to the last man-第20章
按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！
presents for his folksthe kidsand his sister；〃 muttered Ellen。
〃That was nice of him。 Whatever this is he shore meant it for sister
Ann。 。 。 。 Ann Isbel。 Why； she must be that black…eyed girl I met and
liked so well before I knew she was an Isbel。 。 。 。 His sister！〃
Whereupon for the second time Ellen deposited the fascinating package
in her tent。 She could not burn it up just then。 She had other
emotions besides scorn and hate。 And memory of that soft…voiced；
kind…hearted； beautiful Isbel girl checked her resentment。 〃I wonder
if he is like his sister；？' she said； thoughtfully。 It appeared to
be an unfortunate thought。 Jean Isbel certainly resembled his sister。
〃Too bad they belong to the family that ruined dad。〃
Ellen went to bed without opening the package or without burning it。
And to her annoyance； whatever way she lay she appeared to touch this
strange package。 There was not much room in the little tent。 First
she put it at her head beside her rifle； but when she turned over her
cheek came in contact with it。 Then she felt as if she had been stung。
She moved it again； only to touch it presently with her hand。 Next she
flung it to the bottom of her bed； where it fell upon her feet； and
whatever way she moved them she could not escape the pressure of this
undesirable and mysterious gift。
By and by she fell asleep； only to dream that the package was a
caressing hand stealing about her； feeling for hers； and holding it
with soft； strong clasp。 When she awoke she had the strangest
sensation in her right palm。 It was moist； throbbing； hot； and
the feel of it on her cheek was strangely thrilling and comforting。
She lay awake then。 The night was dark and still。 Only a low moan
of wind in the pines and the faint tinkle of a sheep bell broke the
serenity。 She felt very small and lonely lying there in the deep
forest； and； try how she would； it was impossible to think the same
then as she did in the clear light of day。 Resentment； pride； anger
these seemed abated now。 If the events of the day had not changed
her； they had at least brought up softer and kinder memories and
emotions than she had known for long。 Nothing hurt and saddened
her so much as to remember the gay； happy days of her childhood；
her sweet mother； her； old home。 Then her thought returned to Isbel
and his gift。 It had been years since anyone had made her a gift。
What could this one be？ It did not matter。 The wonder was that
Jean Isbel should bring it to her and that she could be perturbed
by its presence。 〃He meant it for his sister and so he thought
well of me；〃 she said； in finality。
Morning brought Ellen further vacillation。 At length she rolled
the obnoxious package inside her blankets； saying that she would
wait until she got home and then consign it cheerfully to the flames。
Antonio tied her pack on a burro。 She did not have a horse； and
therefore had to walk the several miles； to her father's ranch。
She set off at a brisk pace； leading the burro and carrying her
rifle。 And soon she was deep in the fragrant forest。 The morning
was clear and cool； with just enough frost to make the sunlit grass
sparkle as if with diamonds。 Ellen felt fresh； buoyant； singularly
full of； life。 Her youth would not be denied。 It was pulsing；
yearning。 She hummed an old Southern tune and every step seemed
one of pleasure in action； of advance toward some intangible future
happiness。 All the unknown of life before her called。 Her heart
beat high in her breast and she walked as one in a dream。 Her thoughts
were swift…changing； intimate； deep； and vague； not of yesterday or
to…day； nor of reality。
The big； gray； white…tailed squirrels crossed ahead of her on the trail；
scampered over the piny ground to hop on tree trunks； and there they
paused to watch her pass。 The vociferous little red squirrels barked
and chattered at her。 From every thicket sounded the gobble of turkeys。
The blue jays squalled in the tree tops。 A deer lifted its head from
browsing and stood motionless； with long ears erect； watching her go by。
Thus happily and dreamily absorbed； Ellen covered the forest miles and
soon reached the trail that led down into the wild brakes of Chevelon
Canyon。 It was rough going and less conducive to sweet wanderings of
mind。 Ellen slowly lost them。 And then a familiar feeling assailed
her； one she never failed to have upon returning to her father's ranch
a reluctance； a bitter dissatisfaction with her home； a loyal struggle
against the vague sense that all was not as it should be。
At the head of this canyon in a little； level； grassy meadow stood a
rude one…room log shack； with a leaning red…stone chimney on the outside。
This was the abode of a strange old man who had long lived there。 His
name was John Sprague and his occupation was raising burros。 No sheep
or cattle or horses did he own； not even a dog。 Rumor had said Sprague
was a prospector； one of the many who had searched that country for the
Lost Dutchman gold mine。 Sprague knew more about the Basin and Rim
than any of the sheepmen or ranchers。 From Black Butte to the Cibique
and from Chevelon Butte to Reno Pass he knew every trail； canyon； ridge；
and spring； and could find his way to them on the darkest night。 His
fame； however； depended mostly upon the fact that he did nothing but
raise burros； and would raise none but black burros with white faces。
These burros were the finest bred in ail the Basin and were in great
demand。 Sprague sold a few every year。 He had made a present of one
to Ellen； although he hated to part with them。 This old man was
Ellen's one and only friend。
Upon her trip out to the Rim with the sheep； Uncle John； as Ellen
called him； had been away on one of his infrequent visits to Grass
Valley。 It pleased her now to see a blue column of smoke lazily
lifting from the old chimney and to hear the discordant bray of burros。
As she entered the clearing Sprague saw her from the door of his shack。
〃Hello； Uncle John！〃 she called。
〃Wal； if it ain't Ellen！〃 he replied； heartily。 〃When I seen thet
white…faced jinny I knowed who was leadin' her。 Where you been； girl？〃
Sprague was a little； stoop…shouldered old man； with grizzled head
and face； and shrewd gray eyes that beamed kindly on her over his
ruddy cheeks。 Ellen did not like the tobacco stain on his grizzled
beard nor the dirty； motley； ragged； ill…smelling garb he wore；
but she had ceased her useless attempts to make him more cleanly。
〃I've been herdin' sheep；〃 replied Ellen。 〃And where have y'u been；
uncle？ I missed y'u on the way over。〃
〃Been packin' in some grub。 An' I reckon I stayed longer in Grass
Valley than I recollect。 But thet was only natural； considerin'〃
〃What？〃 asked Ellen； bluntly； as the old man paused。
Sprague took a black pipe out of his vest pocket and began rimming the
bowl with his fingers。 The glance he bent on Ellen was thoughtful and
earnest； and so kind that she feared it was pity。 Ellen suddenly
burned for news from the village。
Wal； come in an' set down； won't you？〃 he asked。
〃No； thanks；〃 replied Ellen； and she took a seat on the chopping block。
〃Tell me； uncle； what's goin' on down in the Valley？〃
〃Nothin' much yetexcept talk。 An' there's a heap of thet。〃
〃Humph！ There always was talk；〃 declared Ellen； contemptuously。
〃A nasty； gossipy； catty hole； that Grass Valley！〃
〃Ellen； thar's goin' to be wara bloody war in the ole Tonto Basin；〃
went on Sprague； seriously。
〃War！ 。 。 。 Between whom？〃
〃The Isbels an' their enemies。 I reckon most people down thar； an'
sure all the cattlemen； air on old Gass's side。 Blaisdell； Gordon；
Fredericks； Bluethey'll all be in it。〃
〃Who are they goin' to fight？〃 queried Ellen； sharply。
〃 Wal； the open talk is thet the sheepmen are forcin' this war。 But
thar's talk not so open； an' I reckon not very healthy for any man to
whisper hyarbouts。〃
〃Uncle John； y'u needn't be afraid to tell me anythin'； said Ellen。
〃I'd never give y'u away。 Y'u've been a good friend to me。〃
〃Reckon I want to be； Ellen；〃 he returned； nodding his shaggy head。
〃It ain't easy to be fond of you as
