roughing it-第12节

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wounded。　　He　dragged　himself　on　his　hands　and　knee　（for　one　leg　was
broken）　to　a　station　several　miles　away。　　He　did　it　during　portions　of
two　nights；　lying　concealed　one　day　and　part　of　another；　and　for　more
than　forty　hours　suffering　unimaginable　anguish　from　hunger；　thirst　and
bodily　pain。　　The　Indians　robbed　the　coach　of　everything　it　contained；
including　quite　an　amount　of　treasure。




CHAPTER　IX。

We　passed　Fort　Laramie　in　the　night；　and　on　the　seventh　morning　out　we
found　ourselves　in　the　Black　Hills；　with　Laramie　Peak　at　our　elbow
（apparently）　looming　vast　and　solitarya　deep；　dark；　rich　indigo　blue　in
hue；　so　portentously　did　the　old　colossus　frown　under　his　beetling　brows
of　storm…cloud。　　He　was　thirty　or　forty　miles　away；　in　reality；　but　he
only　seemed　removed　a　little　beyond　the　low　ridge　at　our　right。　　We
breakfasted　at　Horse…Shoe　Station；　six　hundred　and　seventy…six　miles　out
from　St。　Joseph。　　We　had　now　reached　a　hostile　Indian　country；　and　during
the　afternoon　we　passed　Laparelle　Station；　and　enjoyed　great　discomfort
all　the　time　we　were　in　the　neighborhood；　being　aware　that　many　of　the
trees　we　dashed　by　at　arm's　length　concealed　a　lurking　Indian　or　two。
During　the　preceding　night　an　ambushed　savage　had　sent　a　bullet　through
the　pony…rider's　jacket；　but　he　had　ridden　on；　just　the　same；　because
pony…riders　were　not　allowed　to　stop　and　inquire　into　such　things　except
when　killed。　　As　long　as　they　had　life　enough　left　in　them　they　had　to
stick　to　the　horse　and　ride；　even　if　the　Indians　had　been　waiting　for
them　a　week；　and　were　entirely　out　of　patience。　　About　two　hours　and　a
half　before　we　arrived　at　Laparelle　Station；　the　keeper　in　charge　of　it
had　fired　four　times　at　an　Indian；　but　he　said　with　an　injured　air　that
the　Indian　had　〃skipped　around　so's　to　spile　everythingand　ammunition's
blamed　skurse；　too。〃　The　most　natural　inference　conveyed　by　his　manner　of
speaking　was；　that　in　〃skipping　around；〃　the　Indian　had　taken　an　unfair
advantage。

The　coach　we　were　in　had　a　neat　hole　through　its　fronta　reminiscence　of
its　last　trip　through　this　region。　　The　bullet　that　made　it　wounded　the
driver　slightly；　but　he　did　not　mind　it　much。　　He　said　the　place　to　keep
a　man　〃huffy〃　was　down　on　the　Southern　Overland；　among　the　Apaches；
before　the　company　moved　the　stage　line　up　on　the　northern　route。　　He
said　the　Apaches　used　to　annoy　him　all　the　time　down　there；　and　that　he
came　as　near　as　anything　to　starving　to　death　in　the　midst　of　abundance；
because　they　kept　him　so　leaky　with　bullet　holes　that　he　〃couldn't　hold
his　vittles。〃

This　person's　statement　were　not　generally　believed。

We　shut　the　blinds　down　very　tightly　that　first　night　in　the　hostile
Indian　country；　and　lay　on　our　arms。　　We　slept　on　them　some；　but　most　of
the　time　we　only　lay　on　them。　　We　did　not　talk　much；　but　kept　quiet　and
listened。　　It　was　an　inky…black　night；　and　occasionally　rainy。　　We　were
among　woods　and　rocks；　hills　and　gorgesso　shut　in；　in　fact；　that　when
we　peeped　through　a　chink　in　a　curtain；　we　could　discern　nothing。　　The
driver　and　conductor　on　top　were　still；　too；　or　only　spoke　at　long
intervals；　in　low　tones；　as　is　the　way　of　men　in　the　midst　of　invisible
dangers。　　We　listened　to　rain…drops　pattering　on　the　roof；　and　the
grinding　of　the　wheels　through　the　muddy　gravel；　and　the　low　wailing　of
the　wind；　and　all　the　time　we　had　that　absurd　sense　upon　us；　inseparable
from　travel　at　night　in　a　close…curtained　vehicle；　the　sense　of　remaining
perfectly　still　in　one　place；　notwithstanding　the　jolting　and　swaying　of
the　vehicle；　the　trampling　of　the　horses；　and　the　grinding　of　the　wheels。
We　listened　a　long　time；　with　intent　faculties　and　bated　breath；　every
time　one　of　us　would　relax；　and　draw　a　long　sigh　of　relief　and　start　to
say　something；　a　comrade　would　be　sure　to　utter　a　sudden　〃Hark！〃　and
instantly　the　experimenter　was　rigid　and　listening　again。　　So　the
tiresome　minutes　and　decades　of　minutes　dragged　away；　until　at　last　our
tense　forms　filmed　over　with　a　dulled　consciousness；　and　we　slept；　if　one
might　call　such　a　condition　by　so　strong　a　namefor　it　was　a　sleep　set
with　a　hair…trigger。　　It　was　a　sleep　seething　and　teeming　with　a　weird
and　distressful　confusion　of　shreds　and　fag…ends　of　dreamsa　sleep　that
was　a　chaos。　　Presently；　dreams　and　sleep　and　the　sullen　hush　of　the
night　were　startled　by　a　ringing　report；　and　cloven　by　such　a　long；　wild；
agonizing　shriek！　　Then　we　heardten　steps　from　the　stage

〃Help！　　help！　　help！〃　＇It　was　our　driver's　voice。＇

〃Kill　him！　　Kill　him　like　a　dog！〃

〃I'm　being　murdered！　　Will　no　man　lend　me　a　pistol？〃

〃Look　out！　head　him　off！　head　him　off！〃

＇Two　pistol　shots；　a　confusion　of　voices　and　the　trampling　of　many　feet；
as　if　a　crowd　were　closing　and　surging　together　around　some　object；
several　heavy；　dull　blows；　as　with　a　club；　a　voice　that　said　appealingly；
〃Don't；　gentlemen；　please　don'tI'm　a　dead　man！〃　Then　a　fainter　groan；
and　another　blow；　and　away　sped　the　stage　into　the　darkness；　and　left　the
grisly　mystery　behind　us。＇

What　a　startle　it　was！　　Eight　seconds　would　amply　cover　the　time　it
occupiedmaybe　even　five　would　do　it。　　We　only　had　time　to　plunge　at　a
curtain　and　unbuckle　and　unbutton　part　of　it　in　an　awkward　and　hindering
flurry；　when　our　whip　cracked　sharply　overhead；　and　we　went　rumbling　and
thundering　away；　down　a　mountain　〃grade。〃

We　fed　on　that　mystery　the　rest　of　the　nightwhat　was　left　of　it；　for　it
was　waning　fast。　　It　had　to　remain　a　present　mystery；　for　all　we　could
get　from　the　conductor　in　answer　to　our　hails　was　something　that　sounded；
through　the　clatter　of　the　wheels；　like　〃Tell　you　in　the　morning！〃

So　we　lit　our　pipes　and　opened　the　corner　of　a　curtain　for　a　chimney；　and
lay　there　in　the　dark；　listening　to　each　other's　story　of　how　he　first
felt　and　how　many　thousand　Indians　he　first　thought　had　hurled　themselves
upon　us；　and　what　his　remembrance　of　the　subsequent　sounds　was；　and　the
order　of　their　occurrence。　　And　we　theorized；　too；　but　there　was　never　a
theory　that　would　account　for　our　driver's　voice　being　out　there；　nor　yet
account　for　his　Indian　murderers　talking　such　good　English；　if　they　were
Indians。

So　we　chatted　and　smoked　the　rest　of　the　night　comfortably　away；　our
boding　anxiety　being　somehow　marvelously　dissipated　by　the　real　presence
of　something　to　be　anxious　about。

We　never　did　get　much　satisfaction　about　that　dark　occurrence。　　All　that
we　could　make　out　of　the　odds　and　ends　of　the　information　we　gathered　in
the　morning；　was　that　the　disturbance　occurred　at　a　station；　that　we
changed　drivers　there；　and　that　the　driver　that　got　off　there　had　been
talking　roughly　about　some　of　the　outlaws　that　infested　the　region　（〃for
there　wasn't　a　man　around　there　but　had　a　price　on　his　head　and　didn't
dare　show　himself　in　the　settlements；〃　the　conductor　said）；　he　had　talked
roughly　about　these　characters；　and　ought　to　have　〃drove　up　there　with
his　pistol　cocked　and　ready　on　the　seat　alongside　of　him；　and　begun
business　himself；　because　any　softy　would　know　they　would　be　laying　for
him。〃

That　was　all　we　could　gather；　and　we　could　see　that　neither　the　conductor
nor　the　new　driver　were　much　concerned　about　the　matter。　　They　plainly
had　little　respect　for　a　man　who　would　deliver　offensive　opinions　of
people　and　then　be　so　simple　as　to　come　into　their　presence　unprepared　to
〃back　his　judgment；〃　as　they　pleasantly　phrased　the　killing　of　any
fellow…being　who　did　not　like　said　opinions。　　And　likewise　they　plainly
had　a　contempt　for　the　man's　poor　discretion　in　venturing　to　rouse　the
wrath　of　such　utterly　reckless　wild　beasts　as　those　outlawsand　the
conductor　added：

〃I　tell　you　it's　as　much　as　Slade　himself　want　to　do！〃

This　remark　created　an　entire　revolution　in　my　curiosity。　　I　cared
nothing　now　about　the　Indians；　and　even　lost　interest　in　the　murdered
driver。　　There　was　such　magic　in　that　name；　SLADE！　　Day　or　night；　now；　I
stood　always　ready　to　drop　any　subject　in　hand；　to　listen　to　something
new　about　Slade　and　his　ghastly　exploits。　　Even　before　we　got　to　Overland
City；　we　had　begun　to　hear　about　Slade　and　his　〃division〃　（for　he　was　a
〃division…agent〃）　on　the　Overland；　and　from　the　hour　we　had　left　Overland
City　we　had　heard　drivers　and　conductors　talk　about　only　three　things
〃Californy；〃　the　Nevada　silver　mines；　and　this　desperado　Slade。　　And　a
deal　the　most　of　the　talk　was　about　Slade。　　We　had　gradually　come　to　have
a　realizing　sense　of　the　fact　that　Slade　was　a　man　whose　heart　and　hands
and　soul　were　steeped　in　the　blood　of　offenders　against　his　dignity；　a
man　who　awfully　avenged　all　injuries；　affront；　insults　or　slights；　of
whatever　kindon　the　spot　if　he　could；　years　afterward　if　lack　of
earlier　opportunity　compelled　it；　a　man　whose　hate　tortured　him　day　and
night　till　vengeance　appeased　itand　not　an　ordinary　vengeance　either；
but　his　enemy's　absolute　deathnothing　less；　a　man　whose　face　would
light　up　with　a　terrible　joy　when　he　surprised　a　foe　and　had　him　at　a
disadvantage。　　A　high　and　efficient　servant　of　the　Overland；　an　outlaw
among　outlaws　and　yet　their　relentless　scourge；　Slade　was　at　once　the
most　bloody；　the　most　dangerous　and