arizona nights-第20节

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wandered　about　looking　for　their　lost　progeny。　　A　cow　knows　her

calf　by　scent　and　sound；　not　by　sight。　　Therefore　the　noise　was

deafening；　and　the　motion　incessant。

　　　

Finally　the　last　and　most　foolish　cow　found　the　last　and　most

foolish　calf。　　We　turned　the　herd　loose　to　hunt　water　and　grass

at　its　own　pleasure；　and　went　slowly　back　to　chuck。







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　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　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。







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。　　That　looked

pretty　good　to　us；　for　Injin　chasing　was　our　job；　so　we　started

in　to　collect。　　Did　pretty　well；　too；　for　about　three　months；　and

then　the　Injins　began　to　get　too　scarce；　or　too　plenty　in

streaks。　　Looked　like　our　job　was　over　with；　but　some　of　the　boys

discovered　that　Mexicans；　having　straight　black　hair；　you

couldn't　tell　one　of　their　scalps　from　an　Apache's。　　After　that

the　bounty　business　picked　up　for　a　while。　　It　was　too　much　for

me；　though；　and　I　quit　the　outfit　and　pushed　on　alone　until　I

struck　the　Colorado　about　where　Yuma　is　now。

　　　

At　that　time　the　California　immigrants　by　the　southern　route　used

to　cross　just　there；　and　these　Yuma　Injins　had　a　monopoly　on　the

ferry　business。　　They　were　a　peaceful；　fine…looking　lot；　without

a　thing　on　but　a　gee…string。　　The　women　had　belts　with　rawhide

strings　hanging　to　the　knees。　　They　put　them　on　one　over　the

other　until　they　didn't　feel　too　decollotey。　　It　wasn't　until　the

soldiers　came　that　the　officers'　wives　got　them　to　wear

handkerchiefs　over　their　breasts。　　The　system　was　all　right；

though。　　They　wallowed　around　in　the　hot；　clean　sand；　like

chickens；　and　kept　healthy。　　Since　they　took　to　wearing　clothes

they've　been　petering　out；　and　dying　of　dirt　and　assorted

diseases。

　　　

They　ran　this　ferry　monopoly　by　means　of　boats　made　of　tules；

charged　a　scand'lous　low　price；