The riders were out of sight now, but he continued down the road almost unconsciously, deep in plans. He took no notice of how far he had walked, until he felt planks4 resounding5 hollowly under his feet. He had come to a bridge, an immensely long bridge of timber, crossing a small creek7 bordered by dense8 swamp. He crossed the bridge and peceived a road, apparently9 not greatly in use, that led away to the left into the woods.
He remembered Mr. Ferrell’s directions. This must be the trail to the turpentine camp, and now that he had come so far he determined10 to go on and interview Charley Craig. A job in the pine woods would exactly suit his purposes in every way just then, and he needed the wages it would earn. This was no moment to break in on his gold reserve.
He turned down the road to the left, which curved off uncertainly among the pines. The ground was marked here and there by the ruts of heavy wagons12; he detected also the corrugated13 imprint14 of a motor’s tire, and within a few rods he began to see traces of the turpentine industry.
The ground was rising from the creek swamp into pine land, grown with pines of all sizes, from bushy shrubs15 to immense trunks rising arrow-straight and without a branch to the feathery, palmlike crest16 a hundred feet from the earth. Nearly every pine of more than eight inches in diameter had a great slash17 of bark chipped from one side, showing the bare wood smeared18 and frosted with drops of gum, oozing19, dripping, or crystallized into solid white or bluish masses, looking livid and diseased. At the lower edge of this slash a tin gutter20 was fixed21, collecting the slow ooze22 of the gum, and leading it into a large tin cup that hung from a hook.
All this was very familiar to Lockwood, and he regarded it with something of an expert eye. Under the stimulus23 of the hot weather the gum was flowing freely. Many of the cups were nearly full of the intensely sticky, whitish mass that exhaled24 a sharp, wholesome25 odor. Everywhere he looked the trees had been turpentined; the camp was evidently running at full blast; and a little way farther he came upon a negro “chipper” who was taking off a fresh slice of the bark with his razor-edged tool like a light adze.
The road wound about through the pines and crossed a gallberry flat. He heard voices and came out into the clearing where the camp itself was built.
There were thirty or forty negro families living in the camp, and women and children swarmed26 about the cabins, staring at the stranger. Lockwood approached the still—a huge brick furnace with a built-in copper28 retort, sheltered by a corrugated iron roof and topped by a tall chimney. Lumps of rosin littered the earth; empty and full rosin barrels stood everywhere; there was a powerful smell of pine and tar27 and turpentine, but the still was not working that day.
No white man was in sight, but he picked out a house of superior quality, painted green and with curtained windows, which must be the quarters either of Craig himself or of the foreman. Close to it stood a long, low building, much resembling the Atha post office, which was undoubtedly29 the commissary store. This place is always the real center of a turpentine camp, and Lockwood went in to make inquiries30.
A young man without coat or vest, smoking a cigarette, greeted the visitor with lazy affability. Lockwood inquired for the chief.
“He’s just now come in,” said the clerk, and he knocked at the door of the inner office, and then opened it.
A tall, spare, oldish man sat within, writing at a plain table. Charley Craig was a well-known figure in central Alabama, and is so still. All his life had been spent in contact with the long-leaf pine; he had turpentined the trees, lumbered31 them, run sawmills. The rosin of the gum must have preserved his youth, for he was past sixty, but still able to ride, run, or fight with almost any of the young fellows he employed.
“I understand you want a woods rider, Mr. Craig,” Lockwood explained himself.
Craig searched him up and down with piercing gray eyes.
“You understand the turpentine business? Come in and take a seat,” he said. “I may need another man for a while. One of my men got hurt. You’ve done this job before?”
“No, I never rode the woods,” Lockwood admitted, “but I think I understand what the job is. I’ve worked in camp in west Florida. I know something about the still, and how to run a charge——”
“Can you ride?”
“Yes, after I get over some saddle soreness.”
“Know how to handle the men? The turpentine nigger is a special sort, you know—tough devils, and hard to manage.”
“I’ve lived among niggers all my life, and I reckon I can handle most of ’em.”
“What wages do you want?” Craig asked, after a little thought.
“Well, I don’t claim to be a first-class turpentine man,” said Lockwood, “but I want to learn to be one. It’s possible that I may go into the business myself next year with a partner. Wages aren’t the main point with me. I’d like, though, to be able to get a day off now and again, when things aren’t too busy.”
“I dunno. I’d rather get an experienced man,” said Craig. “Stay and eat dinner with us, anyway, and then we’ll look over the camp.”
Lockwood ate a large, hot, and homely32 dinner at the house of the camp foreman, in company with the foreman, Craig, and store clerk and the “stiller”—the principal white employees. Afterward33 Craig took him out, smoking innumerable cigarettes which he rolled up with a single deft34 twist, and conducted him over the camp, about the still, the storehouse, the cooperage workshop, the grindery where hundreds of axes and “hacks” were kept keen, the mule35 stables, the quarters of the negroes. Apparently pointing out these details, Craig shrewdly elicited36 all Lockwood knew of the turpentine process. Afterward they walked into the woods, observed the run of the gum, and the work of the chippers. Craig looked at his watch.
“I’ve got to be on horseback,” he said. “How about two dollars a day and board, until my man gets out of the infirmary?”
Lockwood accepted instantly. In fact, he would almost have worked for a week for his board alone—his board, and the local standing37 which the regular job would furnish.
He was to start work the next day, and meanwhile he had to bring up his suit case from the landing, where he had dropped it in the warehouse38 the night before. He loitered at the commissary for some time, cementing his friendship with the store clerk, and it was past the middle of the afternoon when he started to walk back to the landing.
The Power boys had come back. He saw their big car standing by the front door when he passed the house, but no one was in sight. He hurried past; the great, white, dilapidated old mansion39 seemed already intensely familiar to him, and intensely significant—the theater of a coming crisis.
He went past the post office without stopping to speak to Mr. Ferrell, who nodded from the gallery. He retraced40 the road that he had traveled in the night; the creek rushed swirling41 over glittering pebbles42, shut in by thickets43 of titi, glossy-green bay leaves, cypress44 and gum, lighted up by huge, blazing-red, trumpet-shaped flowers that hung in clusters from tangling45 vines. Beyond the swamp the road rose into pine woods again. Then he came to the crossing road, and turned toward the river.
Far in the distance he caught a glimpse of the Alabama River, like a pinkish streak46 through the brilliant pine foliage47. It was still more than a mile away, and the corduroyed road ran through depths of swamp for the most part, skirted lagoons48 of stagnant49 black water, crossed sluggish-brown bayous, went over a higher and dryer50 ridge6 of “hammock land,” and came down at last to the landing.
The warehouse was open, and there were a few men about it. A couple of buggies were hitched51 to a tree, and a wagon11 was loading with cases of freight. It was a wagon from the turpentine camp, he discovered, and he had his suit case put aboard, glad to be saved the trouble of its weight.
The river was high, carrying planks and rails and drift of all sorts on its flood. Wisps of mist clung to its surface, and the water boiled strangely brown and pink and muddy strawberry. On the other shore rose the clay bluff52, crowned with pine, striped with that bizarre and brilliant coloring that must have given the landing its name.
Lockwood turned back slowly up the swamp road, in no hurry to return to the turpentine camp. The air in the swamp was hot and heavy and enervating53, and at the top of the ridge he turned aside into a trail that seemed to run parallel with the river.
Pine woods bordered it, high and dry, and he walked aimlessly for some distance. Through rifts54 he occasionally caught glimpses of the river rolling greenish-pink between its highly colored shores. The trail turned slightly down the slope and came out into a field of perhaps twenty acres, running almost to the river. It was a piece of rich, black bottom land, one of the gambles of Southern farming, capable of growing an immense crop of cotton or cane55, but running an even chance of being flooded out by high water. This year no one was gambling56 on it, nor did it seem to have been plowed57 the year before, for it carried weeds and bushes that must have been the growth of more than one season.
He walked down to the end of the field, almost to the belt of willows58 and cottonwoods that screened the margin59 of the river. This was the worst country for his projects, he thought, that he had ever seen. It was settled just enough to make a stranger conspicuous60; it was wild enough to be hard to get out of. He had no idea how the roads ran, nor whither; and he fancied himself hiding in the swamps, bitten by snakes, devoured61 by insects, hunted by bloodhounds. He would have found more secrecy62 and cover in a great city.
Another trail went wandering down the river bank, and he turned into it from a reluctance63 to go back by the way he had come. It was a mere64 footpath65, worn probably by the tread of negroes, cutting through thickets of titi, opening into glades66 of vivid green, and crossing creeks67 on fallen logs. He followed it until his absorbed meditations68 were suddenly broken by a whiff of smoke and the sound of a voice.
With a criminal’s instinct of caution he stopped short. There was a wide opening on the shore just before him, and he caught the loom69 of a whitish mass through the willows. He edged forward till he could see clearly.
It was a large house boat of much the usual model, a mere cabin built upon a scow, the rusty70 and squalid floating house used by the river vagrants71 that hang upon all the great waterways of the South. But this boat was a little superior in quality; she was painted, though the paint was gray and weatherworn; there was a considerable deck space at each end; and, most important of all, she carried power. There was a small gasoline engine and propeller72.
Half tramp, half criminal, Lockwood knew these river dwellers73 to be, devoured by malaria74 and hookworms, too tired to work, living on nothing, by a little stealing, a good deal of fishing, and some begging. The three men he saw looked true to type, sallow and malarial-looking, sprawling75 on the ground as they smoked and spat76. Two of them were young fellows, one a mere boy, but the third was a heavily built man of middle age with a tangle77 of brown beard and a stupid, savage78 face. They all wore “pin-check” cotton trousers, loose shirts, sleeves rolled up, and dirty canvas shoes. They were watching a very light-yellow negro who was cooking something in a frying pan over a small fire.
Lockwood was armed, and not in the least afraid of them; but he did not want to be seen. He wormed his way into the jungle and edged slowly past the camp, tearing himself on thorns and stepping into deep, black mud, till he was safely past. He got through without being observed, as far as he knew, came out into the path and started more briskly down the river again.
The sun was almost down. In another half hour the sudden, Southern darkness would be deep in the woods, and he made haste, walking soundlessly on the soft, damp earth. But within a quarter of a mile, as a long vista79 opened before him, he caught a glimpse of some one else coming toward him up the twilight80 path.
His first thought was that it was a fourth of the river men returning to camp, and he did not wish to seem to have been spying. He stepped instantly into the thickets, behind a screen of bamboo vines, to let the man go past. But as he came nearer, Lockwood saw that it was Hanna.
He still wore the gray suit and the leggings of his morning ride, and he walked carelessly, whistling between his teeth, looking ahead as if he expected to meet some one. Evidently he was going to the house boat. In a moment the whole possibilities of the situation flashed upon Lockwood.
From where he stood he could drop Hanna with a single shot, and the slight, sharp crack of the smokeless cartridge81 would be heard by nobody. His death would certainly be credited to the river men, and their record and reputation would probably make the charge plausible82.
Almost without knowing it, he drew the little automatic he had carried so long, and pushed back the safety. Hanna was coming on carelessly, still whistling. Through the leaves Lockwood had the bead83 drawn84 unwaveringly on his chest, when he found that he could not shoot. A mighty85 force seemed to stay his finger on the trigger. The great moment he had desired for years had come, was passing, and he could not use it! He did not hate Hanna less, but he did not want to drop him dead in his tracks. Hanna went by unconsciously, within a yard of the blue muzzle86.
Lockwood lowered the pistol, and found himself shaking and sweating. He looked helplessly after his enemy’s back, watched till Hanna was out of sight, and then turned on his own way. He swore under his breath; he felt as if he had failed in an imperative87 duty; he was full of disappointment and disgust. It was not till he had almost reached the turpentine camp that he thought to wonder why Hanna should be going to visit the river pirates. But when he thought of the problem it seemed full of perplexity and interest.
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1
suave
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| adj.温和的；柔和的；文雅的 | |
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dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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imposing
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| adj.使人难忘的，壮丽的，堂皇的，雄伟的 | |
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planks
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| （厚）木板( plank的名词复数 )； 政纲条目，政策要点 | |
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resounding
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| adj. 响亮的 | |
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ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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creek
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| n.小溪，小河，小湾 | |
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8
dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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wagon
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| n.四轮马车，手推车，面包车；无盖运货列车 | |
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wagons
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| n.四轮的运货马车( wagon的名词复数 )；铁路货车；小手推车 | |
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13
corrugated
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| adj.波纹的；缩成皱纹的；波纹面的；波纹状的v.（使某物）起皱褶(corrugate的过去式和过去分词) | |
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14
imprint
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| n.印痕，痕迹；深刻的印象；vt.压印，牢记 | |
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15
shrubs
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| 灌木( shrub的名词复数 ) | |
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crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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17
slash
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| vi.大幅度削减；vt.猛砍，尖锐抨击，大幅减少；n.猛砍，斜线，长切口，衣衩 | |
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18
smeared
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| 弄脏； 玷污； 涂抹； 擦上 | |
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19
oozing
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| v.（浓液等）慢慢地冒出，渗出( ooze的现在分词 )；使（液体）缓缓流出；（浓液）渗出，慢慢流出 | |
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20
gutter
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| n.沟，街沟，水槽，檐槽，贫民窟 | |
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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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22
ooze
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| n.软泥，渗出物；vi.渗出，泄漏；vt.慢慢渗出，流露 | |
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23
stimulus
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| n.刺激，刺激物，促进因素，引起兴奋的事物 | |
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24
exhaled
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| v.呼出，发散出( exhale的过去式和过去分词 )；吐出（肺中的空气、烟等），呼气 | |
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25
wholesome
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| adj.适合；卫生的；有益健康的；显示身心健康的 | |
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26
swarmed
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| 密集( swarm的过去式和过去分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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27
tar
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| n.柏油，焦油；vt.涂或浇柏油/焦油于 | |
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28
copper
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| n.铜；铜币；铜器；adj.铜(制)的；(紫)铜色的 | |
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29
undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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30
inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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31
lumbered
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| 砍伐（lumber的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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32
homely
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| adj.家常的，简朴的；不漂亮的 | |
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afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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deft
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| adj.灵巧的，熟练的（a deft hand 能手） | |
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mule
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| n.骡子，杂种，执拗的人 | |
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elicited
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| 引出，探出( elicit的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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37
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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38
warehouse
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| n.仓库；vt.存入仓库 | |
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39
mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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40
retraced
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| v.折回( retrace的过去式和过去分词 )；回忆；回顾；追溯 | |
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41
swirling
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| v.旋转，打旋( swirl的现在分词 ) | |
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42
pebbles
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| [复数]鹅卵石； 沙砾； 卵石，小圆石( pebble的名词复数 ) | |
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43
thickets
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| n.灌木丛( thicket的名词复数 )；丛状物 | |
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44
cypress
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| n.柏树 | |
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45
tangling
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| （使）缠结， （使）乱作一团( tangle的现在分词 ) | |
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46
streak
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| n.条理，斑纹，倾向，少许，痕迹；v.加条纹，变成条纹，奔驰，快速移动 | |
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47
foliage
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| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
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48
lagoons
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| n.污水池( lagoon的名词复数 )；潟湖；（大湖或江河附近的）小而浅的淡水湖；温泉形成的池塘 | |
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49
stagnant
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| adj.不流动的，停滞的，不景气的 | |
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50
dryer
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| n.干衣机，干燥剂 | |
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51
hitched
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| （免费）搭乘他人之车( hitch的过去式和过去分词 )； 搭便车； 攀上； 跃上 | |
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52
bluff
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| v.虚张声势，用假象骗人；n.虚张声势，欺骗 | |
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53
enervating
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| v.使衰弱，使失去活力( enervate的现在分词 ) | |
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54
rifts
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| n.裂缝( rift的名词复数 )；裂隙；分裂；不和 | |
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55
cane
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| n.手杖，细长的茎，藤条；v.以杖击，以藤编制的 | |
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56
gambling
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| n.赌博；投机 | |
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57
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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willows
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| n.柳树( willow的名词复数 )；柳木 | |
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59
margin
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| n.页边空白；差额；余地，余裕；边，边缘 | |
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60
conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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61
devoured
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| 吞没( devour的过去式和过去分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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62
secrecy
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| n.秘密，保密，隐蔽 | |
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63
reluctance
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| n.厌恶，讨厌，勉强，不情愿 | |
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64
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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65
footpath
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| n.小路，人行道 | |
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66
glades
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| n.林中空地( glade的名词复数 ) | |
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67
creeks
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| n.小湾( creek的名词复数 )；小港；小河；小溪 | |
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68
meditations
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| 默想( meditation的名词复数 )； 默念； 沉思； 冥想 | |
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69
loom
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| n.织布机，织机；v.隐现，(危险、忧虑等)迫近 | |
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rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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71
vagrants
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| 流浪者( vagrant的名词复数 )； 无业游民； 乞丐； 无赖 | |
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72
propeller
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| n.螺旋桨，推进器 | |
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dwellers
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| n.居民，居住者( dweller的名词复数 ) | |
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malaria
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| n.疟疾 | |
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75
sprawling
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| adj.蔓生的，不规则地伸展的v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的现在分词 )；蔓延；杂乱无序地拓展；四肢伸展坐着（或躺着） | |
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76
spat
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| n.口角，掌击；v.发出呼噜呼噜声 | |
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tangle
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| n.纠缠；缠结；混乱；v.(使)缠绕；变乱 | |
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savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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vista
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| n.远景，深景，展望，回想 | |
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80
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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81
cartridge
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| n.弹壳，弹药筒；(装磁带等的)盒子 | |
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82
plausible
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| adj.似真实的，似乎有理的，似乎可信的 | |
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83
bead
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| n.念珠；(pl.)珠子项链；水珠 | |
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84
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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86
muzzle
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| n.鼻口部；口套；枪(炮)口；vt.使缄默 | |
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imperative
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| n.命令，需要；规则；祈使语气；adj.强制的；紧急的 | |
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