arizona nights(亚利桑那之夜)-第4节
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moment； but we uttered pessimistic predictions if the wind should change。
Tom Rich and Jim Lester had a little tent； and insisted on descending to
the canon…bed。 〃Got to cook there； anyways；〃 said they； and departed
with the two pack mules and their bed horse。
That left the Cattleman； Windy Bill； Jed Parker； and me。 In a
moment Windy Bill came up to us whispering and mysterious。
〃Get your cavallos and follow me；〃 said he。
We did so。 He led us two hundred yards to another cave； twenty feet
high； fifteen feet in diameter； level as a floor。
〃How's that？〃 he cried in triumph。 〃Found her just now while I was
rustling nigger…heads for a fire。〃
We unpacked our beds with chuckles of joy； and spread them carefully
within the shelter of the cave。 Except for the very edges； which did not
much matter； our blankets and 〃so…guns；〃 protected by the canvas 〃tarp；〃
were reasonably dry。 Every once in a while a spasm of conscience would
seize one or the other of us。
〃It seems sort of mean on the other fellows；〃 ruminated Jed Parker。
〃They had their first choice；〃 cried we all。
〃Uncle Jim's an old man；〃 the Cattleman pointed out。
But Windy Bill had thought of that。 〃I told him of this yere cave first。
But he allowed he was plumb satisfied。〃
We finished laying out our blankets。 The result looked good to us。
We all burst out laughing。
〃Well； I'm sorry for those fellows；〃 cried the Cattleman。 We hobbled
our horses and descended to the gleam of the fire； like guilty conspirators。
There we ate hastily of meat； bread and coffee； merely for the sake of
sustenance。 It certainly amounted to little in the way of pleasure。 The
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water from the direct rain； the shivering trees； and our hat brims
accumulated in our plates faster than we could bail it out。 The dishes
were thrust under a canvas。 Rich and Lester decided to remain with their
tent； and so we saw them no more until morning。
We broke off back…loads of mesquite and toiled up the hill； tasting
thickly the high altitude in the severe labour。 At the big cave we dumped
down our burdens； transported our fuel piecemeal to the vicinity of the
narrow ledge； built a good fire； sat in a row； and lit our pipes。 In a few
moments； the blaze was burning high； and our bodies had ceased shivering。
Fantastically the firelight revealed the knobs and crevices； the ledges and
the arching walls。 Their shadows leaped； following the flames； receding
and advancing like playful beasts。 Far above us was a single tiny
opening through which the smoke was sucked as through a chimney。 The
glow ruddied the men's features。 Outside was thick darkness； and the
swish and rush and roar of rising waters。 Listening； Windy Bill was
reminded of a story。 We leaned back comfortably against the sloping
walls of the cave； thrust our feet toward the blaze； smoked； and hearkened
to the tale of Windy Bill。
There's a tur'ble lot of water running loose here； but I've seen the time
and place where even what is in that drip would be worth a gold mine。
That was in the emigrant days。 They used to come over south of here；
through what they called Emigrant Pass； on their way to Californy。 I was a
kid then； about eighteen year old； and what I didn't know about Injins and
Agency cattle wasn't a patch of alkali。 I had a kid outfit of h'ar bridle；
lots of silver and such； and I used to ride over and be the handsome boy
before such outfits as happened along。
They were queer people； most of 'em from Missoury and such…like
southern seaports； and they were tur'ble sick of travel by the time they
come in sight of Emigrant Pass。 Up to Santa Fe they mostly hiked along
any old way； but once there they herded up together in bunches of twenty
wagons or so； 'count of our old friends； Geronimo and Loco。 A good
many of 'em had horned cattle to their wagons； and they crawled along
about two miles an hour； hotter'n hell with the blower on； nothin' to look at
but a mountain a week way； chuck full of alkali； plenty of sage…brush and
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rattlesnakesbut mighty little water。
Why； you boys know that country down there。 Between the
Chiricahua Mountains and Emigrant Pass it's maybe a three or four days'
journey for these yere bull…slingers。
Mostly they filled up their bellies and their kegs； hoping to last
through； but they sure found it drier than cork legs； and generally long
before they hit the Springs their tongues was hangin' out a foot。 You see；
for all their plumb nerve in comin' so far； the most of them didn't know
sic'em。 They were plumb innocent in regard to savin' their water； and
Injins； and such； and the long…haired buckskin fakes they picked up at
Santa Fe for guides wasn't much better。
That was where Texas Pete made his killing。
Texas Pete was a tough citizen from the Lone Star。 He was about as
broad as he was long； and wore all sorts of big whiskers and black
eyebrows。 His heart was very bad。 You never COULD tell where
Texas Pete was goin' to jump next。 He was a side…winder and a diamond…
back and a little black rattlesnake all rolled into one。 I believe that Texas
Pete person cared about as little for killin' a man as for takin' a drinkand
he shorely drank without an effort。 Peaceable citizens just spoke soft and
minded their own business； onpeaceable citizens Texas Pete used to plant
out in the sagebrush。
Now this Texas Pete happened to discover a water hole right out in the
plumb middle of the desert。 He promptly annexed said water hole； digs
her out； timbers her up； and lays for emigrants。
He charged two bits a headman or beastand nobody got a mouthful
till he paid up in hard coin。
Think of the wads he raked in！ I used to figure it up； just for the joy
of envyin' him； I reckon。 An average twenty…wagon outfit； first and last；
would bring him in somewheres about fifty dollarsand besides he had
forty…rod at four bits a glass。 And outfits at that time were thicker'n
spatter。
We used all to go down sometimes to watch them come in。 When
they see that little canvas shack and that well； they begun to cheer up and
move fast。 And when they see that sign； 〃Water； two bits a head；〃 their
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eyes stuck out like two raw oysters。
Then come the kicks。 What a howl they did raise； shorely。 But it
didn't do no manner of good。 Texas Pete didn't do nothin' but sit there
and smoke； with a kind of sulky gleam in one corner of his eye。 He
didn't even take the trouble to answer； but his Winchester lay across his lap。
There wasn't no humour in the situation for him。
〃How much is your water for humans？〃 asks one emigrant。
〃Can't you read that sign？〃 Texas Pete asks him。
〃But you don't mean two bits a head for HUMANS！〃 yells the man。
〃Why； you can get whisky for that！〃
〃You can read the sign； can't you？〃 insists Texas Pete。
〃I can read it all right？〃 says the man； tryin' a new deal； 〃but they tell
me not to believe more'n half I read。〃
But that don't go； and Mr。 Emigrant shells out with the rest。
I didn't blame them for raisin' their howl。 Why； at that time the
regular water holes was chargin' five cents a head from the government
freighters； and the motto was always 〃Hold up Uncle Sam；〃 at that。 Once
in a while some outfit would get mad and go chargin' off dry； but it was a
long； long way to the Springs； and mighty hot and dusty。 Texas Pete and
his one lonesome w
