Calliope Catesby was in his humours again. Ennui1 was upon him. This goodly promontory2, the earth--particularly that portion of it known as Quicksand--was to him no more than a pestilent congregation of vapours. Overtaken by the megrims, the philosopher may seek relief in soliloquy; my lady find solace3 in tears; the flaccid Easterner scold at the millinery bills of his women folk. Such recourse was insufficient4 to the denizens5 of Quicksand. Calliope, especially, was wont6 to express his ennui according to his lights.
Over night Calliope had hung out signals of approaching low spirits. He had kicked his own dog on the porch of the Occidental Hotel, and refused to apologise. He had become capricious and fault-finding in conversation. While strolling about he reached often for twigs9 of mesquite and chewed the leaves fiercely. That was always an ominous10 act. Another symptom alarming to those who were familiar with the different stages of his doldrums was his increasing politeness and a tendency to use formal phrases. A husky softness succeeded the usual penetrating11 drawl in his tones. A dangerous courtesy marked his manners. Later, his smile became crooked12, the left side of his mouth slanting13 upward, and Quicksand got ready to stand from under.
At this stage Calliope generally began to drink. Finally, about midnight, he was seen going homeward, saluting14 those whom he met with exaggerated but inoffensive courtesy. Not yet was Calliope's melancholy15 at the danger point. He would seat himself at the window of the room he occupied over Silvester's tonsorial parlours and there chant lugubrious16 and tuneless ballads17 until morning, accompanying the noises by appropriate maltreatment of a jangling guitar. More magnanimous than Nero, he would thus give musical warning of the forthcoming municipal upheaval19 that Quicksand was scheduled to endure.
A quiet, amiable20 man was Calliope Catesby at other times--quiet to indolence, and amiable to worthlessness. At best he was a loafer and a nuisance; at worst he was the Terror of Quicksand. His ostensible21 occupation was something subordinate in the real estate line; he drove the beguiled22 Easterner in buckboards out to look over lots and ranch24 property. Originally he came from one of the Gulf25 States, his lank26 six feet, slurring27 rhythm of speech, and sectional idioms giving evidence of his birthplace.
And yet, after taking on Western adjustments, this languid pine-box whittler, cracker28 barrel hugger, shady corner lounger of the cotton fields and sumac hills of the South became famed as a bad man among men who had made a life-long study of the art of truculence29.
At nine the next morning Calliope was fit. Inspired by his own barbarous melodies and the contents of his jug30, he was ready primed to gather fresh laurels31 from the diffident brow of Quicksand. Encircled and criss-crossed with cartridge32 belts, abundantly garnished33 with revolvers, and copiously34 drunk, he poured forth18 into Quicksand's main street. Too chivalrous35 to surprise and capture a town by silent sortie, he paused at the nearest corner and emitted his slogan--that fearful, brassy yell, so reminiscent of the steam piano, that had gained for him the classic appellation36 that had superseded37 his own baptismal name. Following close upon his vociferation came three shots from his forty-five by way of limbering up the guns and testing his aim. A yellow dog, the personal property of Colonel Swazey, the proprietor38 of the Occidental, fell feet upward in the dust with one farewell yelp39. A Mexican who was crossing the street from the Blue Front grocery carrying in his hand a bottle of kerosene40, was stimulated41 to a sudden and admirable burst of speed, still grasping the neck of the shattered bottle. The new gilt42 weather-cock on Judge Riley's lemon and ultramarine two-story residence shivered, flapped, and hung by a splinter, the sport of the wanton breezes.
The artillery43 was in trim. Calliope's hand was steady. The high, calm ecstasy44 of habitual45 battle was upon him, though slightly embittered46 by the sadness of Alexander in that his conquests were limited to the small world of Quicksand.
Down the street went Calliope, shooting right and left. Glass fell like hail; dogs vamosed; chickens flew, squawking; feminine voices shrieked47 concernedly to youngsters at large. The din7 was perforated at intervals48 by the staccato of the Terror's guns, and was drowned periodically by the brazen49 screech50 that Quicksand knew so well. The occasions of Calliope's low spirits were legal holidays in Quicksand. All along the main street in advance of his coming clerks were putting up shutters51 and closing doors. Business would languish52 for a space. The right of way was Calliope's, and as he advanced, observing the dearth53 of opposition54 and the few opportunities for distraction55, his ennui perceptibly increased.
But some four squares farther down lively preparations were being made to minister to Mr. Catesby's love for interchange of compliments and repartee56. On the previous night numerous messengers had hastened to advise Buck23 Patterson, the city marshal, of Calliope's impending57 eruption58. The patience of that official, often strained in extending leniency59 toward the disturber's misdeeds, had been overtaxed. In Quicksand some indulgence was accorded the natural ebullition of human nature. Providing that the lives of the more useful citizens were not recklessly squandered60, or too much property needlessly laid waste, the community sentiment was against a too strict enforcement of the law. But Calliope had raised the limit. His outbursts had been too frequent and too violent to come within the classification of a normal and sanitary61 relaxation62 of spirit.
Buck Patterson had been expecting and awaiting in his little ten-by- twelve frame office that preliminary yell announcing that Calliope was feeling blue. When the signal came the city marshal rose to his feet and buckled63 on his guns. Two deputy sheriffs and three citizens who had proven the edible64 qualities of fire also stood up, ready to bandy with Calliope's leaden jocularities.
"Gather that fellow in," said Buck Patterson, setting forth the lines of the campaign. "Don't have no talk, but shoot as soon as you can get a show. Keep behind cover and bring him down. He's a nogood 'un. It's up to Calliope to turn up his toes this time, I reckon. Go to him all spraddled out, boys. And don't git too reckless, for what Calliope shoots at he hits."
Buck Patterson, tall, muscular, and solemn-faced, with his bright "City Marshal" badge shining on the breast of his blue flannel65 shirt, gave his posse directions for the onslaught upon Calliope. The plan was to accomplish the downfall of the Quicksand Terror without loss to the attacking party, if possible.
The splenetic Calliope, unconscious of retributive plots, was steaming down the channel, cannonading on either side, when he suddenly became aware of breakers ahead. The city marshal and one of the deputies rose up behind some dry-goods boxes half a square to the front and opened fire. At the same time the rest of the posse, divided, shelled him from two side streets up which they were cautiously manoeuvring from a well-executed detour66.
The first volley broke the lock of one of Calliope's guns, cut a neat underbit in his right ear, and exploded a cartridge in his crossbelt, scorching67 his ribs68 as it burst. Feeling braced69 up by this unexpected tonic70 to his spiritual depression, Calliope executed a fortissimo note from his upper register, and returned the fire like an echo. The upholders of the law dodged71 at his flash, but a trifle too late to save one of the deputies a bullet just above the elbow, and the marshal a bleeding cheek from a splinter that a ball tore from the box he had ducked behind.
And now Calliope met the enemy's tactics in kind. Choosing with a rapid eye the street from which the weakest and least accurate fire had come, he invaded it at a double-quick, abandoning the unprotected middle of the street. With rare cunning the opposing force in that direction--one of the deputies and two of the valorous volunteers-- waited, concealed72 by beer barrels, until Calliope had passed their retreat, and then peppered him from the rear. In another moment they were reinforced by the marshal and his other men, and then Calliope felt that in order to successfully prolong the delights of the controversy73 he must find some means of reducing the great odds74 against him. His eye fell upon a structure that seemed to hold out this promise, providing he could reach it.
Not far away was the little railroad station, its building a strong box house, ten by twenty feet, resting upon a platform four feet above ground. Windows were in each of its walls. Something like a fort it might become to a man thus sorely pressed by superior numbers.
Calliope made a bold and rapid spurt75 for it, the marshal's crowd "smoking" him as he ran. He reached the haven76 in safety, the station agent leaving the building by a window, like a flying squirrel, as the garrison77 entered the door.
Patterson and his supporters halted under protection of a pile of lumber78 and held consultations79. In the station was an unterrified desperado who was an excellent shot and carried an abundance of ammunition80. For thirty yards on either side of the besieged81 was a stretch of bare, open ground. It was a sure thing that the man who attempted to enter that unprotected area would be stopped by one of Calliope's bullets.
The city marshal was resolved. He had decided82 that Calliope Catesby should no more wake the echoes of Quicksand with his strident whoop83. He had so announced. Officially and personally he felt imperatively84 bound to put the soft pedal on that instrument of discord85. It played bad tunes86.
Standing87 near was a hand truck used in the manipulation of small freight. It stood by a shed full of sacked wool, a consignment88 from one of the sheep ranches89. On this truck the marshal and his men piled three heavy sacks of wool. Stooping low, Buck Patterson started for Calliope's fort, slowly pushing this loaded truck before him for protection. The posse, scattering90 broadly, stood ready to nip the besieged in case he should show himself in an effort to repel91 the juggernaut of justice that was creeping upon him. Only once did Calliope make demonstration92. He fired from a window, and some tufts of wool spurted93 from the marshal's trustworthy bulwark94. The return shots from the posse pattered against the window frame of the fort. No loss resulted on either side.
The marshal was too deeply engrossed95 in steering96 his protected battleship to be aware of the approach of the morning train until he was within a few feet of the platform. The train was coming up on the other side of it. It stopped only one minute at Quicksand. What an opportunity it would offer to Calliope! He had only to step out the other door, mount the train, and away.
Abandoning his breastwork, Buck, with his gun ready, dashed up the steps and into the room, driving upon the closed door with one heave of his weighty shoulder. The members of the posse heard one shot fired inside, and then there was silence.
*****
At length the wounded man opened his eyes. After a blank space he again could see and hear and feel and think. Turning his eyes about, he found himself lying on a wooden bench. A tall man with a perplexed97 countenance98, wearing a big badge with "City Marshal" engraved99 upon it, stood over him. A little old woman in black, with a wrinkled face and sparkling black eyes, was holding a wet handkerchief against one of his temples. He was trying to get these facts fixed100 in his mind and connected with past events, when the old woman began to talk.
"There now, great, big, strong man! That bullet never tetched ye! Jest skeeted along the side of your head and sort of paralysed ye for a spell. I've heerd of sech things afore; cun-cussion is what they names it. Abel Wadkins used to kill squirrels that way--barkin' 'em, Abe called it. You jest been barked, sir, and you'll be all right in a little bit. Feel lots better already, don't ye! You just lay still a while longer and let me bathe your head. You don't know me, I reckon, and 'tain't surprisin' that you shouldn't. I come in on that train from Alabama to see my son. Big son, ain't he? Lands! you wouldn't hardly think he'd ever been a baby, would ye? This is my son, sir."
Half turning, the old woman looked up at the standing man, her worn face lighting101 with a proud and wonderful smile. She reached out one veined and calloused102 hand and took one of her son's. Then smiling cheerily down at the prostrate103 man, she continued to dip the handkerchief, in the waiting-room tin washbasin and gently apply it to his temple. She had the benevolent104 garrulity105 of old age.
"I ain't seen my son before," she continued, "in eight years. One of my nephews, Elkanah Price, he's a conductor on one of them railroads and he got me a pass to come out here. I can stay a whole week on it, and then it'll take me back again. Jest think, now, that little boy of mine has got to be a officer--a city marshal of a whole town! That's somethin' like a constable106, ain't it? I never knowed he was a officer; he didn't say nothin' about it in his letters. I reckon he thought his old mother'd be skeered about the danger he was in. But, laws! I never was much of a hand to git skeered. 'Tain't no use. I heard them guns a-shootin' while I was gettin' off them cars, and I see smoke a-comin' out of the depot107, but I jest walked right along. Then I see son's face lookin' out through the window. I knowed him at oncet. He met me at the door, and squeezes me 'most to death. And there you was, sir, a-lyin' there jest like you was dead, and I 'lowed we'd see what might be done to help sot you up."
"I think I'll sit up now," said the concussion108 patient. "I'm feeling pretty fair by this time."
He sat, somewhat weakly yet, leaning against the wall. He was a rugged109 man, big-boned and straight. His eyes, steady and keen, seemed to linger upon the face of the man standing so still above him. His look wandered often from the face he studied to the marshal's badge upon the other's breast.
"Yes, yes, you'll be all right," said the old woman, patting his arm, "if you don't get to cuttin' up agin, and havin' folks shooting at you. Son told me about you, sir, while you was layin' senseless on the floor. Don't you take it as meddlesome110 fer an old woman with a son as big as you to talk about it. And you mustn't hold no grudge111 ag'in' my son for havin' to shoot at ye. A officer has got to take up for the law--it's his duty--and them that acts bad and lives wrong has to suffer. Don't blame my son any, sir--'tain't his fault. He's always been a good boy--good when he was growin' up, and kind and 'bedient and well-behaved. Won't you let me advise you, sir, not to do so no more? Be a good man, and leave liquor alone and live peaceably and goodly. Keep away from bad company and work honest and sleep sweet."
The black-mitted hand of the old pleader gently touched the breast of the man she addressed. Very earnest and candid112 her old, worn face looked. In her rusty113 black dress and antique bonnet114 she sat, near the close of a long life, and epitomised the experience of the world. Still the man to whom she spoke115 gazed above her head, contemplating116 the silent son of the old mother.
"What does the marshal say?" he asked. "Does he believe the advice is good? Suppose the marshal speaks up and says if the talk's all right?"
The tall man moved uneasily. He fingered the badge on his breast for a moment, and then he put an arm around the old woman and drew her close to him. She smiled the unchanging mother smile of three-score years, and patted his big brown hand with her crooked, mittened117 fingers while her son spake.
"I says this," he said, looking squarely into the eyes of the other man, "that if I was in your place I'd follow it. If I was a drunken, desp'rate character, without shame or hope, I'd follow it. If I was in your place and you was in mine I'd say: 'Marshal, I'm willin' to swear if you'll give me the chance I'll quit the racket. I'll drop the tanglefoot and the gun play, and won't play hoss no more. I'll be a good citizen and go to work and quit my foolishness. So help me God!' That's what I'd say to you if you was marshal and I was in your place."
"Hear my son talkin'," said the old woman softly. "Hear him, sir. You promise to be good and he won't do you no harm. Forty-one year ago his heart first beat ag'in' mine, and it's beat true ever since."
The other man rose to his feet, trying his limbs and stretching his muscles.
"Then," said he, "if you was in my place and said that, and I was marshal, I'd say: 'Go free, and do your best to keep your promise.'"
"Lawsy!" exclaimed the old woman, in a sudden flutter, "ef I didn't clear forget that trunk of mine! I see a man settin' it on the platform jest as I seen son's face in the window, and it went plum out of my head. There's eight jars of home-made quince jam in that trunk that I made myself. I wouldn't have nothin' happen to them jars for a red apple."
Away to the door she trotted118, spry and anxious, and then Calliope Catesby spoke out to Buck Patterson:
"I just couldn't help it, Buck. I seen her through the window a-comin' in. She never had heard a word 'bout8 my tough ways. I didn't have the nerve to let her know I was a worthless cuss bein' hunted down by the community. There you was lyin' where my shot laid you, like you was dead. The idea struck me sudden, and I just took your badge off and fastened it onto myself, and I fastened my reputation onto you. I told her I was the marshal and you was a holy terror. You can take your badge back now, Buck."
With shaking fingers Calliope began to unfasten the disc of metal from his shirt.
"Easy there!" said Buck Patterson. "You keep that badge right where it is, Calliope Catesby. Don't you dare to take it off till the day your mother leaves this town. You'll be city marshal of Quicksand as long as she's here to know it. After I stir around town a bit and put 'em on I'll guarantee that nobody won't give the thing away to her. And say, you leather-headed, rip-roarin', low-down son of a locoed cyclone119, you follow that advice she give me! I'm goin' to take some of it myself, too."
"Buck," said Calliope feelingly, "ef I don't I hope I may--"
"Shut up," said Buck. "She's a-comin' back."
收听单词发音 |
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ennui
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| n.怠倦，无聊 | |
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promontory
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| n.海角；岬 | |
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solace
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| n.安慰；v.使快乐；vt.安慰(物)，缓和 | |
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insufficient
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| adj.(for，of)不足的，不够的 | |
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denizens
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| n.居民，住户( denizen的名词复数 ) | |
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wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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din
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| n.喧闹声，嘈杂声 | |
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bout
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| n.侵袭，发作；一次(阵，回)；拳击等比赛 | |
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twigs
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| 细枝，嫩枝( twig的名词复数 ) | |
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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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penetrating
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| adj.（声音）响亮的，尖锐的adj.（气味）刺激的adj.（思想）敏锐的，有洞察力的 | |
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crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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slanting
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| 倾斜的，歪斜的 | |
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saluting
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| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的现在分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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lugubrious
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| adj.悲哀的，忧郁的 | |
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ballads
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| 民歌，民谣，特别指叙述故事的歌( ballad的名词复数 )； 讴 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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upheaval
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| n.胀起，(地壳)的隆起；剧变，动乱 | |
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amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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ostensible
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| adj.(指理由)表面的，假装的 | |
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beguiled
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| v.欺骗( beguile的过去式和过去分词 )；使陶醉；使高兴；消磨（时间等） | |
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buck
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| n.雄鹿，雄兔；v.马离地跳跃 | |
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ranch
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gulf
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| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
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lank
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slurring
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| 含糊地说出( slur的现在分词 )； 含糊地发…的声； 侮辱； 连唱 | |
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cracker
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| n.（无甜味的）薄脆饼干 | |
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truculence
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| n.凶猛，粗暴 | |
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jug
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| n.(有柄，小口，可盛水等的)大壶，罐，盂 | |
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laurels
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| n.桂冠，荣誉 | |
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cartridge
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| n.弹壳，弹药筒；(装磁带等的)盒子 | |
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garnished
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copiously
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| adv.丰富地，充裕地 | |
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chivalrous
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| adj.武士精神的；对女人彬彬有礼的 | |
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appellation
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| n.名称，称呼 | |
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superseded
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| [医]被代替的，废弃的 | |
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proprietor
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| n.所有人；业主；经营者 | |
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yelp
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| vi.狗吠 | |
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kerosene
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| n.(kerosine)煤油，火油 | |
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stimulated
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| a.刺激的 | |
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gilt
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| adj.镀金的；n.金边证券 | |
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artillery
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| n.(军)火炮，大炮；炮兵(部队) | |
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ecstasy
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| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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habitual
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| adj.习惯性的；通常的，惯常的 | |
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embittered
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| v.使怨恨，激怒( embitter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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brazen
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| adj.厚脸皮的，无耻的，坚硬的 | |
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screech
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| n./v.尖叫；(发出)刺耳的声音 | |
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shutters
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| 百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 )； （照相机的）快门 | |
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languish
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| vi.变得衰弱无力，失去活力，（植物等）凋萎 | |
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dearth
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| n.缺乏，粮食不足，饥谨 | |
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opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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distraction
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| n.精神涣散，精神不集中，消遣，娱乐 | |
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repartee
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| n.机敏的应答 | |
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impending
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| a.imminent, about to come or happen | |
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eruption
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| n.火山爆发；（战争等）爆发；（疾病等）发作 | |
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leniency
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| n.宽大（不严厉） | |
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squandered
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| v.（指钱，财产等）浪费，乱花( squander的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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61
sanitary
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| adj.卫生方面的，卫生的，清洁的，卫生的 | |
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relaxation
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| n.松弛，放松；休息；消遣；娱乐 | |
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buckled
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| a. 有带扣的 | |
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edible
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| n.食品，食物；adj.可食用的 | |
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flannel
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| n.法兰绒；法兰绒衣服 | |
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detour
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| n.绕行的路，迂回路；v.迂回，绕道 | |
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scorching
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| adj. 灼热的 | |
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ribs
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| n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 )；（船或屋顶等的）肋拱；肋骨状的东西；（织物的）凸条花纹 | |
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braced
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| adj.拉牢的v.支住( brace的过去式和过去分词 )；撑牢；使自己站稳；振作起来 | |
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tonic
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| n./adj.滋补品，补药，强身的，健体的 | |
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dodged
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| v.闪躲( dodge的过去式和过去分词 )；回避 | |
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concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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controversy
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| n.争论，辩论，争吵 | |
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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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spurt
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| v.喷出；突然进发；突然兴隆 | |
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haven
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| n.安全的地方，避难所，庇护所 | |
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garrison
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| n.卫戍部队；驻地，卫戍区；vt.派(兵)驻防 | |
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lumber
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| n.木材，木料；v.以破旧东西堆满；伐木；笨重移动 | |
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consultations
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| n.磋商（会议）( consultation的名词复数 )；商讨会；协商会；查找 | |
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ammunition
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| n.军火，弹药 | |
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besieged
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| 包围，围困，围攻( besiege的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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83
whoop
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| n.大叫，呐喊，喘息声；v.叫喊，喘息 | |
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imperatively
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| adv.命令式地 | |
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discord
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| n.不和，意见不合，争论，（音乐）不和谐 | |
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tunes
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| n.曲调，曲子( tune的名词复数 )v.调音( tune的第三人称单数 )；调整；（给收音机、电视等）调谐；使协调 | |
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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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consignment
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| n.寄售；发货；委托；交运货物 | |
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ranches
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| 大农场， （兼种果树，养鸡等的）大牧场( ranch的名词复数 ) | |
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scattering
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| n.[物]散射；散乱，分散；在媒介质中的散播adj.散乱的；分散在不同范围的；广泛扩散的；（选票）数量分散的v.散射(scatter的ing形式)；散布；驱散 | |
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repel
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| v.击退，抵制，拒绝，排斥 | |
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demonstration
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| n.表明，示范，论证，示威 | |
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spurted
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| （液体，火焰等）喷出，（使）涌出( spurt的过去式和过去分词 )； （短暂地）加速前进，冲刺 | |
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bulwark
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| n.堡垒，保障，防御 | |
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engrossed
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| adj.全神贯注的 | |
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steering
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| n.操舵装置 | |
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perplexed
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| adj.不知所措的 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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engraved
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| v.在（硬物）上雕刻（字，画等）( engrave的过去式和过去分词 )；将某事物深深印在（记忆或头脑中） | |
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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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101
lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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102
calloused
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| adj.粗糙的，粗硬的，起老茧的v.（使）硬结，（使）起茧( callous的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）冷酷无情 | |
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103
prostrate
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| v.拜倒，平卧，衰竭；adj.拜倒的，平卧的，衰竭的 | |
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104
benevolent
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| adj.仁慈的，乐善好施的 | |
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105
garrulity
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| n.饶舌，多嘴 | |
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106
constable
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| n.(英国)警察，警官 | |
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107
depot
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| n.仓库，储藏处；公共汽车站；火车站 | |
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108
concussion
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| n.脑震荡；震动 | |
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109
rugged
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| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
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110
meddlesome
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| adj.爱管闲事的 | |
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111
grudge
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| n.不满，怨恨，妒嫉；vt.勉强给，不情愿做 | |
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112
candid
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| adj.公正的，正直的；坦率的 | |
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113
rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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114
bonnet
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| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
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115
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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116
contemplating
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| 深思，细想，仔细考虑( contemplate的现在分词 )； 注视，凝视； 考虑接受（发生某事的可能性）； 深思熟虑，沉思，苦思冥想 | |
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117
mittened
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| v.（使）变得潮湿，变得湿润( moisten的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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118
trotted
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| 小跑，急走( trot的过去分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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119
cyclone
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| n.旋风，龙卷风 | |
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