Slowly the two rode toward each other, pistols in hand. Between them lay the hard-trampled level of the cattle yard. The sun had dropped behind the trees; the moon had not yet gathered power; no confusing shadows offered advantage to either.
Suddenly Brito flung up his pistol and fired. Jack felt his hat torn from his head and saw it go sailing to the ground. He threw up his own pistol. Then he hesitated; Alagwa and the women and children were directly behind his foe2. He dared not fire.
As he hesitated Brito flung down his useless pistol and spurred at him, saber flashing as he came. Jack reined3 back; his horse reared, striking with its hoofs4, and Brito’s black shied to the left and rushed by, Brito’s blade singing harmlessly in the air as he passed.
The two men wheeled. They had changed places; Jack’s back was toward the farmhouse5. Again he raised his pistol. His finger curled about the trigger.
Brito paused and his face whitened. Then he[327] cried out, jeering6. “Shoot, you cur!” he shrieked7. “Shoot, you d—d American! Shoot an unarmed man if you dare. No Englishman would take such an advantage. This isn’t war; it’s a private quarrel. If you’re not all cur, if there’s any Telfair blood in your veins8, throw down that pistol and fight on equal terms like a man.”
Jack hesitated. Brito had had his shot and had missed. He was talking merely to save his life; his taunts10 merited no consideration. Jack knew well that he ought to shoot him down or take him prisoner. He knew that the men at the farmhouse were against him. Nevertheless, Brito’s words bit.
He turned in his saddle. Alagwa was leaping to his side and to her he handed the pistol. “Keep those others back,” he ordered swiftly. Then he turned to face his foe.
It was high time. Brito was coming straight for him. Barely he had time to spur his horse aside and avoid the shock. As he leaped he heard Brito shouting to the Canadians to shoot.
Jack wheeled. The two Canadians had gone back into the farmhouse. Now they were rushing out, muskets11 in hand. Then Alagwa’s pistol settled on the foremost and he heard their guns crash to the ground.
Jack saw red. For the first time in his life the rage to kill seized him—a fierce, strong longing12 that[328] shook him from head to foot, a survival from the fierce, bitter primeval days when foes13 were personal and hate was undiluted. He snatched at his blade and drew it from the scabbard.
“You d—d cur!” he rasped. “You coward! By God! You’ll pay now.” Wild as he was, he was also cold as ice; in some men the two go together.
Like most gentlemen of the day Jack had learned to use the foils and even to some extent the saber. But all his training had been with buttons, where to be touched meant merely the loss of a point on the score. Never had he fought a duel14 or used a sword in anger, while Brito had done both. To an outsider all the odds15 would have seemed to be with the older man.
But Jack did not think of odds. Like many men in the moment of extreme peril16, he felt supreme17 assurance that victory was to be his. Before him stretched the vision of long years of life and happiness with Alagwa at his side. The coming fight was a mere9 incident, not a catastrophe18 that was to whelm him and her in ruin. Eagerly he spurred forward.
The two horses crashed, rearing and biting, and over their heads the swords of the riders clashed. Neither spoke19. Neither had mind to speak or even to think. Both fought grimly, terribly, well knowing that for one the end was death. Stroke and[329] parry, parry and stroke; hot and swift the one followed the other.
For the most part they fought at close quarters, but now and again the horses carried them apart. At one such moment Jack glimpsed at the farmhouse door and its group. The women had fled inside and were peering from the windows; the children had disappeared altogether; the two men, disarmed20, stood backed against the wall, under Alagwa’s pistol.
The crimson21 sunset had faded from the sky, but the half-moon was glowing out, changing from its daylight sheen to a silver glory that spilled like rain upon the shadowy world. By its gleam the fight went on, minute after minute.
At last Jack began to tire. His arms drooped22 and he began to fight on the defensive23. He was scarcely twenty-one; for twenty-four hours he had not closed his eyes; for four days he had had little rest and little food; for months he had been torn with anxiety, more wearing than any exertion24. Brito had suffered, too, but his stress had been national rather than personal. His muscles were older and more seasoned, his arms more sinewy25. His attack showed no signs of slackening.
Suddenly his eyes gleamed. He had noted26 Jack’s growing weakness. His tongue began to wag. “You fool!” he hissed27. “I told you to keep out[330] of my way. This is the end. Tonight—tonight——”
He disengaged and thrust, his blade singing within a hair’s breadth of Jack’s throat. He thrust again and the keen edge hissed through Jack’s sleeve. Again he thrust, but this time Jack met him with a parry that sent his blade wide.
But the Englishman did not pause. His onslaught became terrible. His sword became a living flame, circling, writhing28, and hissing29 in the moonlight. Slowly he forced the American backward. For the moment no living man could have held ground against his fury.
Then suddenly, when Jack thought he could sustain no more, the attack slackened. Flesh and blood could not maintain its fury. Brito’s arm flagged for a second, perhaps in order to deceive; then he thrust again, upward, for the throat. Jack, worn out, took a desperate chance. He did not parry with his blade; instead he threw up his hilt and caught Brito’s point squarely upon the guard. A hair’s breadth to the right or to the left and the other’s sword would have pierced his throat. But that hair’s breadth was not granted. Brito’s blade stopped short, bent30 almost double, and snapped short. Brito himself swayed sideways, losing his balance for the moment. Before he could recover Jack rose in his stirrups and brought his blade down with a sweeping31 stroke against the bare,[331] brown neck that for an instant lay exposed. Deep the steel cut. Beneath it Brito stiffened32; his sword dropped from his hands; blood spouted33 from the severed34 veins; he swayed and toppled—dead.
Jack scarcely saw him fall. The earth swayed round him in a mighty35 tourbillon; moon and stars danced in the sky in bewildering convolutions; the primeval trees beside the farmhouse rocked, cutting mighty zigzags36 across the milky-way. Half-fainting he clung to his saddle, while beneath him the bay panted and wheezed37, worn out by the stress of the fight.
Slowly the mists cleared. Out of them shone Alagwa’s face, white, but glad with a great gladness. Behind her the two men, crouched38 against the house, their staring, terror-filled eyes glistening39 in the moonlight.
Jack’s fingers wagged toward the muskets at their feet. “Give me those guns,” he breathed.
Alagwa obeyed silently. He was in the ascendant now. He was the warrior40; she the squaw, docile41 and obedient. Her hour would come later and she was content to wait.
The men shrank back as Jack took the guns, muttering pleas for mercy. The women came stumbling from the house, shrieking42. Jack did not heed43 them. He fired the guns into the air; then smashed them against the corner of the house. Then he turned to Alagwa and pointed44 to Brito’s horse.[332] “Come,” he ordered. “The fight is done. We must go.”
Silently Alagwa mounted and silently the two rode up the slope, across the moon-drenched woods upon the crest45, and down the long backward trail to where the British and Indian power had been shattered.
Jack did not speak. He dared not. A sudden wondering panic had fallen upon him. He had won his bride at last. He had won her with his heart; he had earned her with his sword. He had shown her the thoughts of his heart at dawn beside Tecumseh’s fire; he had shown her the work of his sword at dusk beside the farmhouse. She was his; he had only to put out his hand to claim her.
But he did not dare. Love had throned her immeasurably above him. Scarcely he dared look at her as she rode beside him in the white moonlight, swaying to the rhythm of her horse’s pace, mystic, strange—no woodland boy, no “sweet, gentle lady,” no Indian maid—but all of these at once, all and more, a woman, his woman, his mate, born for him, foreordained for him since the first dawn that had silvered the world. Speechless he rode on, glancing at her from sidelong eyes.
Alagwa, too, was silent, waiting. This was her hour, and she knew it. But he must tell her—tell her what she already knew. Not one sweet word of the telling would she spare him. And the worse he[333] boggled the telling the more she would love him. Love—woman’s love—pardons all but silence.
At last Jack found his tongue. He spoke hurriedly, gaspingly, trying to hide the ferment46 of his soul. “The war here is over,” he said. “I did not stay to see the end of the battle, but I know the British power in the west is shattered. Most of the army will go home. And we will go to Alabama. Father is waiting to welcome you. I wrote him of you and he wrote me that if I did not bring you with me I might stay away myself. You will like father. He is fierce, like yourself, and tender-hearted, too—like yourself. Ah! Yes! You will like him and you will like Alabama. Alabama! I told you once what the word meant. It’s Creek47: a-la-ba-ma, here we rest. There we will rest. Later we will go to France to see your inheritance—yours no more. Father writes that Napoleon has confiscated48 the Telfair estates. But we can spare them. Cato will go with us—father writes that the two girls he humbugged have husbands of their own and will not trouble him, and that the third—the one he is fond of—is waiting for him. Rogers and Fantine will make a match of it, I think. He says now that he likes to hear women’s talk. Tecumseh—I do not know what his fate may be. But he swore he would win or leave his bones on the field today—and he did not win. I—I have read that letter; there was[334] nothing in it—nothing. I fainted because of my illness and not because of anything I read.”
Jack’s voice died. He had run through his budget of news without broaching49 the subject that lay so near his heart. Alagwa did not help him. Silently she waited.
The night was wearing on. The moon was sinking into the west. Its fairy sheen lingered faintly on the trees and the grass and dusty road that stretched through the dew-wet fields like a band of silver. High above, the multitudinous stars blazed in the firmament50. Silence reigned51; no cry of bird or beast sounded through the night; even the sound of the horses’ hoofs was muffled52 in the soft dust. Like spirits the two rode on through the enchanted53 silence.
Then, in slow crescendo54, the tinkle55 of a far-off brook56 blended softly into the beauty of the night, blended so softly that its music seemed the melody of tautened heart-strings. Slowly it grew till the stream glanced suddenly out, dancing in the last rays of the setting moon. Beyond it stretched an open space, floored with fallen leaves, ringed with tall saplings, silver edged, through whose leafless tops the stars shone faintly down.
The path to the ford57 was narrow. The two horses crowded into it, crushed their riders together, and at the touch Jack’s surcharged heart[335] found vent58. “Alagwa! Alagwa!” he cried, brokenly; and again, “Alagwa!”
The girl swayed toward him. Her eyes, wet with unshed tears, gleamed into his from beneath the dark masses of her tangled59 hair. Then, in a moment his arms were round her and her head lay heavy on his breast. The horses halted, bending their heads to the water that rippled60 about their feet.
Jack’s heart kindled61 in the swimming darkness. His pulse beat madly in his throat. “Alagwa!” he gasped62. “Alagwa! Friend! Comrade! Wife! I love you so! I love you so!”
“And I love you!” Like a great organ note the girl’s voice echoed the avowal63. “Ah! But you know it. You know I left you for your own sake—for your own sake——”
Closer and closer Jack drew her. The flood-gates of his speech were broken up. Words, undreamed before, leaped to his lips. “I loved you then,” he breathed. “I have loved you always. But the change from boy to man came too suddenly. I did not know. I did not understand. It took time—time and the touchstone of absence and peril and agony—to teach me that I was a fool and mad and blind.” He broke off, laughing with wonder. “Fool that I was to tell you that I was fond of you! Fool to prate64 of friendship! Fool to match stilted65 periods when my every fibre was[336] thrilling, my every nerve quivering for you and you alone. I knew it and yet I knew it not. I did not dream that it was love that thrilled me. I did not know what love was. But now I know.”
The horses raised their heads, whinnying. Slowly, high-stepping, they splashed through the lambent waters of the ford and out upon the broad bank.
Jack leaped from the saddle and held up his arms for his bride. “We are far from camp,” he said, “and it is dangerous to approach it from this direction in the darkness. The horses are tired; the night is mild—and far spent. Come, dear! Come! a-la-ba-ma; here we rest.”
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1
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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2
foe
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| n.敌人，仇敌 | |
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reined
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| 勒缰绳使（马）停步( rein的过去式和过去分词 )； 驾驭； 严格控制； 加强管理 | |
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4
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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5
farmhouse
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| n.农场住宅（尤指主要住房） | |
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6
jeering
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| adj.嘲弄的，揶揄的v.嘲笑( jeer的现在分词 ) | |
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7
shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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8
veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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9
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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10
taunts
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| 嘲弄的言语，嘲笑，奚落( taunt的名词复数 ) | |
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11
muskets
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| n.火枪，（尤指）滑膛枪( musket的名词复数 ) | |
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12
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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13
foes
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| 敌人，仇敌( foe的名词复数 ) | |
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14
duel
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| n./v.决斗；(双方的)斗争 | |
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15
odds
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| n.让步，机率，可能性，比率；胜败优劣之别 | |
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16
peril
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| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
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17
supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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18
catastrophe
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| n.大灾难，大祸 | |
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19
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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20
disarmed
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| v.裁军( disarm的过去式和过去分词 )；使息怒 | |
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21
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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22
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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23
defensive
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| adj.防御的；防卫的；防守的 | |
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24
exertion
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| n.尽力，努力 | |
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sinewy
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| adj.多腱的，强壮有力的 | |
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26
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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27
hissed
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| 发嘶嘶声( hiss的过去式和过去分词 )； 发嘘声表示反对 | |
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28
writhing
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| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的现在分词 ) | |
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29
hissing
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| n. 发嘶嘶声, 蔑视 动词hiss的现在分词形式 | |
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30
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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31
sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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32
stiffened
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| 加强的 | |
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33
spouted
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| adj.装有嘴的v.（指液体）喷出( spout的过去式和过去分词 )；滔滔不绝地讲；喋喋不休地说；喷水 | |
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34
severed
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| v.切断，断绝( sever的过去式和过去分词 )；断，裂 | |
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35
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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36
zigzags
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| n.锯齿形的线条、小径等( zigzag的名词复数 )v.弯弯曲曲地走路，曲折地前进( zigzag的第三人称单数 ) | |
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37
wheezed
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| v.喘息，发出呼哧呼哧的喘息声( wheeze的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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38
crouched
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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39
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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40
warrior
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| n.勇士，武士，斗士 | |
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41
docile
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| adj.驯服的，易控制的，容易教的 | |
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42
shrieking
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| v.尖叫( shriek的现在分词 ) | |
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43
heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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44
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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45
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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46
ferment
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| vt.使发酵；n./vt.（使）激动，（使）动乱 | |
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47
creek
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| n.小溪，小河，小湾 | |
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48
confiscated
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| 没收，充公( confiscate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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49
broaching
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| n.拉削；推削；铰孔；扩孔v.谈起( broach的现在分词 )；打开并开始用；用凿子扩大（或修光）；（在桶上）钻孔取液体 | |
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50
firmament
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| n.苍穹；最高层 | |
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51
reigned
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| vi.当政，统治（reign的过去式形式） | |
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52
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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53
enchanted
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| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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54
crescendo
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| n.(音乐)渐强，高潮 | |
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55
tinkle
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| vi.叮当作响；n.叮当声 | |
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56
brook
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| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
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Ford
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| n.浅滩，水浅可涉处；v.涉水，涉过 | |
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58
vent
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| n.通风口，排放口；开衩；vt.表达，发泄 | |
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59
tangled
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| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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60
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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61
kindled
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| （使某物）燃烧，着火( kindle的过去式和过去分词 )； 激起（感情等）； 发亮，放光 | |
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62
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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63
avowal
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| n.公开宣称，坦白承认 | |
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64
prate
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| v.瞎扯，胡说 | |
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65
stilted
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| adj.虚饰的；夸张的 | |
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