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第28节

the night-born-第28节

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only you might turn foolish and let it go off。 You can have the

gun。 It's a good one。 As I was saying; I am going right out

that door。 And you ain't going to pull that gun off either。 It

takes guts to shoot a man; and you sure ain't got them。 Now get

ready and see if you can pull that trigger。 I ain't going to

harm you。 I'm going out that door; and I'm starting。〃



Keeping his eyes fixed on her; he pushed back the chair and

slowly stood erect。 The hammer rose halfway。 She watched it。 So

did he。



〃Pull harder;〃 he advised。 〃It ain't half up yet。 Go on and

pull it and kill a man。 That's what I said; kill a man; spatter

his brains out on the floor; or slap a hole into him the size

of your。 fist。 That's what killing a man means。〃



The hammer lowered jerkily but gently。 The man turned his back

and walked slowly to the door。 She swung the revolver around so

that it bore on his back。 Twice again the hammer came up

halfway and was reluctantly eased down。



At the door the man turned for a moment before passing on。 A

sneer was on his lips。 He spoke to her in a low voice; almost

drawling; but in it was the quintessence of all loathing; as he

called her a name unspeakable and vile。







THE MEXICAN



NOBODY knew his history they of the Junta least of all。 He

was their 〃little mystery;〃 their 〃big patriot;〃 and in his way

he worked as hard for the coming Mexican Revolution as did

they。 They were tardy in recognizing this; for not one of the

Junta liked him。 The day he first drifted into their crowded;

busy rooms; they all suspected him of being a spyone of the

bought tools of the Diaz secret service。 Too many of the

comrades were in civil an military prisons scattered over the

United States; and others of them; in irons; were even then

being taken across the border to be lined up against adobe

walls and shot。



At the first sight the boy did not impress them favorably。 Boy

he was; not more than eighteen and not over large for his

years。 He announced that he was Felipe Rivera; and that it was

his wish to work for the Revolution。 That was allnot a wasted

word; no further explanation。 He stood waiting。 There was no

smile on his lips; no geniality in his eyes。 Big dashing

Paulino Vera felt an inward shudder。 Here was something

forbidding; terrible; inscrutable。 There was something venomous

and snakelike in the boy's black eyes。 They burned like cold

fire; as with a vast; concentrated bitterness。 He flashed them

from the faces of the conspirators to the typewriter which

little Mrs。 Sethby was industriously operating。 His eyes rested

on hers but an instantshe had chanced to look upand she;

too; sensed the nameless something that made her pause。 She was

compelled to read back in order to regain the swing of the

letter she was writing。



Paulino Vera looked questioningly at Arrellano and Ramos; and

questioningly they looked back and to each other。 The

indecision of doubt brooded in their eyes。 This slender boy was

the Unknown; vested with all the menace of the Unknown。 He was

unrecognizable; something quite beyond the ken of honest;

ordinary revolutionists whose fiercest hatred for Diaz and his

tyranny after all was only that of honest and ordinary

patriots。 Here was something else; they knew not what。 But

Vera; always the most impulsive; the quickest to act; stepped

into the breach。



〃Very well;〃 he said coldly。 〃You say you want to work for the

Revolution。 Take off your coat。 Hang it over there。 I will show

you; comewhere are the buckets and cloths。 The floor is

dirty。 You will begin by scrubbing it; and by scrubbing the

floors of the other rooms。 The spittoons need to be cleaned。

Then there are the windows。〃



〃Is it for the Revolution?〃 the boy asked。



〃It is for the Revolution;〃 Vera answered。



Rivera looked cold suspicion at all of them; then proceeded to

take off his coat。



〃It is well;〃 he said。



And nothing more。 Day after day he came to his worksweeping;

scrubbing; cleaning。 He emptied the ashes from the stoves;

brought up the coal and kindling; and lighted the fires before

the most energetic one of them was at his desk。



〃Can I sleep here?〃 he asked once。



Ah; ha! So that was itthe hand of Diaz showing through! To

sleep in the rooms of the Junta meant access to their secrets;

to the lists of names; to the addresses of comrades down on

Mexican soil。 The request was denied; and Rivera never spoke of

it again。 He slept they knew not where; and ate they knew not

where nor how。 Once; Arrellano offered him a couple of dollars。

Rivera declined the money with a shake of the head。 When Vera

joined in and tried to press it upon him; he said:



〃I am working for the Revolution。〃



It takes money to raise a modern revolution。 and always the

Junta was pressed。 The members starved and toiled; and the

longest day was none too long; and yet there were times when it

appeared as if the Revolution stood or fell on no more than the

matter of a few dollars。 Once; the first time; when the rent of

the house was two months behind and the landlord was

threatening dispossession; it was Felipe Rivera; the scrub…boy

in the poor; cheap clothes; worn and threadbare; who laid sixty

dollars in gold on May Sethby's desk。 There were other times。

Three hundred letters; clicked out on the busy typewriters

(appeals for assistance; for sanctions from the organized labor

groups; requests for square news deals to the editors of

newspapers; protests against the high…handed treatment of

revolutionists by the United States courts); lay unmailed;

awaiting postage。 Vera's watch had disappearedthe

old…fashioned gold repeater that had been his father's。

Likewise had gone the plain gold band from May Setbby's third

finger。 Things were desperate。 Ramos and Arrellano pulled their

long mustaches in despair。 The letters must go off; and the

Post Office allowed no credit to purchasers of stamps。 Then it

was that Rivera put on his hat and went out。 When he came back

he laid a thousand two…cent stamps on May Sethby's desk。



〃I wonder if it is the cursed gold of Diaz?〃 said Vera to the

comrades。



They elevated their brows and could not decide。 And Felipe

Rivera; the scrubber for the Revolution; continued; as occasion

arose; to lay down gold and silver for the Junta's use。



And still they could not bring themselves to like him。 They did

not know him。 His ways were not theirs。 He gave no confidences。

He repelled all probing。 Youth that he was; they could never

nerve themselves to dare to question him。



〃A great and lonely spirit; perhaps; I do not know; I do not

know;〃 Arrellano said helplessly。



〃He is not human;〃 said Ramos。



〃His soul has been seared;〃 said May Sethby。 〃Light and

laughter have been burned out of him。 He is like one dead; and

yet he is fearfully alive。〃



〃He has been through hell;〃 said Vera。 〃No man could look like

that who has not been through helland he is only a boy。〃



Yet they could not like him。 He never talked; never inquired;

never suggested。 He would stand listening; expressionless; a

thing dead; save for his eyes; coldly burning; while their talk

of the Revolution ran high and warm。 From face to face and

speaker to speaker his eyes would turn; boring like gimlets of

incandescent ice; disconcerting and perturbing。



〃He is no spy;〃 Vera confided to May Sethby。 〃He is a

patriotmark me; the greatest patriot of us all。 I know it; I

feel it; here in my heart and head I feel it。 But him I know

not at all。〃



〃He has a bad temper;〃 said May Sethby。



〃I know;〃 said Vera; with a shudder。 〃He has looked at me with

those eyes of his。 They do not love; they threaten; they are

savage as a wild tiger's。 I know; if I should prove unfaithful

to the Cause; that he would kill me。 He has no heart。 He is

pitiless as steel; keen and cold as frost。 He is like moonshine

in a winter night when a man freezes to death on some lonely

mountain top。 I am not afraid of Diaz and all his killers; but

this boy; of him am I afraid。 I tell you true。 I am afraid。 He

is the breath of death。〃



Yet Vera it was who persuaded the others to give the first

trust to Rivera。 The line of communication between Los Angeles

and Lower California had broken down。 Three of the comrades had

dug their own graves and been shot into them。 Two more were

United States prisoners in Los Angeles。 Juan Alvarado; the

Federal commander; was a monster。 All their plans did he

checkmate。 They could no longer gain access to the active

revolutionists; and the incipient ones; in Lower California。



Young Rivera was given his instructions and dispatched south。

When he returned; the line of communication was reestablished;

and Juan Alvarado was dead。 He had been found in bed; a knife

hilt…deep in his breast。 This had exceeded Rivera's

instructions; but they of the Junta knew the times of his

movements

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