It was high noon at Tres Pinos. The three pines from which it gained its name, in the dusty road and hot air, seemed to smoke from their balsamic spires1. There was a glare from the road, a glare from the sky, a glare from the rocks, a glare from the white canvas roofs of the few shanties2 and cabins which made up the village. There was even a glare from the unpainted red-wood boards of Roscommon's grocery and tavern3, and a tendency of the warping4 floor of the veranda5 to curl up beneath the feet of the intruder. A few mules6, near the watering trough, had shrunk within the scant7 shadow of the corral.
The grocery business of Mr. Roscommon, although adequate and sufficient for the village, was not exhausting nor overtaxing to the proprietor8; the refilling of the pork and flour barrel of the average miner was the work of a brief hour on Saturday nights, but the daily replenishment9 of the average miner with whisky was arduous10 and incessant11. Roscommon spent more time behind his bar than his grocer's counter. Add to this the fact that a long shed-like extension or wing bore the legend, “Cosmopolitan Hotel, Board or Lodging12 by the Day or Week. M. Roscommon,” and you got an idea of the variety of the proprietor's functions. The “hotel,” however, was more directly under the charge of Mrs. Roscommon, a lady of thirty years, strong, truculent13, and good-hearted.
Mr. Roscommon had early adopted the theory that most of his customers were insane, and were to be alternately bullied14 or placated15, as the case might be. Nothing that occurred, no extravagance of speech nor act, ever ruffled16 his equilibrium17, which was as dogged and stubborn as it was outwardly calm. When not serving liquor, or in the interval18 while it was being drank, he was always wiping his counter with an exceedingly dirty towel,—or indeed anything that came handy. Miners, noticing this purely19 perfunctory habit, occasionally supplied him slily with articles inconsistent with their service,—fragments of their shirts and underclothing, flour sacking, tow, and once with a flannel21 petticoat of his wife's, stolen from the line in the back-yard. Roscommon would continue his wiping without looking up, but yet conscious of the presence of each customer. “And it's not another dhrop ye'll git, Jack22 Brown, until ye've wiped out the black score that stands agin ye.” “And it's there ye are, darlint, and it's here's the bottle that's been lukin' for ye sins Saturday.” “And fwhot hev you done with the last I sent ye, ye divil of a McCorkle, and here's me back that's bruk entoirely wid dipping intil the pork barl to giv ye the best sides, and ye spending yur last cint on a tare23 into Gilroy. Whist! and if it's fer foighting ye are, boys, there's an illigant bit of sod beyant the corral, and it may be meself'll come out with a shtick and be sociable24.”
On this particular day, however, Mr. Roscommon was not in his usual spirits, and when the clatter25 of horses' hoofs26 before the door announced the approach of strangers, he absolutely ceased wiping his counter and looked up as Dr. Guild27, the President, and Secretary of the new Company strode into the shop.
“We are looking,” said the President, “for a man by the name of Wiles28, and three Mexicans known as Pedro, Manuel, and Miguel.”
“Ye are?”
“We are!”
“Faix, and I hope ye'll foind 'em. And if ye'll git from 'em the score I've got agin 'em, darlint, I'll add a blessing29 to it.”
There was a laugh at this from the bystanders, who, somehow, resented the intrusion of these strangers.
“I fear you will find it no laughing matter, gentlemen,” said Dr. Guild, a little stiffly, “when I tell you that a murder has been committed, and the men I am seeking within an hour of that murder put up that notice signed by their names,” and Dr. Guild displayed the paper.
There was a breathless silence among the crowd as they eagerly pressed around the Doctor. Only Roscommon kept on wiping his counter.
“You will observe, gentlemen, that the name of Roscommon also appears on this paper as one of the original beaters.”
“And sure, darlint,” said Roscommon, without looking up, “if ye've no better ividince agin them boys then you have forninst me, it's home ye'd bether be riding to wanst. For it's meself as hasn't sturred fut out of the store the day and noight,—more betoken30 as the boys I've sarved kin20 testify.”
“That's so, Ross, right,” chorused the crowd, “We've been running the old man all night.”
“Then how comes your name on this paper?”
“O murdher! will ye listen to him, boys? As if every felly that owed me a whisky bill didn't come to me and say, 'Ah, Misther Roscommon,' or 'Moike,' as the case moight be, sure it's an illigant sthrike I've made this day, and it's meself that has put down your name as an original locater, and yer fortune's made, Mr. Roscommon, and will yer fill me up another quart for the good luck betune you and me. Ah, but ask Jack Brown over yar if it isn't sick that I am of his original locations.”
The laugh that followed this speech, and its practical application, convinced the party that they had blundered, that they could obtain no clue to the real culprits here, and that any attempt by threats would meet violent opposition31. Nevertheless the Doctor was persistent32:
“When did you see these men last?”
“When did I see them, is it? Bedad, what with sarvin up the liquor and keeping me counters dry and swate, I never see them at all.”
“That's so, Ross,” chorused the crowd again, to whom the whole proceeding33 was delightfully34 farcical.
“Then I can tell you, gentlemen,” said the Doctor, stiffly, “that they were in Monterey last night, that they did not return on that trail this morning, and that they must have passed here at daybreak.”
With these words, which the Doctor regretted as soon as delivered, the party rode away.
Mr. Roscommon resumed his service and counter wiping. But late that night, when the bar was closed and the last loiterer was summarily ejected, Mr. Roscommon, in the conjugal35 privacy of his chamber36, produced a legal-looking paper. “Read it, Maggie, darlint, for it's meself never had the larning nor the parts.”
Mistress Roscommon took the paper:
“Shure, it's law papers, making over some property to yis. O Moike! ye havn't been spekilating!”
“Whist! and fwhotz that durty gray paper wid the sales and flourishes?”
“Faix, it bothers me intoirely. Shure it oin't in English.”
“Whist! Maggie, it's a Spanish grant!”
“A Spanish grant? O Moike, and what did ye giv for it?”
Mr. Roscommon laid his finger beside his nose and said softly, “Whishky!”
点击收听单词发音
1 spires | |
n.(教堂的) 塔尖,尖顶( spire的名词复数 ) | |
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2 shanties | |
n.简陋的小木屋( shanty的名词复数 );铁皮棚屋;船工号子;船歌 | |
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3 tavern | |
n.小旅馆,客栈;小酒店 | |
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4 warping | |
n.翘面,扭曲,变形v.弄弯,变歪( warp的现在分词 );使(行为等)不合情理,使乖戾, | |
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5 veranda | |
n.走廊;阳台 | |
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6 mules | |
骡( mule的名词复数 ); 拖鞋; 顽固的人; 越境运毒者 | |
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7 scant | |
adj.不充分的,不足的;v.减缩,限制,忽略 | |
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8 proprietor | |
n.所有人;业主;经营者 | |
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9 replenishment | |
n.补充(货物) | |
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10 arduous | |
adj.艰苦的,费力的,陡峭的 | |
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11 incessant | |
adj.不停的,连续的 | |
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12 lodging | |
n.寄宿,住所;(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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13 truculent | |
adj.野蛮的,粗野的 | |
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14 bullied | |
adj.被欺负了v.恐吓,威逼( bully的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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15 placated | |
v.安抚,抚慰,使平静( placate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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16 ruffled | |
adj. 有褶饰边的, 起皱的 动词ruffle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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17 equilibrium | |
n.平衡,均衡,相称,均势,平静 | |
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18 interval | |
n.间隔,间距;幕间休息,中场休息 | |
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19 purely | |
adv.纯粹地,完全地 | |
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20 kin | |
n.家族,亲属,血缘关系;adj.亲属关系的,同类的 | |
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21 flannel | |
n.法兰绒;法兰绒衣服 | |
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22 jack | |
n.插座,千斤顶,男人;v.抬起,提醒,扛举;n.(Jake)杰克 | |
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23 tare | |
n.皮重;v.量皮重 | |
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24 sociable | |
adj.好交际的,友好的,合群的 | |
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25 clatter | |
v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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26 hoofs | |
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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27 guild | |
n.行会,同业公会,协会 | |
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28 wiles | |
n.(旨在欺骗或吸引人的)诡计,花招;欺骗,欺诈( wile的名词复数 ) | |
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29 blessing | |
n.祈神赐福;祷告;祝福,祝愿 | |
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30 betoken | |
v.预示 | |
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31 opposition | |
n.反对,敌对 | |
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32 persistent | |
adj.坚持不懈的,执意的;持续的 | |
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33 proceeding | |
n.行动,进行,(pl.)会议录,学报 | |
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34 delightfully | |
大喜,欣然 | |
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35 conjugal | |
adj.婚姻的,婚姻性的 | |
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36 chamber | |
n.房间,寝室;会议厅;议院;会所 | |
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