on the frontier-第23部分

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claim　to　see　if　we've　forgotten　nothing。　　Of　course；　we'll　be　back

again；〃　he　added　hastily；　without　looking　at　the　Old　Man；　〃before

we　go；　you　know。〃



The　others　began　to　look　for　their　hats；　but　so　awkwardly　and　with

such　evident　preoccupation　of　mind　that　it　was　not　at　first

discovered　that　the　Judge　had　his　already　on。　　This　raised　a　laugh；

as　did　also　a　clumsy　stumble　of　Union　Mills　against　the　pork

barrel；　although　that　gentleman　took　refuge　from　his　confusion　and

secured　a　decent　retreat　by　a　gross　exaggeration　of　his　lameness；

as　he　limped　after　the　Right　Bower。　　The　Judge　whistled　feebly。

The　Left　Bower；　in　a　more　ambitious　effort　to　impart　a　certain

gayety　to　his　exit；　stopped　on　the　threshold　and　said；　as　if　in

arch　confidence　to　his　companions；　〃Darned　if　the　Old　Man　don't

look　two　inches　higher　since　he　became　a　proprietor；〃　laughed

patronizingly；　and　vanished。



If　the　newly…made　proprietor　had　increased　in　stature；　he　had　not

otherwise　changed　his　demeanor。　　He　remained　in　the　same　attitude

until　the　last　figure　disappeared　behind　the　fringe　of　buckeye　that

hid　the　distant　highway。　　Then　he　walked　slowly　to　the　fire…place；

and；　leaning　against　the　chimney；　kicked　the　dying　embers　together

with　his　foot。　　Something　dropped　and　spattered　in　the　film　of　hot

ashes。　　Surely　the　rain　had　not　yet　ceased！



His　high　color　had　already　fled　except　for　a　spot　on　either　cheek…

bone　that　lent　a　brightness　to　his　eyes。　　He　glanced　around　the

cabin。　　It　looked　familiar　and　yet　strange。　　Rather；　it　looked

strange　BECAUSE　still　familiar；　and　therefore　incongruous　with　the

new　atmosphere　that　surrounded　itdiscordant　with　the　echo　of

their　last　meeting；　and　painfully　accenting　the　change。　　There　were

the　four　〃bunks；〃　or　sleeping　berths；　of　his　companions；　each　still

bearing　some　traces　of　the　individuality　of　its　late　occupant　with

a　dumb　loyalty　that　seemed　to　make　their　light…hearted　defection

monstrous。　　In　the　dead　ashes　of　the　Judge's　pipe；　scattered　on　his

shelf；　still　lived　his　old　fire；　in　the　whittled　and　carved　edges

of　the　Left　Bower's　bunk　still　were　the　memories　of　bygone　days　of

delicious　indolence；　in　the　bullet…holes　clustered　round　a　knot　of

one　of　the　beams　there　was　still　the　record　of　the　Right　Bower's

old…time　skill　and　practice；　in　the　few　engravings　of　female

loveliness　stuck　upon　each　headboard　there　were　the　proofs　of　their

old　extravagant　devotionall　a　mute　protest　to　the　change。



He　remembered　how；　a　fatherless；　truant　schoolboy；　he　had　drifted

into　their　adventurous；　nomadic　life；　itself　a　life　of　grown…up

truancy　like　his　own；　and　became　one　of　that　gypsy　family。　　How

they　had　taken　the　place　of　relations　and　household　in　his　boyish

fancy；　filling　it　with　the　unsubstantial　pageantry　of　a　child's

play　at　grown…up　existence；　he　knew　only　too　well。　　But　how；　from

being　a　pet　and　protege；　he　had　gradually　and　unconsciously

asserted　his　own　individuality　and　taken　upon　his　younger　shoulders

not　only　a　poet's　keen　appreciation　of　that　life；　but　its　actual

responsibilities　and　half…childish　burdens；　he　never　suspected。　　He

had　fondly　believed　that　he　was　a　neophyte　in　their　ways；　a　novice

in　their　charming　faith　and　indolent　creed；　and　they　had　encouraged

it；　now　their　renunciation　of　that　faith　could　only　be　an　excuse

for　a　renunciation　of　HIM。　　The　poetry　that　had　for　two　years

invested　the　material　and　sometimes　even　mean　details　of　their

existence　was　too　much　a　part　of　himself　to　be　lightly　dispelled。

The　lesson　of　those　ingenuous　moralists　failed；　as　such　lessons　are

apt　to　fail；　their　discipline　provoked　but　did　not　subdue；　a　rising

indignation；　stirred　by　a　sense　of　injury；　mounted　to　his　cheek　and

eyes。　　It　was　slow　to　come；　but　was　none　the　less　violent　that　it

had　been　preceded　by　the　benumbing　shock　of　shame　and　pride。



I　hope　I　shall　not　prejudice　the　reader's　sympathies　if　my　duty　as

a　simple　chronicler　compels　me　to　state；　therefore；　that　the　sober

second　thought　of　this　gentle　poet　was　to　burn　down　the　cabin　on

the　spot　with　all　its　contents。　　This　yielded　to　a　milder　counsel

waiting　for　the　return　of　the　party；　challenging　the　Right　Bower；　a

duel　to　the　death；　perhaps　himself　the　victim；　with　a　crushing

explanation　in　extremis；　〃It　seems　we　are　ONE　too　many。　　No　matter；

it　is　settled　now。　　Farewell！〃　　Dimly　remembering；　however；　that

there　was　something　of　this　in　the　last　well…worn　novel　they　had

read　together；　and　that　his　antagonist　might　recognize　it；　or　even

worse；　anticipate　it　himself；　the　idea　was　quickly　rejected。

Besides；　the　opportunity　for　an　apotheosis　of　self…sacrifice　was

past。　　Nothing　remained　now　but　to　refuse　the　proffered　bribe　of

claim　and　cabin　by　letter；　for　he　must　not　wait　their　return。　　He

tore　a　leaf　from　a　blotted　diary；　begun　and　abandoned　long　since；

and　essayed　to　write。　　Scrawl　after　scrawl　was　torn　up；　until　his

fury　had　cooled　down　to　a　frigid　third　personality。　　〃Mr。　John　Ford

regrets　to　inform　his　late　partners　that　their　tender　of　house；　of

furniture；〃　however；　seemed　too　inconsistent　with　the　pork…barrel

table　he　was　writing　on；　a　more　eloquent　renunciation　of　their

offer　became　frivolous　and　idiotic　from　a　caricature　of　Union

Mills；　label　and　all；　that　appeared　suddenly　on　the　other　side　of

the　leaf；　and　when　he　at　last　indited　a　satisfactory　and

impassioned　exposition　of　his　feelings；　the　legible　addendum　of

〃Oh；　ain't　you　glad　you're　out　of　the　wilderness！〃the　forgotten

first　line　of　a　popular　song；　which　no　scratching　would　erase

seemed　too　like　an　ironical　postscript　to　be　thought　of　for　a

moment。　　He　threw　aside　his　pen　and　cast　the　discordant　record　of

past　foolish　pastime　into　the　dead　ashes　of　the　hearth。



How　quiet　it　was。　　With　the　cessation　of　the　rain　the　wind　too　had

gone　down；　and　scarcely　a　breath　of　air　came　through　the　open　door。

He　walked　to　the　threshold　and　gazed　on　the　hushed　prospect。　　In

this　listless　attitude　he　was　faintly　conscious　of　a　distant

reverberation；　a　mere　phantom　of　soundperhaps　the　explosion　of　a

distant　blast　in　the　hillsthat　left　the　silence　more　marked　and

oppressive。　　As　he　turned　again　into　the　cabin　a　change　seemed　to

have　come　over　it。　　It　already　looked　old　and　decayed。　　The

loneliness　of　years　of　desertion　seemed　to　have　taken　possession　of

it；　the　atmosphere　of　dry　rot　was　in　the　beams　and　rafters。　　To　his

excited　fancy　the　few　disordered　blankets　and　articles　of　clothing

seemed　dropping　to　pieces；　in　one　of　the　bunks　there　was　a　hideous

resemblance　in　the　longitudinal　heap　of　clothing　to　a　withered　and

mummied　corpse。　　So　it　might　look　in　after　years　when　some　passing

strangerbut　he　stopped。　　A　dread　of　the　place　was　beginning　to

creep　over　him；　a　dread　of　the　days　to　come；　when　the　monotonous

sunshine　should　lay　bare　the　loneliness　of　these　walls；　the　long；

long　days　of　endless　blue　and　cloudless；　overhanging　solitude；

summer　days　when　the　wearying；　incessant　trade　winds　should　sing

around　that　empty　shell　and　voice　its　desolation。　　He　gathered

together　hastily　a　few　articles　that　were　especially　his　own

rather　that　the　free　communion　of　the　camp；　from　indifference　or

accident；　had　left　wholly　to　him。　　He　hesitated　for　a　moment　over

his　rifle；　but；　scrupulous　in　his　wounded　pride；　turned　away　and

left　the　familiar　weapon　that　in　the　dark　days　had　so　often

provided　the　dinner　or　breakfast　of　the　little　household。　　Candor

compels　me　to　state　that　his　equipment　was　not　large　nor　eminently

practical。　　His　scant　pack　was　a　light　weight　for　even　his　young

shoulders；　but　I　fear　he　thought　more　of　getting　away　from　the　Past

than　providing　for　the　Future。



With　this　vague　but　sole　purpose　he　left　the　cabin；　and　almost

mechanically　turned　his　steps　towards　the　creek　he　had　crossed　that

morning。　　He　knew　that　by　this　route　he　would　avoid　meeting　his

companions；　its　difficulties　and　circuitousness　would　exercise　his

feverish　limbs　and　give　him　time　for　reflection。　　He　had　determined

to　leave　the　claim；　but　whence　he　had　not　yet　considered。　　He

reached　the　bank　of　the　creek　where　he　had　stood　two　hours　before；

it　seemed　to　him　two　years。　　He　looked　curiously　at　his　reflection

in　one　of　the　broad　pools　of　overflow；　and　fancied　he　looked　older。

He　watched　the　rush　and　outset　of　the　turbid　current　hurrying　to

meet　the　South　Fork；　and　to　eventually　lose　itself　in　the　yellow

Sacramento。　　Even　in　his　preoccupation　he　was　impressed　with　a

likeness　to　himself　and　his　companions　in　this　flood　that　had　burst

its　peaceful　boundaries。　　In　the　drifting　fragments　of　one　of　their

forgotten　flumes　washed　from　the　bank；　he　fancied　he　saw　an　omen　of

the　disintegration　and　decay　of　the　Lone　Star　claim。



The　strange　hush　in　the　air　that　he　had　noticed　beforea　calm　so

inconsistent　with　that　hour　and　the　season　as　to　seem　portentous

became　more　marked　in　contrast　to　the　feverish　rush　of　the

turbulent　water…course。　　A　few　clouds　lazily　huddled　in　the　west

apparently　had　gone　to　rest　with　the　sun　on　beds　of　somnolent

poppies。　　There　was　a　gleam　as　of　golden　water　everywhere　along　the

horizon；　washing　out　the　cold　snowpeaks；　and　drowning　even　the

rising　moon。　　The　creek　caught　it　here　and　there；　until；　in　grim

irony；　it　seemed　to　bear　their　broken　sluice…boxes　and　useless

engines　on　the　very　Pactolian　stream　they　had　been　hopefully

created　to　direct　and　carry。　　But　by　some　peculiar　trick　of　the

atmosphere；　the　perfect　plenitude　of　that　golden　sunset　glory　was

lavished　on　the　rugged　sides　and　tangled　crest　of　the　Lone　Star

mountain。　　That　isolated　peak；　the　landmark　of　their　claim；　the

gaunt　monument　of　their　folly；　transfigured　in　the　evening

splendor；　kept　its　radiance　unquenched　long　after　the　glow　had

fallen　from　the　encompassing　skies；　and　when　at　last　the　rising

moon；　step　by　step；　put　out　the　fires　along　the　winding　valley　and

plains；　and　crept　up　the　bosky　sides　of　the　canyon；