arizona nights(亚利桑那之夜)-第24节
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ARIZONA NIGHTS
CHAPTER NINE THE OLD
TIMER
About a week later； in the course of the round…up； we reached the
valley of the Box Springs； where we camped for some days at the
dilapidated and abandoned adobe structure that had once been a ranch
house of some importance。 Just at dusk one afternoon we finished
cutting the herd which our morning's drive had collected。 The stray…herd；
with its new additions from the day's work； we pushed rapidly into one big
stock corral。 The cows and unbranded calves we urged into another。
Fifty head of beef steers found asylum from dust； heat； and racing to and
fro； in the mile square wire enclosure called the pasture。 All the
remainder； for which we had no further use we drove out of the flat into
the brush and toward the distant mountains。 Then we let them go as best
pleased them。 By now the desert bad turned slate…coloured； and the
brush was olive green with evening。 The hard； uncompromising ranges；
twenty miles to eastward； had softened behind a wonderful veil of purple
and pink； vivid as the chiffon of a girl's gown。 To the south and
southwest the Chiricahuas and Dragoons were lost in thunderclouds which
flashed and rumbled。 We jogged homewards； our cutting ponies；
tired with the quick； sharp work； shuffling knee deep in a dusk that
seemed to disengage itself and rise upwards from the surface of the desert。
Everybody was hungry and tired。 At the chuck wagon we threw off our
saddles and turned the mounts into the remuda。 Some of the wisest of us；
remembering the thunderclouds； stacked our gear under the veranda roof
of the old ranch house。 Supper was ready。 We seized the tin battery；
filled the plates with the meat； bread； and canned corn； and squatted on our
heels。 The food was good； and we ate hugely in silence。 When we
could hold no more we lit pipes。 Then we had leisure to notice that the
storm cloud was mounting in a portentous silence to the zenith； quenching
the brilliant desert stars。 〃Rolls〃 were scattered everywhere。 A roll
includes a cowboy's bed and all of his personal belongings。 When the
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ARIZONA NIGHTS
outfit includes a bed…wagon； the roll assumes bulky proportions。 As
soon as we had come to a definite conclusion that it was going to rain； we
deserted the camp fire and went rustling for our blankets。 At the end of
ten minutes every bed was safe within the doors of the abandoned adobe
ranch house； each owner recumbent on the floor claim he had pre…empted；
and every man hoping fervently that he had guessed right as to the
location of leaks。 Ordinarily we had depended on the light of camp
fires； so now artificial illumination lacked。 Each man was indicated by
the alternately glowing and waning lozenge of his cigarette fire。
Occasionally someone struck a match； revealing for a moment high…lights
on bronzed countenances； and the silhouette of a shading hand。 Voices
spoke disembodied。 As the conversation developed； we gradually
recognised the membership of our own roomful。 I had forgotten to state
that the ranch house included four chambers。 Outside； the rain roared
with Arizona ferocity。 Inside； men congratulated themselves； or swore as
leaks developed and localised。
Naturally we talked first of stampedes。 Cows and bears are the two
great cattle…country topics。 Then we had a mouth…organ solo or two；
which naturally led on to songs。 My turn came。 I struck up the first
verse of a sailor chantey as possessing at least the interest of novelty：
Oh； once we were a…sailing； a…sailing were we； Blow high；
blow low； what care we； And we were a…sailing to see what we could
see； Down on the coast of the High Barbaree。
I had just gone so far when I was brought up short by a tremendous
oath behind me。 At the same instant a match flared。 I turned to face a
stranger holding the little light above his head； and peering with fiery
intentness over the group sprawled about the floor。 He was evidently
just in from the storm。 His dripping hat lay at his feet。 A shock of
straight； close…clipped vigorous hair stood up grey above his seamed
forehead。 Bushy iron…grey eyebrows drawn close together thatched a
pair of burning； unquenchable eyes。 A square； deep jaw； lightly stubbled
with grey； was clamped so tight that the cheek muscles above it stood out
in knots and welts。 Then the match burned his thick； square fingers；
and he dropped it into the darkness that ascended to swallow it。 〃Who
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was singing that song？〃 he cried harshly。 Nobody answered。 〃Who
was that singing？〃 he demanded again。
By this time I had recovered from my first astonishment。 〃I was
singing；〃 said I。 Another match was instantly lit and thrust into my
very face。 I underwent the fierce scrutiny of an instant； then the taper
was thrown away half consumed。 〃Where did you learn it？〃 the
stranger asked in an altered voice。 〃I don't remember；〃 I replied； 〃it is
a common enough deep…sea chantey。〃 A heavy pause fell。 Finally
the stranger sighed。 〃Quite like；〃 he said； 〃I never heard but one man
sing it。〃 〃Who in hell are you？〃 someone demanded out of the
darkness。 Before replying； the newcomer lit a third match； searching
for a place to sit down。 As he bent forward； his strong； harsh face once
more came clearly into view。
〃He's Colorado Rogers；〃 the Cattleman answered for him； 〃I know
him。〃 〃Well；〃 insisted the first voice； 〃what in hell does Colorado
Rogers mean by bustin' in on our song fiesta that way？〃 〃Tell them；
Rogers；〃 advised the Cattleman； 〃tell themjust as you told it down on the
Gila ten years ago next month。〃 〃What？〃 inquired Rogers。 〃Who
are you？〃 〃You don't know me；〃 replied the Cattleman； 〃but I was
with Buck Johnson's outfit then。 Give us the yarn。〃 〃Well；〃 agreed
Rogers； 〃pass over the 'makings' and I will。〃 He rolled and lit a
cigarette； while I revelled in the memory of his rich； great voice。 It was
of the sort made to declaim against the sea or the rush of rivers or； as here；
the fall of waters and the thunderfull； from the chest； with the caressing
throat vibration that gives colour to the most ordinary statements。 After
ten words we sank back oblivious of the storm； forgetful of the leaky roof
and the dirty floor； lost in the story told us by the Old Timer。
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CHAPTER TEN THE TEXAS
RANGERS
I came from Texas； like the bulk of you punchers； but a good while
before the most of you were born。 That was forty…odd years agoand
I've been on the Colorado River ever since。 That's why they call me
Colorado Rogers。 About a dozen of us came out together。 We had all
been Texas Rangers； but when the war broke out we were out of a job。
We none of us cared much for the Johnny Rebs； and still less for the Yanks；
so we struck overland for the West； with the idea of hitting the California
diggings。 Well； we got switched off one way and another。 When we
got down to about where Douglas is now； we found that the Mexican
Government was offering a bounty for Apache scalps。
