to the last man-第2章
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〃Reckon maybe I'll learn to like Arizona；〃 he mused； half aloud。
〃But I've a hankerin' for waterfalls an' dark…green forests。
Must be the Indian in me。 。 。 。 Anyway； dad needs me bad； an'
I reckon I'm here for keeps。〃
Jean threw some cedar branches on the fire； in the light of which he
opened his father's letter； hoping by repeated reading to grasp more
of its strange portent。 It had been two months in reaching him；
coming by traveler； by stage and train； and then by boat； and finally
by stage again。 Written in lead pencil on a leaf torn from an old
ledger； it would have been hard to read even if the writing had been
more legible。
〃Dad's writin' was always bad； but I never saw it so shaky；〃 said Jean；
thinking aloud。
GRASS VALLY； ARIZONA。
Son Jean；Come home。 Here is your home and here your needed。
When we left Oregon we all reckoned you would not be long behind。
But its years now。 I am growing old； son； and you was always my
steadiest boy。 Not that you ever was so dam steady。 Only your
wildness seemed more for the woods。 You take after mother； and
your brothers Bill and Guy take after me。 That is the red and
white of it。 Your part Indian； Jean； and that Indian I reckon
I am going to need bad。 I am rich in cattle and horses。 And my
range here is the best I ever seen。 Lately we have been losing
stock。 But that is not all nor so bad。 Sheepmen have moved into
the Tonto and are grazing down on Grass Vally。 Cattlemen and
sheepmen can never bide in this country。 We have bad times ahead。
Reckon I have more reasons to worry and need you； but you must wait
to hear that by word of mouth。 Whatever your doing； chuck it and
rustle for Grass Vally so to make here by spring。 I am asking you
to take pains to pack in some guns and a lot of shells。 And hide
them in your outfit。 If you meet anyone when your coming down into
the Tonto； listen more than you talk。 And last； son； dont let
anything keep you in Oregon。 Reckon you have a sweetheart； and
if so fetch her along。 With love from your dad；
GASTON ISBEL。
Jean pondered over this letter。 judged by memory of his father； who
had always been self…sufficient； it had been a surprise and somewhat
of a shock。 Weeks of travel and reflection had not helped him to
grasp the meaning between the lines。
〃Yes； dad's growin' old；〃 mused Jean； feeling a warmth and a sadness
stir in him。 〃He must be 'way over sixty。 But he never looked old。
。 。 。 So he's rich now an' losin' stock； an' goin' to be sheeped off
his range。 Dad could stand a lot of rustlin'； but not much from
sheepmen。〃
The softness that stirred in Jean merged into a cold； thoughtful
earnestness which had followed every perusal of his father's letter。
A dark； full current seemed flowing in his veins； and at times he
felt it swell and heat。 It troubled him； making him conscious of a
deeper； stronger self； opposed to his careless； free； and dreamy
nature。 No ties had bound him in Oregon； except love for the great；
still forests and the thundering rivers； and this love came from his
softer side。 It had cost him a wrench to leave。 And all the way by
ship down the coast to San Diego and across the Sierra Madres by stage；
and so on to this last overland travel by horseback； he had felt a
retreating of the self that was tranquil and happy and a dominating
of this unknown somber self； with its menacing possibilities。 Yet
despite a nameless regret and a loyalty to Oregon； when he lay in his
blankets he had to confess a keen interest in his adventurous future；
a keen enjoyment of this stark； wild Arizona。 It appeared to be a
different sky stretching in dark； star…spangled dome over himcloser；
vaster； bluer。 The strong fragrance of sage and cedar floated over
him with the camp…fire smoke； and all seemed drowsily to subdue his
thoughts。
At dawn he rolled out of his blankets and； pulling on his boots；
began the day with a zest for the work that must bring closer his
calling future。 White； crackling frost and cold； nipping air were
the same keen spurs to action that he had known in the uplands of
Oregon； yet they were not wholly the same。 He sensed an exhilaration
similar to the effect of a strong； sweet wine。 His horse and mule had
fared well during the night； having been much refreshed by the grass
and water of the little canyon。 Jean mounted and rode into the cedars
with gladness that at last he had put the endless leagues of barren
land behind him。
The trail he followed appeared to be seldom traveled。 It led；
according to the meager information obtainable at the last settlement；
directly to what was called the Rim； and from there Grass Valley could
be seen down in the Basin。 The ascent of the ground was so gradual
that only in long； open stretches could it be seen。 But the nature
of the vegetation showed Jean how he was climbing。 Scant； low； scraggy
cedars gave place to more numerous； darker； greener； bushier ones；
and these to high； full…foliaged； green…berried trees。 Sage and grass
in the open flats grew more luxuriously。 Then came the pinyons； and
presently among them the checker…barked junipers。 Jean hailed the
first pine tree with a hearty slap on the brown； rugged bark。 It was
a small dwarf pine struggling to live。 The next one was larger； and
after that came several； and beyond them pines stood up everywhere
above the lower trees。 Odor of pine needles mingled with the other
dry smells that made the wind pleasant to Jean。 In an hour from the
first line of pines he had ridden beyond the cedars and pinyons into
a slowly thickening and deepening forest。 Underbrush appeared scarce
except in ravines； and the ground in open patches held a bleached grass。
Jean's eye roved for sight of squirrels； birds； deer； or any moving
creature。 It appeared to be a dry； uninhabited forest。 About midday
Jean halted at a pond of surface water； evidently melted snow； and
gave his animals a drink。 He saw a few old deer tracks in the mud
and several huge bird tracks new to him which he concluded must have
been made by wild turkeys。
The trail divided at this pond。 Jean had no idea which branch he
ought to take。 〃Reckon it doesn't matter；〃 he muttered； as he was
about to remount。 His horse was standing with ears up； looking back
along the trail。 Then Jean heard a clip…clop of trotting hoofs；
and presently espied a horseman。
Jean made a pretense of tightening his saddle girths while he peered
over his horse at the approaching rider。 All men in this country were
going to be of exceeding interest to Jean Isbel。 This man at a distance
rode and looked like all the Arizonians Jean had seen； he had a superb
seat in the saddle； and he was long and lean。 He wore a huge black
sombrero and a soiled red scarf。 His vest was open and he was without
a coat。
The rider came trotting up and halted several paces from Jean
〃Hullo； stranger！ 〃 he said； gruffly。
〃Howdy yourself！〃 replied Jean。 He felt an instinctive importance
in the meeting with the man。 Never had sharper eyes flashed over
Jean and his outfit。 He had a dust…colored； sun…burned face； long；
lean； and hard； a huge sandy mustache that hid his mouth； and eyes
of piercing light intensity。 Not very much hard Western experience
had passed by this man； yet he was not old； measured by years。
When he dismounted Jean saw he was tall； even for an Arizonian。
〃Seen your tracks back a ways；〃 he said； as he slipped the bit to let
his horse drink。 〃Where bound？〃
〃Reckon I'm lost； all right；〃 replied Jean。 〃New country for me。〃
〃Shore。 I seen thet from your tracks an' your last camp。 Wal； where
was you headin' for before you got lost？〃
The query was deliberately cool； with a dry； crisp ring。 Jean felt
the lack of friendliness or kindliness in it。
〃Grass Valley。 My name's Isbel；〃 he replied； shortly。
The rider attended to his drinking horse and presently rebridled him；
then with long swing of leg he appeared to step into the saddle。
〃Shore I knowed you was Jean Isbel；〃 he said。 〃Everybody in the Tonto
has heerd old Gass Isbel sent fer his boy。〃
〃Well then；
