the trail of the white mule-第3部分

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！


jagged；　and　at　his　immediate　surroundings；　which　were　barren　and
lonely　and　soothing　to　his　soul　that　hungered　for　these　things。　
Great；　gaunt　〃Joshua〃　trees　stood　in　grotesque　groups　all　up　and
down　the　narrow　valley；　hiding　the　way　he　had　come　from　the　way
he　would　go。　　It　was　as　if　the　desert　had　purposely　dropped　a
curtain　before　his　past　and　would　show　him　none　of　his　future。　
Whereat　Casey　Ryan　grinned；　took　a　chew　of　tobacco　and　was
himself　again。

〃If　they　wanta　come　pinch　me　here；　I'll　meet　'em　man　to　man。　
Back　in　town　no　man's　got　a　show。　　They　pile　in　four　deep　and
gang　a　feller。　Out　here　it's　lick　er　git　licked。　　They　can　all　go
t'　thunder。　Tahell　with　town！〃

The　odor　of　coffee　boiling　in　a　new　pot　which　the　sagebrush　fire
was　fast　blackening；　the　salty；　smoky　smell　of　bacon　frying　in　a
new　frying　pan　that　turned　bluish　with　the　heat；　the　sizzle　of
bannock　batter　poured　into　hot　greasethese　things　made　the
smiling　mouth　of　Casey　Ryan　water　with　desire。

〃Hell！〃　said　Casey；　breathing　deep　when；　stomach　full　and
resentment　toward　the　past　blurred　by　satisfaction　with　his
present；　he　filled　his　pipe　and　fingered　his　vest　pocket　for　a
match。　　〃Gas　stoves　can't　cook　nothin'　so　there's　any　taste　to
it。　　That　there's　the　first　real　meal　I've　et　in　six　months。　
Light　a　match　and　turn　on　the　gas　and　call　that　a　fire！　　Hunh！　
Good　old　sage　er　greasewood　fer　Casey　Ryan；　from　here　on！〃

He　laid　back　against　the　sandy　sidehill；　tilted　his　hat　over　his
eyes　and　crossed　his　legs　luxuriously。　　He　was　in　no　hurry　to
continue　his　journey。　　Now　that　he　and　the　desert　were　alone
together；　haste　and　Casey　Ryan　held　nothing　in　common。　　For
awhile　he　watched　a　Joshua　palm　that　looked　oddly　like　a　giant
man　with　one　arm　hanging　loose　at　its　side　and　another　pointing
fixedly　at　a　distant；　black…capped　butte　standing　aloof　from　its
fellows。　　Casey　was　tired　after　his　night　on　the　trail。　　Easy
living　in　town　had　softened　his　muscles　and　slowed　a　little　that
untiring　energy　which　had　balked　at　no　hardship。　　He　was　drowsy；
and　his　brain　stopped　thinking　logically　and　slipped　into
half…waking　fancy。　　　　　　　　

The　Joshua　seemed　to　move；　to　lift　its　arm　and　point　more
imperatively　toward　the　peak。　　Its　ungainly　head　seemed　to　turn
and　nod　at　Casey。　What　did　the　darned　thing　want？　　Casey　would　go
when　he；　got　good　and　ready。　　Perhaps　he　would　go　that　way；　and
perhaps　he　would　not。　Right　here　was　good　enough　for　Casey　Ryan
at　present；　and　you　could　ask　anybody　if　he　were　the　man　to
follow　another　man's　pointing；　much　less　a　Joshua　tree。

Battering　rain　woke　Casey　some　hours　later　and　drove　him　to　the
shelter　of　the　Ford。　　Thunder　and　lightning　came　with　the　rain；
and　a　bellowing　wind　that　rocked　the　car　and　threatened　once　or
twice　to　overturn　it。　　With　some　trouble　Casey　managed　to　button
down　the　curtains　and　sat　huddled　on　the　front　seat；　watching
through　a　streaming　windshield　the　buffeted　wilderness。　　He　was
glad　he　had　not　unloaded　his　outfit；　gladder　still　that　the　storm
had　not　struck　which　he　was　traveling。　　Down　the　trail　toward　him
a　small　river　galloped；　washing　deep　gullies　where　the　wheels　of
his　car　offered　obstruction　to　its　boisterousness。

〃She's　a　tough　one；〃　grinned　Casey；　in　spite　of　the　chattering　of
his　teeth。　　〃Looks　like　all　the　water　in　the　world　is　bein'
poured　down　this　pass。　　Keeps　on；　I'll　have　to　gouge　out　a　couple
of　Joshuays　an'　turn　the　old　Ford　into　a　boatbut　Casey'll　keep
agoin'！〃

Until　inky　dark　it　rained　like　the　deluge。　　Casey　remained
perched　in　his　one…man　ark　and　tried　hard　to　enjoy　himself　and
his　hard…won　freedom。　　He　stabbed　open　a　can　of　condensed　milk；
poured　it　into　a　cup；　and　drank　it　and　ate　what　was　left　of　his
breakfast　bannock；　which　he　had　fortunately　put　away　in　the　car
out　of　the　reach　of　a　hill　of　industrious　red　ants。

He　thought　vaguely　of　cranking　the　car　and　going　on；　but　gave　up
the　notion。　　One　sidehill；　he　decided；　was　as　good　as　another
sidehill　for　the　present。

That　night　Casey　slept　fitfully　in　the　car　and　discovered　that
even　a　wall　bed　in　a　despised　apartment　house　may　be　more
comfortable　than　the　front　seat　of　a　Ford。　　His　bones　ached　by
morning；　and　he　was　hungry　enough　to　eat　raw　bacon　and　relish　it。　
But　the　sun　was　fighting　through　the　piled　clouds　and　shone
cheerfully　upon　the　draggled　pass；　and　Casey　boiled　coffee　and
fried　bacon　and　bannock　beside　the　trail；　and　for　a　little　while
was　happy　again。

From　breakfast　until　noon　he　was　busy　as　a　beaver　repairing　the
washout　beneath　the　car　and　on　to　the　top　of　the　hill。　She　was
going　to　have　to　get　down　and　dig　in　her　toes　to　make　it；　he　told
the　Ford；　when　at　last　he　heaved　pick　and　shovel　into　the
tonneau；　packed　in　his　cooking　outfit　and　made　ready　to　crank　up。

From　then　until　supper　time　he　wore　a　trail　around　the　car；
looking　to　see　what　was　wrong　and　why　he　could　not　crank。　　He
removed　hootin'…annies　and　dingbats　（using　Casey's　mechanical
terms）　looked　them　over　dissatisfiedly；　and　put　them　back　without
having　done　them　ny　good　whatever。　　Sometimes　they　were　returned
to　a　different　place；　I　imagine；　since　I　know　too　well　how
impartial　Casey　is　with　the　mechanical　parts　of　a　Ford。

He　made　camp　there　that　night；　pitching　his　little　tent　in　the
trail　for　pure　cussedness；　and　defying　aloud　a　traveling　world　to
make　him　move　until　he　got　good　and　ready。　　He　might　have　saved
his　vocabulary；　for　the　road　was　impassable　before　him　and
behind；　and　had　Casey　managed　to　start　the　car；　he　could　not　have
driven　a　mile　in　either　direction。

Since　he　did　not　know　that；　the　next　day　he　painstakingly　cleaned
the　spark　plugs　and　tried　again　to　crank　the　Ford；　couldn't；　and
removed　more　hootin'…annies　and　dingbats　than　he　had　touched　the
day　before。　　That　night　he　once　more　pitched　his　tent　in　the
trail；　hoping　in　his　heart　that　some　one　would　drive　along　and
dispute　his　right　to　camp　there；　when　he　would　lick　the　doggone
cuss。

On　the　fourth　day；　after　a　long；　fatiguing　session　with　the
vitals　of　a　Ford　that　refused　to　be　cranked；　Casey　was　busy
gathering　brush；　for　his　supper　fire　when　Fate　came　walking　up'
the　trail。　　Fate　appears　in　many　forms。　　In　this　instance　it
assumed　the　shape　of　a　packed　burro　that　poked　its　nose　around　a
group　of　Joshuas；　stopped　abruptly　and　backed　precipitately　into
another　burro　which　swung　out　of　the　trail　and　went　careening
awkwardly　down　the　slope。　　The　stampeding　burro　had　not　seen　the
Ford　at　all；　but　accepted　the　testimony　of　its　leader　that
something　was　radically　wrong　with　the　trail　ahead。　His　pack
bumped　against　the　yuccas　as　he　went；　after　him　lurched　a　large
man；　heavy　to　the　point　of　fatness；　yelling　hoarse　threats　and
incoherent　objurgations。

Casey　threw　down　his　armful　of　dead　brush　and　went　after　the　lead
burro　which　was　blazing　itself　a　trail　in　an　entirely　different
direction。　　The　lead　burro　had　four　large　canteens　strapped
outside　its　pack；　and　Casey　was　growing　so　short　of　water　that　he
had　begun　to　debate　seriously　the　question　of　draining　the
radiator　on　the　morrow。

I　don't　suppose　many　of　you　would　believe　the　innate　cussedness
of　a　burro　when　it　wants　to　be　that　way。　　Casey　hazed　this　one　to
the　hills　and　back　down　the　trail　for　half　a　mile　before　he
rushed　it　into　a　clump　of　greasewood　and　sneaked　up　on　it　when　it
thought　itself　hidden　from　all　mortal　eyes。　　After　that　he　dug
heels　into　the　sand　and　hung　on。　　Memory　resurrected　for　his　need
certain　choice　phrases　coined　in　times　of　stress　for　the　ears　of
burros　alone。　　Luxury　and　civilization　and　fifty…five　thousand
dollars　and　a　wife　were　as　if　they　had　never　been。　　He　was　Casey
Ryan；　the　prospector；　fighting　a　stubborn　donkey　all　over　a
desert　slope。　He　led　it　conquered　back　to　the　Ford；　tied　it　to　a
wheel　and　lifted　off　the　four　canteens；　gratified　with　their
weight　and　hoping　there　were　more　on　the　other　burro。　　He　had
quite　forgotten　that　he　had　meant　to　lick　the　first　man　he　saw；
and　grinned　when　the　fat　man　came　toiling　back　with　the　other
animal。

By　the　time　their　coffee　was　boiled　and　their　bacon　fried；　each
one　knew　the　other's　past　history　and　tentative　plans　for　the
future；　censored　and　glossed　somewhat　by　the　teller　but　received
without　question　or　criticism。

The　fat　man's　name　was　Barney　Oakes；　and　he　had　heard　of　Casey
Ryan　and　was　glad　to　meet　him。　　Though　Casey　had　never　heard　of
Barney　Oakes；　he　discovered　that　they　both　knew　Bill　Masters；　the
garage　man　at　Lund；　and　further　gossip　revealed　the　amazing　fact
that　Barney　Oakes　had　once　been　the　husband　of　the　woman　whom
Casey　had　very　nearly　married；　the　widow　who　cooked　for　the　Lucky
Lode。

〃Boy；　you're　sure　lucky　she　turned　loose　on　yuh　before　yuh　went
an'　married　her！〃　　Barney　congratulated　Casey；　slapping　his　great
thigh　and　laughing　loudly。　　〃She　shore　is　handy　with　her
tonguethat　old　girl。　　Ever　hear　a　sawmill　workin'　overtime？　
That's　herrippin'　through　knots　an'　never　blowin'　the　whistle
fer　quittin'　time。　I　never　knowed　a　man　could　have　as　many　faults
as　what　she　used　t'　name　over　fer　me。〃　　He　drained　his　cup　and
sighed　with　great　content。　　〃At　that；　I　stayed　with　her　seven
months　and　fourteen　days；〃　he　boasted。　　〃I　admit；　two　of　them
months　I　was　laid　up　with　a　busted　ankle　an'　shoulder　blade。　
Tunnel　caved　in　on　me。〃

They　talked　late　that　night　and　were　comrades；　brothers；　partners
share　and　share　alike　before　they　slept。　　Next　morning　Casey
tried　again　to　start　the　Ford；　couldn't；　and　yielded　to　Barney's
argument　that　burros　were　better　than　a　car　for　prospectin'　in
that　rough　country。　　They　overhauled　Casey's　outfit；　took　all　the
grub　and　as　much　else　as　the　burros　could　carry　and　debated
seriously　what　point　in　the　Panamints　they　should　aim　for。

〃Where's　that　there　Joshuay　tree　pointin'　to？〃　Casey　asked
finally。　〃She's　the　biggest　and　oldest　in　the　bunch；　and　ever
since　I've　been　here　she's　looked　like　she's　got　somethin'　on　'er
mind。　Whadda　yuh　think；　Barney？〃

Barney　walked　around　the　yucca；　stood　behind　the　extended　arm；
squinted　at　the　sharp…peaked　butte　with　the　black　capping；　toward
which　the　gaunt　tree　seemed　to　point。　　He　spat　out　a　stale　quid
of　tobacco　and　to