done bust68 my feet mighty bad somehow. But I gwine to git to Mars’ Jack. Yes, suh, I certainly am.”
With many groans74 he made his way across the ground to Jack’s side. “Mars’ Jack! Mars’ Jack!” he cried. “You ain’t dead, is you?”
The sound of his voice roused Jack and he opened his eyes. Thankfully Alagwa saw that he made no attempt to rise. “Hello, Cato!” he mumbled. “Is that you? No, I’m not dead. I’m all right. How about you, Cato?”
“I’se all right, Mars’ Jack, ’cep’n that my feet hurts mighty bad. Dat Injun hit me a whack75 over the head, and that hurts. But seems like my feet hurts wusser.”
Jack’s eyes twinkled. “You must have been[205] standing76 on a stone when that Indian hit you over the head,” he said. “I reckon he drove your feet down on the stone mighty hard.”
Jack laughed weakly. Then suddenly an expression of terror came into his face and his whole form seemed to shrink and crumble77. When Alagwa reached his side he was unconscious.
Long but vainly the girl worked over him. He did not revive and an icy cold hand seemed to close about her heart.
From her childhood she had been familiar with wounds. With the Shawnees, as with most other Indians, it was a point of honor to leave no wounded friend upon the battlefield. At whatever cost, for whatever distance, they brought home all who survived the sharp deadly struggles of the day. Not once but many times Alagwa had bound up wounds and had cared for injured warriors78. Jack’s condition had not at first seemed strange to her. She had supposed him only dazed from the blow he had received and needing only a brief rest to regain his strength. But now, abruptly, there flashed into her mind the memory of two warriors, brought home from a foray, who bore no visible wounds but who were yet wrecked80 in body and in mind. Like Jack they had been struck upon the head. Like him they had revived and had seemed to be gathering strength. Then abruptly they had collapsed81 and had lain feebly quiescent82, dazed, with wandering lips[206] and eyes, for weeks and months before they died. She did not know what the white men called this, but she knew the thing itself.
Was Jack to be like this? It could not be! Passionately83 her heart cried out against it. And yet—and yet—even thus she was glad, glad, that Gitchemanitou had given him back to her. Only let him live, let him live, and——
But he could not live where he was. The ruined fort was a point of extreme danger. One war party bound for the north had already passed it on their way down the Auglaize, and at any moment another might follow. None would pass the ruins of the ancient fort without visiting it, even if no sign of the recent struggle were visible from the water or from the trail along the bank. If Jack was to be ill for a long time, she must get him back to Fort Wayne.
And she must do it all. Cato was a splendid servant but useless so far as initiative was concerned. On her and her alone the responsibility must rest. Desperately she looked around, seeking inspiration.
While she had worked over Jack the sun had mounted higher and higher. The tall forest trees that ringed the clearing shimmered84 in the golden downpour, the fretted85 tracery of their branches quivering against the burnished86 vault87 of the sky. The forest creatures had grown used to the presence of men and were going about the business of their[207] lives unafraid. A huge red squirrel scurried88 up one of the few remaining palisades of the ancient circuit and sat upon its top, chattering89. The water in the river rippled incessantly90 as fish or turtle or snake came and went. Great bullfrogs croaked91 on the banks. From every tuft of grass and every rock and log rose the shrill92 stridulation of insects. Gorgeous butterflies in black and gold and white fluttered about the stricken field. The mule94 and the two horses were uninjured and were cropping the sweet grass, heedless of the fate that had overtaken their masters.
But more than horses was needed. Jack could not ride and even if he could cling to the saddle he would do so at the peril95 of his life.
There was nothing to do but to make a travois—a structure of dragging poles by which the Indians transported their sick and wounded, their tents, and household goods. Calling Cato to saddle the horses, she picked up the hatchet that had split the negro’s scalp, and hurried out of the fort to return a moment later with two long straight poles. These, with Cato’s help, she firmly bound, butt93 up, on either side of her horse, which she knew to be the gentler of the two, then lashed79 together the long flexible ends that trailed out behind. Backward and forward, across the angle between, she wove the rope that had bound the pack. Upon this network she fastened blankets till the whole had become a sort[208] of pointed96 hammock, with sloping flexible sides, one end of which rested on the ground while the other sloped upward ending well out of reach of the horse’s heels. By the time she had finished Cato had packed the camp equipment on the back of the mule.
With some difficulty the two dragged Jack upon the travois. Then Alagwa took the bridle97 of the horse.
“I lead,” she said. “You ride other horse.”
Willingly the negro climbed to the saddle. “I’se mighty glad to,” he declared, gratefully. “Lor’, Massa, if you knowed how my feet hurt! I reckon Mars’ Jack was right. I must ha’ been standin’ on a rock.”
Four days later—for it took twice as long to go from Fort Defiance98 to Fort Wayne as it had taken to go from Fort Wayne to Defiance—Alagwa stood in Peter Bondie’s house in the room that had served her for a night, watching with dumb fear-filled eyes as the surgeon from the fort straightened up from his long inspection99 of Jack’s exhausted100 form.
“Concussion of the brain,” he said, at last. “He’ll get well, but he’ll be ill for weeks and probably for months.”
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收听单词发音
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1
woe
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| n.悲哀，苦痛，不幸，困难；int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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inflicted
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| 把…强加给，使承受，遭受( inflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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foes
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| 敌人，仇敌( foe的名词复数 ) | |
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4
foe
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| n.敌人，仇敌 | |
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kinsman
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| n.男亲属 | |
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vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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7
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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8
chaos
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| n.混乱，无秩序 | |
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9
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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guardians
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| 监护人( guardian的名词复数 )； 保护者，维护者 | |
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warrior
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| n.勇士，武士，斗士 | |
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12
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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13
desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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14
pallid
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| adj.苍白的，呆板的 | |
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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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yearning
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| a.渴望的；向往的；怀念的 | |
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mien
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| n.风采；态度 | |
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eyelids
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| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
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toll
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| n.过路(桥)费；损失，伤亡人数；v.敲(钟) | |
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caress
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| vt./n.爱抚，抚摸 | |
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tints
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| 色彩( tint的名词复数 )； 带白的颜色； （淡色）染发剂； 痕迹 | |
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22
twitched
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| vt.& vi.（使）抽动，（使）颤动（twitch的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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drooped
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| 弯曲或下垂，发蔫( droop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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sopping
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| adj. 浑身湿透的 动词sop的现在分词形式 | |
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shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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26
fumbled
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| （笨拙地）摸索或处理（某事物）( fumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 乱摸，笨拙地弄； 使落下 | |
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27
bully
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| n.恃强欺弱者，小流氓；vt.威胁，欺侮 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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29
stiffening
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| n. (使衣服等)变硬的材料, 硬化 动词stiffen的现在分词形式 | |
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30
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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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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32
soothing
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| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
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severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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jaws
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| n.口部；嘴 | |
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nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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distended
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| v.（使）膨胀，肿胀( distend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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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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39
momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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40
faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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41
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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42
slain
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| 杀死，宰杀，杀戮( slay的过去分词 )； (slay的过去分词) | |
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43
regain
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| vt.重新获得，收复，恢复 | |
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44
primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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45
feverishly
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| adv. 兴奋地 | |
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46
plaintive
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| adj.可怜的，伤心的 | |
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47
imperative
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| n.命令，需要；规则；祈使语气；adj.强制的；紧急的 | |
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48
havoc
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| n.大破坏，浩劫，大混乱，大杂乱 | |
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49
wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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50
prone
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| adj.(to)易于…的，很可能…的；俯卧的 | |
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51
grotesquely
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| adv. 奇异地,荒诞地 | |
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52
majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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53
rippled
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| 使泛起涟漪（ripple的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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54
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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55
glistening
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| adj.闪耀的，反光的v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的现在分词 ) | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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posture
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| n.姿势，姿态，心态，态度；v.作出某种姿势 | |
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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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eloquently
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| adv. 雄辩地(有口才地, 富于表情地) | |
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gash
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| v.深切，划开；n.(深长的)切(伤)口；裂缝 | |
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stiffened
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| 加强的 | |
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gore
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| n.凝血，血污；v.（动物）用角撞伤，用牙刺破；缝以补裆；顶 | |
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hatchet
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| n.短柄小斧；v.扼杀 | |
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deflected
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| 偏离的 | |
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determinedly
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| adv.决意地；坚决地，坚定地 | |
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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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groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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bust
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| vt.打破；vi.爆裂；n.半身像；胸部 | |
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busted
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| adj. 破产了的，失败了的，被降级的，被逮捕的，被抓到的 动词bust的过去式和过去分词 | |
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bind
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| vt.捆，包扎；装订；约束；使凝固；vi.变硬 | |
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deft
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| adj.灵巧的，熟练的（a deft hand 能手） | |
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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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scrambled
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的过去式和过去分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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groans
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| n.呻吟，叹息( groan的名词复数 )；呻吟般的声音v.呻吟( groan的第三人称单数 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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whack
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| v.敲击，重打，瓜分；n.重击，重打，尝试，一份 | |
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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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crumble
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| vi.碎裂，崩溃；vt.弄碎，摧毁 | |
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warriors
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| 武士，勇士，战士( warrior的名词复数 ) | |
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lashed
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| adj.具睫毛的v.鞭打( lash的过去式和过去分词 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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wrecked
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| adj.失事的，遇难的 | |
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collapsed
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| adj.倒塌的 | |
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quiescent
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| adj.静止的，不活动的，寂静的 | |
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passionately
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| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
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shimmered
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| v.闪闪发光，发微光( shimmer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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fretted
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| 焦躁的，附有弦马的，腐蚀的 | |
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burnished
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| adj.抛光的，光亮的v.擦亮（金属等），磨光( burnish的过去式和过去分词 )；被擦亮，磨光 | |
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vault
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| n.拱形圆顶，地窖，地下室 | |
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scurried
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| v.急匆匆地走( scurry的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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chattering
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| n. （机器振动发出的）咔嗒声，(鸟等)鸣，啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的，啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
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incessantly
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| ad.不停地 | |
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croaked
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| v.呱呱地叫( croak的过去式和过去分词 )；用粗的声音说 | |
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shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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butt
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| n.笑柄；烟蒂；枪托；臀部；v.用头撞或顶 | |
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mule
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| n.骡子，杂种，执拗的人 | |
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peril
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| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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bridle
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| n.笼头，束缚；vt.抑制，约束；动怒 | |
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defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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inspection
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| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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