EDITORIAL NOTE.--Before the fatal illness of William Sydney Porter (known through his literary work as "O. Henry") this American master of short-story writing had begun for Hampton's Magazine the story printed below. Illness crept upon him rapidly and he was compelled to give up writing about at the point where the girl enters the story.
When he realized that he could do no more (it was his lifelong habit to write with a pencil, never dictating1 to a stenographer), O. Henry told in detail the remainder of The Snow Man to Harris Merton Lyon, whom he had often spoken of as one of the most effective short-story writers of the present time. Mr. Porter had delineated all of the characters, leaving only the rounding out of the plot in the final pages to Mr. Lyon.
Housed and windowpaned from it, the greatest wonder to little children is the snow. To men, it is something like a crucible2 in which their world melts into a white star ten million miles away. The man who can stand the test is a Snow Man; and this is his reading by Fahrenheit3, Reaumur, or Moses's carven tablets of stone.
Night had fluttered a sable4 pinion5 above the canyon6 of Big Lost River, and I urged my horse toward the Bay Horse Ranch7 because the snow was deepening. The flakes8 were as large as an hour's circular tatting by Miss Wilkins's ablest spinster, betokening9 a heavy snowfall and less entertainment and more adventure than the completion of the tatting could promise. I knew Ross Curtis of the Bay Horse, and that I would be welcome as a snow-bound pilgrim, both for hospitality's sake and because Ross had few chances to confide11 in living creatures who did not neigh, bellow12, bleat13, yelp14, or howl during his discourse15.
The ranch house was just within the jaws16 of the canyon where its builder may have fatuously17 fancied that the timbered and rocky walls on both sides would have protected it from the wintry Colorado winds; but I feared the drift. Even now through the endless, bottomless rift18 in the hills--the speaking tube of the four winds--came roaring the voice of the proprietor19 to the little room on the top floor.
At my "hello," a ranch hand came from an outer building and received my thankful horse. In another minute, Ross and I sat by a stove in the dining-room of the four-room ranch house, while the big, simple welcome of the household lay at my disposal. Fanned by the whizzing norther, the fine, dry snow was sifted20 and bolted through the cracks and knotholes of the logs. The cook room, without a separating door, appended.
In there I could see a short, sturdy, leisurely21 and weather-beaten man moving with professional sureness about his red-hot stove. His face was stolid22 and unreadable--something like that of a great thinker, or of one who had no thoughts to conceal23. I thought his eye seemed unwarrantably superior to the elements and to the man, but quickly attributed that to the characteristic self-importance of a petty chef. "Camp cook" was the niche24 that I gave him in the Hall of Types; and he fitted it as an apple fits a dumpling.
Cold it was in spite of the glowing stove; and Ross and I sat and talked, shuddering25 frequently, half from nerves and half from the freezing draughts26. So he brought the bottle and the cook brought boiling water, and we made prodigious27 hot toddies against the attacks of Boreas. We clinked glasses often. They sounded like icicles dropping from the eaves, or like the tinkle28 of a thousand prisms on a Louis XIV chandelier that I once heard at a boarder's dance in the parlor29 of a ten-a-week boarding-house in Gramercy Square. Sic transit30.
Silence in the terrible beauty of the snow and of the Sphinx and of the stars; but they who believe that all things, from a without-wine table d'hote to the crucifixion, may be interpreted through music, might have found a nocturne or a symphony to express the isolation31 of that blotted-out world. The clink of glass and bottle, the aeolian chorus of the wind in the house crannies, its deeper trombone through the canyon below, and the Wagnerian crash of the cook's pots and pans, united in a fit, discordant32 melody, I thought. No less welcome an accompaniment was the sizzling of broiling33 ham and venison cutlet indorsed by the solvent34 fumes35 of true Java, bringing rich promises of comfort to our yearning36 souls.
The cook brought the smoking supper to the table. He nodded to me democratically as he cast the heavy plates around as though he were pitching quoits or hurling37 the discus. I looked at him with some appraisement38 and curiosity and much conciliation39. There was no prophet to tell us when that drifting evil outside might cease to fall; and it is well, when snow-bound, to stand somewhere within the radius40 of the cook's favorable consideration. But I could read neither favor nor disapproval41 in the face and manner of our pot-wrestler.
He was about five feet nine inches, and two hundred pounds of commonplace, bull-necked, pink-faced, callous42 calm. He wore brown duck trousers too tight and too short, and a blue flannel43 shirt with sleeves rolled above his elbows. There was a sort of grim, steady scowl44 on his features that looked to me as though he had fixed45 it there purposely as a protection against the weakness of an inherent amiability46 that, he fancied, were better concealed47. And then I let supper usurp48 his brief occupancy of my thoughts.
"Draw up, George," said Ross. "Let's all eat while the grub's hot."
"You fellows go on and chew," answered the cook. "I ate mine in the kitchen before sun-down."
"Think it'll be a big snow, George?" asked the ranchman.
George had turned to reenter the cook room. He moved slowly around and, looking at his face, it seemed to me that he was turning over the wisdom and knowledge of centuries in his head.
"It might," was his delayed reply.
At the door of the kitchen he stopped and looked back at us. Both Ross and I held our knives and forks poised49 and gave him our regard. Some men have the power of drawing the attention of others without speaking a word. Their attitude is more effective than a shout.
"And again it mightn't," said George, and went back to his stove.
After we had eaten, he came in and gathered the emptied dishes. He stood for a moment, while his spurious frown deepened.
"It might stop any minute," he said, "or it might keep up for days."
At the farther end of the cook room I saw George pour hot water into his dishpan, light his pipe, and put the tableware through its required lavation. He then carefully unwrapped from a piece of old saddle blanket a paperback50 book, and settled himself to read by his dim oil lamp.
And then the ranchman threw tobacco on the cleared table and set forth51 again the bottles and glasses; and I saw that I stood in a deep channel through which the long dammed flood of his discourse would soon be booming. But I was half content, comparing my fate with that of the late Thomas Tucker, who had to sing for his supper, thus doubling the burdens of both himself and his host.
"Snow is a hell of a thing," said Ross, by way of a foreword. "It ain't, somehow, it seems to me, salubrious. I can stand water and mud and two inches below zero and a hundred and ten in the shade and medium-sized cyclones52, but this here fuzzy white stuff naturally gets me all locoed. I reckon the reason it rattles53 you is because it changes the look of things so much. It's like you had a wife and left her in the morning with the same old blue cotton wrapper on, and rides in of a night and runs across her all outfitted54 in a white silk evening frock, waving an ostrich-feather fan, and monkeying with a posy of lily flowers. Wouldn't it make you look for your pocket compass? You'd be liable to kiss her before you collected your presence of mind."
By and by, the flood of Ross's talk was drawn55 up into the clouds (so it pleased me to fancy) and there condensed into the finer snowflakes of thought; and we sat silent about the stove, as good friends and bitter enemies will do. I thought of Boss's preamble56 about the mysterious influence upon man exerted by that ermine-lined monster that now covered our little world, and knew he was right.
Of all the curious knickknacks, mysteries, puzzles, Indian gifts, rat-traps, and well-disguised blessings57 that the gods chuck down to us from the Olympian peaks, the most disquieting58 and evil-bringing is the snow. By scientific analysis it is absolute beauty and purity --so, at the beginning we look doubtfully at chemistry.
It falls upon the world, and lo! we live in another. It hides in a night the old scars and familiar places with which we have grown heart-sick or enamored. So, as quietly as we can, we hustle60 on our embroidered61 robes and hie us on Prince Camaralzaman's horse or in the reindeer62 sleigh into the white country where the seven colors converge63. This is when our fancy can overcome the bane of it.
But in certain spots of the earth comes the snow-madness, made known by people turned wild and distracted by the bewildering veil that has obscured the only world they know. In the cities, the white fairy who sets the brains of her dupes whirling by a wave of her wand is cast for the comedy role. Her diamond shoe buckles64 glitter like frost; with a pirouette she invites the spotless carnival65.
But in the waste places the snow is sardonic66. Sponging out the world of the outliers, it gives no foothold on another sphere in return. It makes of the earth a firmament67 under foot; it leaves us clawing and stumbling in space in an inimical fifth element whose evil outdoes its strangeness and beauty, There Nature, low comedienne, plays her tricks on man. Though she has put him forth as her highest product, it appears that she has fashioned him with what seems almost incredible carelessness and indexterity. One-sided and without balance, with his two halves unequally fashioned and joined, must he ever jog his eccentric way. The snow falls, the darkness caps it, and the ridiculous man-biped strays in accurate circles until he succumbs68 in the ruins of his defective69 architecture.
In the throat of the thirsty the snow is vitriol. In appearance as plausible70 as the breakfast food of the angels, it is as hot in the mouth as ginger71, increasing the pangs72 of the water-famished. It is a derivative73 from water, air, and some cold, uncanny fire from which the caloric has been extracted. Good has been said of it; even the poets, crazed by its spell and shivering in their attics74 under its touch, have indited75 permanent melodies commemorative of its beauty.
Still, to the saddest overcoated optimist76 it is a plague--a corroding77 plague that Pharaoh successfully side-stepped. It beneficently covers the wheat fields, swelling78 the crop--and the Flour Trust gets us by the throat like a sudden quinsy. It spreads the tail of its white kirtle over the red seams of the rugged79 north--and the Alaskan short story is born. Etiolated perfidy80, it shelters the mountain traveler burrowing81 from the icy air--and, melting to-morrow, drowns his brother in the valley below.
At its worst it is lock and key and crucible, and the wand of Circe. When it corrals man in lonely ranches82, mountain cabins, and forest huts, the snow makes apes and tigers of the hardiest83. It turns the bosoms84 of weaker ones to glass, their tongues to infants' rattles, their hearts to lawlessness and spleen. It is not all from the isolation; the snow is not merely a blockader; it is a Chemical Test. It is a good man who can show a reaction that is not chiefly composed of a drachm or two of potash and magnesia, with traces of Adam, Ananias, Nebuchadnezzar, and the fretful porcupine85.
This is no story, you say; well, let it begin.
There was a knock at the door (is the opening not full of context and reminiscence oh, best buyers of best sellers?).
We drew the latch86, and in stumbled Etienne Girod (as he afterward87 named himself). But just then he was no more than a worm struggling for life, enveloped88 in a killing89 white chrysalis.
We dug down through snow, overcoats, mufflers, and waterproofs90, and dragged forth a living thing with a Van Dyck beard and marvellous diamond rings. We put it through the approved curriculum of snow- rubbing, hot milk, and teaspoonful92 doses of whiskey, working him up to a graduating class entitled to a diploma of three fingers of rye in half a glassful of hot water. One of the ranch boys had already come from the quarters at Ross's bugle-like yell and kicked the stranger's staggering pony93 to some sheltered corral where beasts were entertained.
Let a paragraphic biography of Girod intervene.
Etienne was an opera singer originally, we gathered; but adversity and the snow had made him non compos vocis. The adversity consisted of the stranded94 San Salvador Opera Company, a period of hotel second- story work, and then a career as a professional palmist, jumping from town to town. For, like other professional palmists, every time he worked the Heart Line too strongly he immediately moved along the Line of Least Resistance. Though Etienne did not confide this to us, we surmised95 that he had moved out into the dusk about twenty minutes ahead of a constable96, and had thus encountered the snow. In his most sacred blue language he dilated97 upon the subject of snow; for Etienne was Paris-born and loved the snow with the same passion that an orchid98 does.
"Mee-ser-rhable!" commented Etienne, and took another three fingers.
"Complete, cast-iron, pussy-footed, blank... blank!" said Ross, and followed suit.
"Rotten," said I.
The cook said nothing. He stood in the door weighing our outburst; and insistently99 from behind that frozen visage I got two messages (via the M. A. M wireless100). One was that George considered our vituperation against the snow childish; the other was that George did not love Dagoes. Inasmuch as Etienne was a Frenchman, I concluded I had the message wrong. So I queried101 the other: "Bright eyes, you don't really mean Dagoes, do you?" and over the wireless came three deathly, psychic102 taps: "Yes." Then I reflected that to George all foreigners were probably "Dagoes." I had once known another camp cook who had thought Mons., Sig., and Millie (Trans-Mississippi for Mlle.) were Italian given names; this cook used to marvel91 therefore at the paucity103 of Neo-Roman precognomens, and therefore why not--
I have said that snow is a test of men. For one day, two days, Etienne stood at the window, Fletcherizing his finger nails and shrieking104 and moaning at the monotony. To me, Etienne was just about as unbearable105 as the snow; and so, seeking relief, I went out on the second day to look at my horse, slipped on a stone, broke my collarbone, and thereafter underwent not the snow test, but the test of flat-on-the-back. A test that comes once too often for any man to stand.
However, I bore up cheerfully. I was now merely a spectator, and from my couch in the big room I could lie and watch the human interplay with that detached, impassive, impersonal106 feeling which French writers tell us is so valuable to the litterateur, and American writers to the faro-dealer.
"I shall go crazy in this abominable107, mee-ser-rhable place!" was Etienne's constant prediction.
"Never knew Mark Twain to bore me before," said Ross, over and over. He sat by the other window, hour after hour, a box of Pittsburg stogies of the length, strength, and odor of a Pittsburg graft108 scandal deposited on one side of him, and "Roughing It," "The Jumping Frog," and "Life on the Mississippi" on the other. For every chapter he lit a new stogy, puffing109 furiously. This in time, gave him a recurrent premonition of cramps110, gastritis, smoker's colic or whatever it is they have in Pittsburg after a too deep indulgence in graft scandals. To fend111 off the colic, Ross resorted time and again to Old Doctor Still's Amber-Colored U. S. A. Colic Cure. Result, after forty-eight hours--nerves.
"Positive fact I never knew Mark Twain to make me tired before. Positive fact." Ross slammed "Roughing It" on the floor. "When you're snowbound this-away you want tragedy, I guess. Humor just seems to bring out all your cussedness. You read a man's poor, pitiful attempts to be funny and it makes you so nervous you want to tear the book up, get out your bandana, and have a good, long cry."
At the other end of the room, the Frenchman took his finger nails out of his mouth long enough to exclaim: "Humor! Humor at such a time as thees! My God, I shall go crazy in thees abominable--"
"Supper," announced George.
These meals were not the meals of Rabelais who said, "the great God makes the planets and we make the platters neat." By that time, the ranch-house meals were not affairs of gusto; they were mental distraction112, not bodily provender113. What they were to be later shall never be forgotten by Ross or me or Etienne.
After supper, the stogies and finger nails began again. My shoulder ached wretchedly, and with half-closed eyes I tried to forget it by watching the deft114 movements of the stolid cook.
Suddenly I saw him cock his ear, like a dog. Then, with a swift step, he moved to the door, threw it open, and stood there.
The rest of us had heard nothing.
"What is it, George?" asked Ross.
The cook reached out his hand into the darkness alongside the jamb. With careful precision he prodded115 something. Then he made one careful step into the snow. His back muscles bulged116 a little under the arms as he stooped and lightly lifted a burden. Another step inside the door, which he shut methodically behind him, and he dumped the burden at a safe distance from the fire.
He stood up and fixed us with a solemn eye. None of us moved under that Orphic suspense117 until,
"A woman," remarked George.
Miss Willie Adams was her name. Vocation118, school-teacher. Present avocation119, getting lost in the snow. Age, yum-yum (the Persian for twenty). Take to the woods if you would describe Miss Adams. A willow120 for grace; a hickory for fibre; a birch for the clear whiteness of her skin; for eyes, the blue sky seen through treetops; the silk in cocoons121 for her hair; her voice, the murmur122 of the evening June wind in the leaves; her mouth, the berries of the wintergreen; fingers as light as ferns; her toe as small as a deer track. General impression upon the dazed beholder--you could not see the forest for the trees.
Psychology123, with a capital P and the foot of a lynx, at this juncture124 stalks into the ranch house. Three men, a cook, a pretty young woman --all snowbound. Count me out of it, as I did not count, anyway. I never did, with women. Count the cook out, if you like. But note the effect upon Ross and Etienne Girod.
Ross dumped Mark Twain in a trunk and locked the trunk. Also, he discarded the Pittsburg scandals. Also, he shaved off a three days' beard.
Etienne, being French, began on the beard first. He pomaded it, from a little tube of grease Hongroise in his vest pocket. He combed it with a little aluminum125 comb from the same vest pocket. He trimmed it with manicure scissors from the same vest pocket. His light and Gallic spirits underwent a sudden, miraculous127 change. He hummed a blithe128 San Salvador Opera Company tune129; he grinned, smirked130, bowed, pirouetted, twiddled, twaddled, twisted, and tooralooed. Gayly, the notorious troubadour, could not have equalled Etienne.
Ross's method of advance was brusque, domineering. "Little woman," he said, "you're welcome here!"--and with what he thought subtle double meaning--"welcome to stay here as long as you like, snow or no snow."
Miss Adams thanked him a little wildly, some of the wintergreen berries creeping into the birch bark. She looked around hurriedly as if seeking escape. But there was none, save the kitchen and the room allotted131 her. She made an excuse and disappeared into her own room.
Later I, feigning132 sleep, heard the following:
"Mees Adams, I was almost to perislh-die-of monotony w'en your fair and beautiful face appear in thees mee-ser-rhable house." I opened my starboard eye. The beard was being curled furiously around a finger, the Svengali eye was rolling, the chair was being hunched133 closer to the school-teacher's. "I am French--you see--temperamental--nervous! I cannot endure thees dull hours in thees ranch house; but--a woman comes! Ah!" The shoulders gave nine 'rahs and a tiger. "What a difference! All is light and gay; ever'ting smile w'en you smile. You have 'eart, beauty, grace. My 'eart comes back to me w'en I feel your 'eart. So!" He laid his hand upon his vest pocket. From this vantage point he suddenly snatched at the school-teacher's own hand, "Ah! Mees Adams, if I could only tell you how I ad--"
"Dinner," remarked George. He was standing134 just behind the Frenchman's ear. His eyes looked straight into the school-teacher's eyes. After thirty seconds of survey, his lips moved, deep in the flinty, frozen maelstrom135 of his face: "Dinner," he concluded, "will be ready in two minutes."
Miss Adams jumped to her feet, relieved. "I must get ready for dinner," she said brightly, and went into her room.
Ross came in fifteen minutes late. After the dishes had been cleaned away, I waited until a propitious136 time when the room was temporarily ours alone, and told him what had happened.
He became so excited that he lit a stogy without thinking. "Yeller- hided, unwashed, palm-readin' skunk137," he said under his breath. "I'll shoot him full o' holes if he don't watch out--talkin' that way to my wife!"
I gave a jump that set my collarbone back another week. "Your wife!" I gasped138.
"Well, I mean to make her that," he announced.
The air in the ranch house the rest of that day was tense with pent-up emotions, oh, best buyers of best sellers.
Ross watched Miss Adams as a hawk139 does a hen; he watched Etienne as a hawk does a scarecrow, Etienne watched Miss Adams as a weasel does a henhouse. He paid no attention to Ross.
The condition of Miss Adams, in the role of sought-after, was feverish140. Lately escaped from the agony and long torture of the white cold, where for hours Nature had kept the little school-teacher's vision locked in and turned upon herself, nobody knows through what profound feminine introspections she had gone. Now, suddenly cast among men, instead of finding relief and security, she beheld141 herself plunged142 anew into other discomforts143. Even in her own room she could hear the loud voices of her imposed suitors. "I'll blow you full o' holes!" shouted Ross. "Witnesses," shrieked144 Etienne, waving his hand at the cook and me. She could not have known the previous harassed145 condition of the men, fretting146 under indoor conditions. All she knew was, that where she had expected the frank freemasonry of the West, she found the subtle tangle147 of two men's minds, bent148 upon exacting149 whatever romance there might be in her situation.
She tried to dodge150 Ross and the Frenchman by spells of nursing me. They also came over to help nurse. This combination aroused such a natural state of invalid151 cussedness on my part that they were all forced to retire. Once she did manage to whisper: "I am so worried here. I don't know what to do."
To which I replied, gently, hitching152 up my shoulder, that I was a hunch-savant and that the Eighth House under this sign, the Moon being in Virgo, showed that everything would turn out all right.
But twenty minutes later I saw Etienne reading her palm and felt that perhaps I might have to recast her horoscope, and try for a dark man coming with a bundle.
Toward sunset, Etienne left the house for a few moments and Ross, who had been sitting taciturn and morose153, having unlocked Mark Twain, made another dash. It was typical Ross talk.
He stood in front of her and looked down majestically154 at that cool and perfect spot where Miss Adams' forehead met the neat part in her fragrant155 hair. First, however, he cast a desperate glance at me. I was in a profound slumber156.
"Little woman," he began, "it's certainly tough for a man like me to see you bothered this way. You"--gulp--"you have been alone in this world too long. You need a protector. I might say that at a time like this you need a protector the worst kind--a protector who would take a three-ring delight in smashing the saffron-colored kisser off of any yeller-skinned skunk that made himself obnoxious157 to you. Hem59. Hem. I am a lonely man, Miss Adams. I have so far had to carry on my life without the"--gulp--"sweet radiance"--gulp--"of a woman around the house. I feel especially doggoned lonely at a time like this, when I am pretty near locoed from havin' to stall indoors, and hence it was with delight I welcomed your first appearance in this here shack158. Since then I have been packed jam full of more different kinds of feelings, ornery, mean, dizzy, and superb, than has fallen my way in years."
Miss Adams made a useless movement toward escape. The Ross chin stuck firm. "I don't want to annoy you, Miss Adams, but, by heck, if it comes to that you'll have to be annoyed. And I'll have to have my say. This palm-ticklin' slob of a Frenchman ought to be kicked off the place and if you'll say the word, off he goes. But I don't want to do the wrong thing. You've got to show a preference. I'm gettin' around to the point, Miss--Miss Willie, in my own brick fashion. I've stood about all I can stand these last two days and somethin's got to happen. The suspense hereabouts is enough to hang a sheepherder. Miss Willie"--he lassooed her hand by main force--"just say the word. You need somebody to take your part all your life long. Will you mar--"
"Supper," remarked George, tersely159, from the kitchen door.
Miss Adams hurried away.
Ross turned angrily. "You--"
"I have been revolving160 it in my head," said George.
He brought the coffee pot forward heavily. Then bravely the big platter of pork and beans. Then somberly the potatoes. Then profoundly the biscuits. "I have been revolving it in my mind. There ain't no use waitin' any longer for Swengalley. Might as well eat now."
>From my excellent vantage-point on the couch I watched the progress of that meal. Ross, muddled161, glowering162, disappointed; Etienne, eternally blandishing, attentive164, ogling165; Miss Adams, nervous, picking at her food, hesitant about answering questions, almost hysterical166; now and then the solid, flitting shadow of the cook, passing behind their backs like a Dreadnaught in a fog.
I used to own a clock which gurgled in its throat three minutes before it struck the hour. I know, therefore, the slow freight of Anticipation167. For I have awakened168 at three in the morning, heard the clock gurgle, and waited those three minutes for the three strokes I knew were to come. Alors. In Ross's ranch house that night the slow freight of Climax169 whistled in the distance.
Etienne began it after supper. Miss Aclams had suddenly displayed a lively interest in the kitchen layout and I could see her in there, chatting brightly at George--not with him--the while he ducked his head and rattled170 his pans.
"My fren'," said Etienne, exhaling171 a large cloud from his cigarette and patting Ross lightly on the shoulder with a bediamonded hand which, hung limp from a yard or more of bony arm, "I see I mus' be frank with you. Firs', because we are rivals; second, because you take these matters so serious. I--I am Frenchman. I love the women" --he threw back his curls, bared his yellow teeth, and blew an unsavory kiss toward the kitchen. "It is, I suppose, a trait of my nation. All Frenchmen love the women--pretty women. Now, look: Here I am!" He spread out his arms. "Cold outside! I detes' the col-l-l! Snow! I abominate172 the mees-ser-rhable snow! Two men! This--" pointing to me--"an' this!" Pointing to' Ross. "I am distracted! For two whole days I stan' at the window an' tear my 'air! I am nervous, upset, pr-r-ro-foun'ly distress173 inside my 'ead! An' suddenly--be'old! A woman, a nice, pretty, charming, innocen' young woman! I, naturally, rejoice. I become myself again--gay, light-'earted, "appy. I address myself to mademoiselle; it passes the time. That, m'sieu', is wot the women are for--pass the time! Entertainment--like the music, like the wine!
"They appeal to the mood, the caprice, the temperamen'. To play with thees woman, follow her through her humor, pursue her--ah! that is the mos' delightful174 way to sen' the hours about their business."
Ross banged the table. "Shut up, you miserable175 yeller pup!" he roared. "I object to your pursuin' anything or anybody in my house. Now, you listen to me, you--" He picked up the box of stogies and used it on the table as an emphasizer. The noise of it awoke the attention of the girl in the kitchen. Unheeded, she crept into the room. "I don't know anything about your French ways of lovemakin' an' I don't care. In my section of the country, it's the best man wins. And I'm the best man here, and don't you forget it! This girl's goin' to be mine. There ain't g'oing to be any playing, or philandering176, or palm reading about it. I've made up my mind I'll have this girl, and that settles it. My word is the law in this neck o' the woods. She's mine, and as soon as she says she's mine, you pull out." The box made one final, tremendous punctuation177 point.
Etienne's bravado178 was unruffled. "Ah! that is no way to win a woman," he smiled, easily. "I make prophecy you will never win 'er that way. No. Not thees woman. She mus' be played along an' then keessed, this charming, delicious little creature. One kees! An' then you 'ave her." Again he displayed his unpleasant teeth. "I make you a bet I will kees her--"
As a cheerful chronicler of deeds done well, it joys me to relate that the hand which fell upon Etienne's amorous179 lips was not his own. There was one sudden sound, as of a mule180 kicking a lath fence, and then--through the swinging doors of oblivion for Etienne.
I had seen this blow delivered. It was an aloof181, unstudied, almost absent-minded affair. I had thought the cook was rehearsing the proper method of turning a flapjack.
Silently, lost in thought, he stood there scratching his head. Then he began rolling down his sleeves.
"You'd better get your things on, Miss, and we'll get out of here," he decided182. "Wrap up warm."
I heard her heave a little sigh of relief as she went to get her cloak, sweater, and hat.
Ross jumped to his feet, and said: "George, what are you goin' to do?"
George, who had been headed in my direction, slowly swivelled around and faced his employer. "Bein' a camp cook, I ain't over-burdened with hosses," George enlightened us. "Therefore, I am going to try to borrow this feller's here."
For the first time in four days my soul gave a genuine cheer. "If it's for Lochinvar purposes, go as far as you like," I said, grandly.
The cook studied me a moment, as if trying to find an insult in my words. "No," he replied. "It's for mine and the young lady's purposes, and we'll go only three miles--to Hicksville. Now let me tell you somethin', Ross." Suddenly I was confronted with the cook's chunky back and I heard a low, curt10, carrying voice shoot through the room at my host. George had wheeled just as Ross started to speak. "You're nutty. That's what's the matter with you. You can't stand the snow. You're getting nervouser, and nuttier every day. That and this Dago"--he jerked a thumb at the half-dead Frenchman in the corner--"has got you to the point where I thought I better horn in. I got to revolving it around in my mind and I seen if somethin' wasn't done, and done soon, there'd be murder around here and maybe" --his head gave an imperceptible list toward the girl's room--"worse."
He stopped, but he held up a stubby finger to keep any one else from speaking. Then he plowed183 slowly through the drift of his ideas. "About this here woman. I know you, Ross, and I know what you reely think about women. If she hadn't happened in here durin' this here snow, you'd never have given two thoughts to the whole woman question. Likewise, when the storm clears, and you and the boys go hustlin' out, this here whole business 'll clear out of your head and you won't think of a skirt again until Kingdom Come. Just because o' this snow here, don't forget you're living in the selfsame world you was in four days ago. And you're the same man, too. Now, what's the use o' getting all snarled184 up over four days of stickin' in the house? That there's what I been revolvin' in my mind and this here's the decision I've come to."
He plodded185 to the door and shouted to one of the ranch hands to saddle my horse.
Ross lit a stogy and stood thoughtful in the middle of the room. Then he began: "I've a durn good notion, George, to knock your confounded head off and throw you into that snowbank, if--"
"You're wrong, mister. That ain't a durned good notion you've got. It's durned bad. Look here!" He pointed163 steadily186 out of doors until we were both forced to follow his finger. "You're in here for more'n a week yet." After allowing this fact to sink in, he barked out at Ross: "Can you cook?" Then at me: "Can you cook?" Then he looked at the wreck187 of Etienne and sniffed188.
There was an embarrassing silence as Ross and I thought solemnly of a foodless week.
"If you just use hoss sense," concluded George, "and don't go for to hurt my feelin's, all I want to do is to take this young gal126 down to Hicksville; and then I'll head back here and cook fer you."
The horse and Miss Adams arrived simultaneously189, both of them very serious and quiet. The horse because he knew what he had before him in that weather; the girl because of what she had left behind.
Then all at once I awoke to a realization190 of what the cook was doing. "My God, man!" I cried, "aren't you afraid to go out in that snow?"
Behind my back I heard Ross mutter, "Not him."
George lifted the girl daintily up behind the saddle, drew on his gloves, put his foot in the stirrup, and turned to inspect me leisurely.
As I passed slowly in his review, I saw in my mind's eye the algebraic equation of Snow, the equals sign, and the answer in the man before me.
"Snow is my last name," said George. He swung into the saddle and they started cautiously out into the darkening swirl191 of fresh new currency just issuing from the Snowdrop Mint. The girl, to keep her place, clung happily to the sturdy figure of the camp cook.
I brought three things away from Ross Curtis's ranch house--yes, four. One was the appreciation192 of snow, which I have so humbly193 tried here to render; (2) was a collarbone, of which I am extra careful; (3) was a memory of what it is to eat very extremely bad food for a week; and (4) was the cause of (3) a little note delivered at the end of the week and hand-painted in blue pencil on a sheet of meat paper.
"I cannot come back there to that there job. Mrs. Snow say no, George. I been revolvin' it in my mind; considerin' circumstances she's right."
收听单词发音 |
1
dictating
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| v.大声讲或读( dictate的现在分词 )；口授；支配；摆布 | |
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2
crucible
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| n.坩锅，严酷的考验 | |
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Fahrenheit
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| n./adj.华氏温度；华氏温度计(的) | |
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sable
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| n.黑貂；adj.黑色的 | |
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pinion
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| v.束缚；n.小齿轮 | |
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canyon
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| n.峡谷，溪谷 | |
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ranch
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| n.大牧场，大农场 | |
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flakes
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| 小薄片( flake的名词复数 )； （尤指）碎片； 雪花； 古怪的人 | |
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betokening
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| v.预示，表示( betoken的现在分词 ) | |
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curt
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| adj.简短的，草率的 | |
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confide
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| v.向某人吐露秘密 | |
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bellow
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| v.吼叫，怒吼；大声发出，大声喝道 | |
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13
bleat
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| v.咩咩叫，(讲)废话，哭诉；n.咩咩叫，废话，哭诉 | |
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14
yelp
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| vi.狗吠 | |
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discourse
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| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
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jaws
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| n.口部；嘴 | |
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fatuously
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| adv.愚昧地，昏庸地，蠢地 | |
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rift
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| n.裂口，隙缝，切口；v.裂开，割开，渗入 | |
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proprietor
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| n.所有人；业主；经营者 | |
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sifted
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| v.筛( sift的过去式和过去分词 )；筛滤；细查；详审 | |
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leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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stolid
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| adj.无动于衷的，感情麻木的 | |
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conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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niche
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| n.壁龛；合适的职务(环境、位置等) | |
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shuddering
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| v.战栗( shudder的现在分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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draughts
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| n. <英>国际跳棋 | |
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prodigious
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| adj.惊人的，奇妙的；异常的；巨大的；庞大的 | |
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tinkle
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| vi.叮当作响；n.叮当声 | |
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29
parlor
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| n.店铺，营业室；会客室，客厅 | |
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transit
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| n.经过，运输；vt.穿越，旋转；vi.越过 | |
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isolation
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| n.隔离，孤立，分解，分离 | |
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discordant
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| adj.不调和的 | |
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broiling
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| adj.酷热的，炽热的，似烧的v.（用火）烤（焙、炙等）( broil的现在分词 )；使卷入争吵；使混乱；被烤（或炙） | |
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solvent
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| n.溶剂；adj.有偿付能力的 | |
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fumes
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| n.(强烈而刺激的)气味，气体 | |
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yearning
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| a.渴望的；向往的；怀念的 | |
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37
hurling
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| n.爱尔兰式曲棍球v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的现在分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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38
appraisement
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| n.评价，估价；估值 | |
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conciliation
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| n.调解，调停 | |
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radius
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| n.半径，半径范围；有效航程，范围，界限 | |
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41
disapproval
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| n.反对，不赞成 | |
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42
callous
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| adj.无情的，冷淡的，硬结的，起老茧的 | |
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43
flannel
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| n.法兰绒；法兰绒衣服 | |
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44
scowl
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| vi.(at)生气地皱眉，沉下脸，怒视；n.怒容 | |
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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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amiability
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| n.和蔼可亲的，亲切的，友善的 | |
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concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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48
usurp
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| vt.篡夺，霸占；vi.篡位 | |
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poised
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| a.摆好姿势不动的 | |
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paperback
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| n.平装本，简装本 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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cyclones
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| n.气旋( cyclone的名词复数 )；旋风；飓风；暴风 | |
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rattles
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| （使）发出格格的响声， （使）作嘎嘎声( rattle的第三人称单数 )； 喋喋不休地说话； 迅速而嘎嘎作响地移动，堕下或走动； 使紧张，使恐惧 | |
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54
outfitted
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| v.装备，配置设备，供给服装( outfit的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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56
preamble
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| n.前言；序文 | |
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57
blessings
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| n.（上帝的）祝福( blessing的名词复数 )；好事；福分；因祸得福 | |
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58
disquieting
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| adj.令人不安的，令人不平静的v.使不安，使忧虑，使烦恼( disquiet的现在分词 ) | |
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59
hem
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| n.贴边，镶边；vt.缝贴边；(in)包围，限制 | |
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60
hustle
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| v.推搡；竭力兜售或获取；催促；n.奔忙(碌) | |
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61
embroidered
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| adj．绣花的 | |
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62
reindeer
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| n.驯鹿 | |
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63
converge
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| vi.会合；聚集，集中；(思想、观点等)趋近 | |
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64
buckles
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| 搭扣，扣环( buckle的名词复数 ) | |
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65
carnival
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| n.嘉年华会，狂欢，狂欢节，巡回表演 | |
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66
sardonic
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| adj.嘲笑的，冷笑的，讥讽的 | |
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67
firmament
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| n.苍穹；最高层 | |
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68
succumbs
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| 不再抵抗（诱惑、疾病、攻击等）( succumb的第三人称单数 )； 屈从； 被压垮； 死 | |
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69
defective
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| adj.有毛病的，有问题的，有瑕疵的 | |
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70
plausible
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| adj.似真实的，似乎有理的，似乎可信的 | |
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71
ginger
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| n.姜，精力，淡赤黄色；adj.淡赤黄色的；vt.使活泼，使有生气 | |
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72
pangs
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| 突然的剧痛( pang的名词复数 )； 悲痛 | |
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73
derivative
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| n.派(衍)生物；adj.非独创性的，模仿他人的 | |
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74
attics
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| n. 阁楼 | |
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75
indited
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| v.写（文章，信等）创作，赋诗，创作( indite的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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76
optimist
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| n.乐观的人，乐观主义者 | |
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77
corroding
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| 使腐蚀，侵蚀( corrode的现在分词 ) | |
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78
swelling
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| n.肿胀 | |
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79
rugged
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| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
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80
perfidy
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| n.背信弃义，不忠贞 | |
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81
burrowing
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| v.挖掘（洞穴），挖洞( burrow的现在分词 )；翻寻 | |
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82
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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83
hardiest
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| 能吃苦耐劳的，坚强的( hardy的最高级 )； （植物等）耐寒的 | |
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84
bosoms
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| 胸部( bosom的名词复数 )； 胸怀； 女衣胸部（或胸襟）； 和爱护自己的人在一起的情形 | |
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85
porcupine
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| n.豪猪， 箭猪 | |
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86
latch
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| n.门闩，窗闩；弹簧锁 | |
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87
afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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88
enveloped
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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89
killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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90
waterproofs
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| n.防水衣物，雨衣 usually plural( waterproof的名词复数 )v.使防水，使不透水( waterproof的第三人称单数 ) | |
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91
marvel
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| vi.(at)惊叹vt.感到惊异；n.令人惊异的事 | |
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92
teaspoonful
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| n.一茶匙的量；一茶匙容量 | |
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93
pony
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| adj.小型的；n.小马 | |
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94
stranded
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| a.搁浅的，进退两难的 | |
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95
surmised
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| v.臆测，推断( surmise的过去式和过去分词 )；揣测；猜想 | |
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96
constable
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| n.(英国)警察，警官 | |
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97
dilated
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| adj.加宽的，扩大的v.（使某物）扩大，膨胀，张大( dilate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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98
orchid
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| n.兰花，淡紫色 | |
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99
insistently
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| ad.坚持地 | |
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100
wireless
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| adj.无线的；n.无线电 | |
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101
queried
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| v.质疑，对…表示疑问( query的过去式和过去分词 )；询问 | |
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102
psychic
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| n.对超自然力敏感的人；adj.有超自然力的 | |
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103
paucity
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| n.小量，缺乏 | |
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104
shrieking
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| v.尖叫( shriek的现在分词 ) | |
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105
unbearable
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| adj.不能容忍的；忍受不住的 | |
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106
impersonal
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| adj.无个人感情的，与个人无关的，非人称的 | |
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107
abominable
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| adj.可厌的，令人憎恶的 | |
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108
graft
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| n.移植，嫁接，艰苦工作，贪污；v.移植，嫁接 | |
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109
puffing
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| v.使喷出( puff的现在分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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110
cramps
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| n. 抽筋, 腹部绞痛, 铁箍 adj. 狭窄的, 难解的 v. 使...抽筋, 以铁箍扣紧, 束缚 | |
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111
fend
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| v.照料（自己），（自己）谋生，挡开，避开 | |
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112
distraction
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| n.精神涣散，精神不集中，消遣，娱乐 | |
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113
provender
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| n.刍草；秣料 | |
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114
deft
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| adj.灵巧的，熟练的（a deft hand 能手） | |
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115
prodded
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| v.刺，戳( prod的过去式和过去分词 )；刺激；促使；（用手指或尖物）戳 | |
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116
bulged
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| 凸出( bulge的过去式和过去分词 )； 充满； 塞满（某物） | |
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117
suspense
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| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
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118
vocation
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| n.职业，行业 | |
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119
avocation
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| n.副业，业余爱好 | |
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120
willow
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| n.柳树 | |
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121
cocoons
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| n.茧，蚕茧( cocoon的名词复数 )v.茧，蚕茧( cocoon的第三人称单数 ) | |
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122
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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123
psychology
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| n.心理，心理学，心理状态 | |
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124
juncture
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| n.时刻，关键时刻，紧要关头 | |
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125
aluminum
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| n.(aluminium)铝 | |
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126
gal
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| n.姑娘，少女 | |
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127
miraculous
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| adj.像奇迹一样的，不可思议的 | |
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128
blithe
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| adj.快乐的，无忧无虑的 | |
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129
tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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130
smirked
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| v.傻笑( smirk的过去分词 ) | |
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131
allotted
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| 分配，拨给，摊派( allot的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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132
feigning
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| 假装，伪装( feign的现在分词 )； 捏造（借口、理由等） | |
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133
hunched
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| （常指因寒冷、生病或愁苦）耸肩弓身的，伏首前倾的 | |
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134
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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135
maelstrom
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| n.大乱动；大漩涡 | |
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136
propitious
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| adj.吉利的；顺利的 | |
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137
skunk
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| n.臭鼬，黄鼠狼；v.使惨败，使得零分；烂醉如泥 | |
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138
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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139
hawk
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| n.鹰，骗子；鹰派成员 | |
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140
feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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141
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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142
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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143
discomforts
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| n.不舒适( discomfort的名词复数 )；不愉快，苦恼 | |
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144
shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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145
harassed
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| adj. 疲倦的，厌烦的 动词harass的过去式和过去分词 | |
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146
fretting
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| n. 微振磨损 adj. 烦躁的, 焦虑的 | |
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147
tangle
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| n.纠缠；缠结；混乱；v.(使)缠绕；变乱 | |
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148
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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149
exacting
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| adj.苛求的，要求严格的 | |
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150
dodge
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| v.闪开，躲开，避开；n.妙计，诡计 | |
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151
invalid
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| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
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152
hitching
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| 搭乘； （免费）搭乘他人之车( hitch的现在分词 )； 搭便车； 攀上； 跃上 | |
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153
morose
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| adj.脾气坏的，不高兴的 | |
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154
majestically
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| 雄伟地； 庄重地； 威严地； 崇高地 | |
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155
fragrant
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| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
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156
slumber
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| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
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157
obnoxious
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| adj.极恼人的，讨人厌的，可憎的 | |
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158
shack
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| adj.简陋的小屋，窝棚 | |
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159
tersely
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| adv. 简捷地, 简要地 | |
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160
revolving
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| adj.旋转的，轮转式的；循环的v.（使）旋转( revolve的现在分词 )；细想 | |
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161
muddled
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| adj.混乱的；糊涂的；头脑昏昏然的v.弄乱，弄糟( muddle的过去式)；使糊涂；对付，混日子 | |
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162
glowering
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| v.怒视( glower的现在分词 ) | |
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163
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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164
attentive
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| adj.注意的，专心的；关心(别人)的，殷勤的 | |
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165
ogling
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| v.（向…）抛媚眼，送秋波( ogle的现在分词 ) | |
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166
hysterical
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| adj.情绪异常激动的，歇斯底里般的 | |
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167
anticipation
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| n.预期，预料，期望 | |
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168
awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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169
climax
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| n.顶点；高潮；v.(使)达到顶点 | |
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170
rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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171
exhaling
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| v.呼出，发散出( exhale的现在分词 )；吐出（肺中的空气、烟等），呼气 | |
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172
abominate
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| v.憎恨，厌恶 | |
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173
distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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174
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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175
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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176
philandering
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| v.调戏，玩弄女性( philander的现在分词 ) | |
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177
punctuation
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| n.标点符号，标点法 | |
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178
bravado
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| n.虚张声势，故作勇敢，逞能 | |
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179
amorous
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| adj.多情的；有关爱情的 | |
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180
mule
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| n.骡子，杂种，执拗的人 | |
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181
aloof
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| adj.远离的；冷淡的，漠不关心的 | |
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182
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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183
plowed
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| v.耕( plow的过去式和过去分词 )；犁耕；费力穿过 | |
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184
snarled
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| v.（指狗）吠，嗥叫， （人）咆哮( snarl的过去式和过去分词 )；咆哮着说，厉声地说 | |
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185
plodded
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| v.沉重缓慢地走（路）( plod的过去式和过去分词 )；努力从事；沉闷地苦干；缓慢进行（尤指艰难枯燥的工作） | |
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186
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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187
wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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188
sniffed
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| v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的过去式和过去分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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189
simultaneously
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| adv.同时发生地，同时进行地 | |
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190
realization
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| n.实现；认识到，深刻了解 | |
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191
swirl
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| v.(使)打漩，(使)涡卷；n.漩涡，螺旋形 | |
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192
appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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193
humbly
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| adv. 恭顺地，谦卑地 | |
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