to the last man-第7章
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Jean arrived at the part in the little woodland drama where he had
kissed Ellen Jorth and had been unrebuked。 Why had she not resented
his action？ Dispelled was the illusion he had been dreamily and nobly
constructing。 〃Oh； I've been kissed before！〃 The shock to him now
exceeded his first dismay。 Half bitterly she had spoken； and wholly
scornful of herself； or of him； or of all men。 For she had said all
men were alike。 Jean chafed under the smart of that； a taunt every
decent man hated。 Naturally every happy and healthy young man would
want to kiss such red； sweet lips。 But if those lips had been for
othersnever for him！ Jean reflected that not since childish games
had he kissed a girluntil this brown…faced Ellen Jorth came his way。
He wondered at it。 Moreover； he wondered at the significance he placed
upon it。 After all； was it not merely an accident？ Why should he
remember？ Why should he ponder？ What was the faint； deep； growing
thrill that accompanied some of his thoughts？
Riding along with busy mind； Jean almost crossed a well…beaten trail；
leading through a pine thicket and down over the Rim。 Jean's pack
mule led the way without being driven。 And when Jean reached the
edge of the bluff one look down was enough to fetch him off his horse。
That trail was steep； narrow； clogged with stones； and as full of
sharp corners as a crosscut saw。 Once on the descent with a packed
mule and a spirited horse； Jean had no time for mind wanderings and
very little for occasional glimpses out over the cedar tops to the
vast blue hollow asleep under a westering sun。
The stones rattled； the dust rose； the cedar twigs snapped； the little
avalanches of red earth slid down； the iron…shod hoofs rang on the rocks。
This slope had been narrow at the apex in the Rim where the trail led
down a crack； and it widened in fan shape as Jean descended。 He
zigzagged down a thousand feet before the slope benched into dividing
ridges。 Here the cedars and junipers failed and pines once more hid
the sun。 Deep ravines were black with brush。 From somewhere rose a
roar of running water； most pleasant to Jean's ears。 Fresh deer and
bear tracks covered old ones made in the trail。
Those timbered ridges were but billows of that tremendous slope that
now sheered above Jean； ending in a magnificent yellow wall of rock；
greened in niches； stained by weather rust； carved and cracked and
caverned。 As Jean descended farther the hum of bees made melody；
the roar of rapid water and the murmur of a rising breeze filled
him with the content of the wild。 Sheepmen like Colter and wild
girls like Ellen Jorth and all that seemed promising or menacing
in his father's letter could never change the Indian in Jean。 So
he thought。 Hard upon that conclusion rushed anotherone which
troubled with its stinging revelation。 Surely these influences
he had defied were just the ones to bring out in him the Indian
he had sensed but had never known。 The eventful day had brought
new and bitter food for Jean to reflect upon。
The trail landed him in the bowlder…strewn bed of a wide canyon；
where the huge trees stretched a canopy of foliage which denied the
sunlight； and where a beautiful brook rushed and foamed。 Here at last
Jean tasted water that rivaled his Oregon springs。 〃Ah；〃 he cried；
〃that sure is good！〃 Dark and shaded and ferny and mossy was this
streamway； and everywhere were tracks of game； from the giant spread
of a grizzly bear to the tiny； birdlike imprints of a squirrel。 Jean
heard familiar sounds of deer crackling the dead twigs； and the chatter
of squirrels was incessant。 This fragrant； cool retreat under the Rim
brought back to him the dim recesses of Oregon forests。 After all；
Jean felt that he would not miss anything that he had loved in the
Cascades。 But what was the vague sense of all not being well with
himthe essence of a faint regretthe insistence of a hovering
shadow？ And then flashed again； etched more vividly by the repetition
in memory； a picture of eyes； of lipsof something he had to forget。
Wild and broken as this rolling Basin floor had appeared from the Rim；
the reality of traveling over it made that first impression a deceit
of distance。 Down here all was on a big； rough； broken scale。 Jean
did not find even a few rods of level ground。 Bowlders as huge as
houses obstructed the stream bed； spruce trees eight feet thick tried
to lord it over the brawny pines； the ravine was a veritable canyon
from which occasional glimpses through the foliage showed the Rim
as a lofty red…tipped mountain peak。
Jean's pack mule became frightened at scent of a bear or lion and ran
off down the rough trail； imperiling Jean's outfit。 It was not an
easy task to head him off nor； when that was accomplished； to keep
him to a trot。 But his fright and succeeding skittishness at least
made for fast traveling。 Jean calculated that he covered ten miles
under the Rim before the character of ground and forest began to change。
The trail had turned southeast。 Instead of gorge after gorge；
red…walled and choked with forest； there began to be rolling ridges；
some high； others were knolls； and a thick cedar growth made up for
a falling off of pine。 The spruce had long disappeared。 Juniper
thickets gave way more and more to the beautiful manzanita； and soon
on the south slopes appeared cactus and a scrubby live oak。 But for
the well…broken trail； Jean would have fared ill through this tough
brush。
Jean espied several deer； and again a coyote； and what he took to be
a small herd of wild horses。 No more turkey tracks showed in the dusty
patches。 He crossed a number of tiny brooklets； and at length came to
a place where the trail ended or merged in a rough road that showed
evidence of considerable travel。 Horses； sheep； and cattle had passed
along there that day。 This road turned southward； and Jean began to
have pleasurable expectations。
The road； like the trail； led down grade； but no longer at such steep
angles； and was bordered by cedar and pinyon； jack…pine and juniper；
mescal and manzanita。 Quite sharply； going around a ridge； the road
led Jean's eye down to a small open flat of marshy； or at least grassy；
ground。 This green oasis in the wilderness of red and timbered ridges
marked another change in the character of the Basin。 Beyond that the
country began to spread out and roll gracefully； its dark…green forest
interspersed with grassy parks； until Jean headed into a long； wide
gray…green valley surrounded by black…fringed hills。 His pulses
quickened here。 He saw cattle dotting the expanse； and here and
there along the edge log cabins and corrals。
As a village； Grass Valley could not boast of much； apparently； in the
way of population。 Cabins and houses were widely scattered； as if the
inhabitants did not care to encroach upon one another。 But the one
store； built of stone； and stamped also with the characteristic
isolation； seemed to Jean to be a rather remarkable edifice。 Not
exactly like a fort did it strike him； but if it had not been designed
for defense it certainly gave that impression； especially from the long；
low side with its dark eye…like windows about the height of a man's
shoulder。 Some rather fine horses were tied to a hitching rail。
Otherwise dust and dirt and age and long use stamped this Grass Valley
store and its immediate environment。
Jean threw his bridle； and； getting down； mounted the low porch and
stepped into the wide open door。 A face； gray against the background
of gloom inside； passed out of sight just as Jean entered。 He knew he
had been seen。 In front of the long； rather low…ceiled store were four
men； all absorbed； apparently； in a game of checkers。 Two were playing
and two were looking on。 One of these； a gaunt…faced man past middle
age； casually looked up as Jean entered。 But the moment of that casual
glance afforded Jean time enough to meet eyes he instinctively distrusted。
They masked their penetration。 They seemed neither curious nor friendly。
They saw him as if he had been merely thin air。
〃Good evenin'；〃 said Jean。
After what appeared to Jean a lapse of time su
