arizona nights(亚利桑那之夜)-第12章
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each hoof of your mount； and try again。 When you have ridden itor its
duplicatea few score of times； select a steep mountain side； cover it with
round rocks the size of your head； and over that spread a concealing
blanket of the same sticky snow。 You are privileged to vary these to the
limits of your imagination。
Once across the divide； we ran into a new sort of trouble。 You may
remember that on our journey over we had been forced to travel for some
distance in a narrow stream…bed。 During our passage we had scrambled
up some rather steep and rough slopes； and hopped up some fairly high
ledges。 Now we found the heretofore dry bed flowing a good eight
inches deep。 The steep slopes had become cascades； the ledges；
waterfalls。 When we came to them； we had to 〃shoot the rapids〃 as best
we could； only to land with a PLUNK in an indeterminately deep pool at
the bottom。 Some of the pack horses went down； sousing again our
unfortunate bedding； but by the grace of fortune not a saddle pony lost his
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feet。
After a time the gorge widened。 We came out into the box canon
with its trees。 Here the water spread and shoaled to a depth of only two
or three inches。 We splashed along gaily enough； for； with the exception
of an occasional quicksand or boggy spot； our troubles were over。
Jed Parker and I happened to ride side by side； bringing up the rear and
seeing to it that the pack animals did not stray or linger。 As we passed
the first of the rustlers' corrals； he called my attention to them。
〃Go take a look；〃 said he。 〃We only got those fellows out of here two
years ago。〃
I rode over。 At this point the rim…rock broke to admit the ingress of a
ravine into the main canon。 Riding a short distance up the ravine； I could
see that it ended abruptly in a perpendicular cliff。 As the sides also were
precipitous； it became necessary only to build a fence across the entrance
into the main canon to become possessed of a corral completely closed in。
Remembering the absolute invisibility of these sunken canons until the
rider is almost directly over them； and also the extreme roughness and
remoteness of the district； I could see that the spot was admirably adapted
to concealment。
〃There's quite a yarn about the gang that held this hole；〃 said Jed
Parker to me； when I had ridden back to him 〃I'll tell you about it
sometime。〃 We climbed the hill； descended on the Double R； built a
fire in the stove； dried out； and were happy。 After a square mealand a
dry oneI reminded Jed Parker of his promise； and so； sitting cross…legged
on his 〃so…gun〃 in the middle of the floor； he told us the following yarn：
There's a good deal of romance been written about the 〃bad man；〃 and
there's about the same amount of nonsense。 The bad man is justa plain
murderer； neither more nor less。 He never does get into a real； good；
plain； stand…up gunfight if he can possibly help it。 His killin's are done
from behind a door； or when he's got his man dead to rights。 There's Sam
Cook。 You've all heard of him。 He had nerve； of course； and when he
was backed into a corner he made good； he was sure sudden death with a
gun。 But when he went for a man deliberate； he didn't take no special
chances。 For a while he was marshal at Willets。 Pretty soon it was
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noted that there was a heap of cases of resisting arrest； where Sam as
marshal had to shoot； and that those cases almost always happened to be
his personal enemies。 Of course； that might be all right； but it looked
suspicious。 Then one day he killed poor old Max Schmidt out behind his
own saloon。 Called him out and shot him in the stomach。 Said Max
resisted arrest on a warrant for keepin' open out of hours！ That was a
sweet warrant to take out in Willets； anyway！ Mrs。 Schmidt always
claimed that she say that deal played； and that； while they were talkin'
perfectly peacable； Cook let drive from the hip at about two yards' range。
Anyway； we decided we needed another marshal。 Nothin' else was ever
done； for the Vigilantes hadn't been formed； and your individual and
decent citizen doesn't care to be marked by a gun of that stripe。
Leastwise； unless he wants to go in for bad…man methods and do a little
ambusheein' on his own account。
The point is； that these yere bad men are a low…down； miserable
proposition； and plain； cold…blood murderers； willin' to wait for a sure
thing； and without no compunctions whatsoever。 The bad man takes you
unawares； when you're sleepin'； or talkin'； or drinkin'； or lookin' to see
what for a day it's goin' to be； anyway。 He don't give you no show； and
sooner or later he's goin' to get you in the safest and easiest way for
himself。 There ain't no romance about that。
And； until you've seen a few men called out of their shacks for a
friendly conversation； and shot when they happen to look away； or asked
for a drink of water； and killed when they stoop to the spring； or potted
from behind as they go into a room； it's pretty hard to believe that any man
can he so plumb lackin' in fair play or pity or just natural humanity。
As you boys know； I come in from Texas to Buck Johnson's about ten
year back。 I had a pretty good mount of ponies that I knew； and I hated
to let them go at prices they were offerin' then； so I made up my mind to
ride across and bring them in with me。 It wasn't so awful far； and I
figured that I'd like to take in what New Mexico looked like anyway。
About down by Albuquerque I tracked up with another outfit headed
my way。 There was five of them； three men； and a woman； and a yearlin'
baby。 They had a dozen hosses； and that was about all I could see。
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There was only two packed； and no wagon。 I suppose the whole outfit
pots； pans； and kettleswas worth five dollars。 It was just supper when I
run across them； and it didn't take more'n one look to discover that flour；
coffee； sugar； and salt was all they carried。 A yearlin' carcass； half…
skinned； lay near； and the fry…pan was； full of meat。
〃Howdy； strangers；〃 says I； ridin' up。
They nodded a little； but didn't say nothin'。 My hosses fell to grazin'；
and I eased myself around in my saddle； and made a cigareet。 The men
was tall； lank fellows； with kind of sullen faces； and sly； shifty eyes； the
woman was dirty and generally mussed up。 I knowed that sort all right。
Texas was gettin' too many fences for them。 〃Havin' supper？〃
