cabin fever-第16部分

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t　with　a　clean　flour　sack；　opened　the　stove　door；　and　slid　in　two　sticks。

〃She's　getting　cold；〃　he　observed　casually。　〃It'll　be　winter　now　before　we　know　it。〃

Bud　grunted；　pulled　an　empty　box　toward　him　by　the　simple　expedient　of　hooking　his　toes　behind　the　corner；　and　sat　down。　He　set　his　elbows　on　his　thighs　and　buried　his　face　in　his　hands。　His　hat　dropped　off　his　head　and　lay　crown　down　beside　him。　He　made　a　pathetic　figure　of　miserable　manhood；　of　strength　mistreated。　His　fine；　brown　hair　fell　in　heavy　locks　down　over　his　fingers　that　rested　on　his　forehead。　Five　minutes　so；　and　he　lifted　his　head　and　glanced　around　him　apathetically。　〃Gee…man…　ee；　I've　got　a　headache！〃　he　muttered；　dropping　his　forehead　into　his　spread　palms　again。

Cash　hesitated；　derision　hiding　in　the　back　of　his　eyes。　Then　he　pushed　the　dented　coffeepot　forward　on　the　stove。

〃Try　a　cup　of　coffee　straight；〃　he　said　unemotionally；　〃and　then　lay　down。　You'll　sleep　it　off　in　a　few　hours。〃

Bud　did　not　look　up；　or　make　any　move　to　show　that　he　heard。　But　presently　he　rose　and　went　heavily　over　to　his　bunk。　〃I　don't　want　any　darn　coffee；〃　he　growled；　and　sprawled　himself　stomach　down　on　the　bed；　with　his　face　turned　from　the　light。

Cash　eyed　him　coldly；　with　the　corner　of　his　upper　lip　lifted　a　little。　Whatever　weaknesses　he　possessed；　drinking　and　gambling　had　no　place　in　the　list。　Nor　had　he　any　patience　with　those　faults　in　others。　Had　Bud　walked　down　drunk　to　Cash's　camp；　that　evening　when　they　first　met；　he　might　have　received　a　little　food　doled　out　to　him　grudgingly；　but　he　assuredly　would　not　have　slept　in　Cash's　bed　that　night。　That　he　tolerated　drunkenness　in　Bud　now　would　have　been　rather　surprising　to　any　one　who　knew　Cash　well。　Perhaps　he　had　a　vague　understanding　of　the　deeps　through　which　Bud　was　struggling；　and　so　was　constrained　to　hide　his　disapproval；　hoping　that　the　moral　let…down　was　merely　a　temporary　one。

He　finished　his　strictly　utilitarian　household　labor　and　went　off　up　the　flat　to　the　sluice　boxes。　Bud　had　not　moved　from　his　first　position　on　the　bed；　but　he　did　not　breathe　like　a　sleeping　man。　Not　at　first；　after　an　hour　or　so　he　did　sleep；　heavily　and　with　queer；　muddled　dreams　that　had　no　sequence　and　left　only　a　disturbed　sense　of　discomfort　behind　then。

At　noon　or　a　little　after　Cash　returned　to　the　cabin；　cast　a　sour　look　of　contempt　at　the　recumbent　Bud；　and　built　a　fire　in　the　old　cookstove。　He　got　his　dinner；　ate　it；　and　washed　his　dishes　with　never　a　word　to　Bud；　who　had　wakened　and　lay　with　his　eyes　half　open；　sluggishly　miserable　and　staring　dully　at　the　rough　spruce　logs　of　the　wall。

Cash　put　on　his　cap；　looked　at　Bud　and　gave　a　snort；　and　went　off　again　to　his　work。　Bud　lay　still　for　awhile　longer；　staring　dully　at　the　wall。　Finally　he　raised　up；　swung　his　feet　to　the　floor；　and　sat　there　staring　around　the　little　cabin　as　though　he　had　never　before　seen　it。

〃Huh！　You'd　think；　the　way　he　highbrows　me；　that　Cash　never　done　wrong　in　his　life！　Tin　angel；　himI　don't　think。　Next　time；　I'll　tell　a　pinheaded　world　I'll　have　to　bring　home　a　quart　or　two；　and　put　on　a　show　right！〃

Just　what　he　meant　by　that　remained　rather　obscure；　even　to　Bud。　He　got　up；　shut　his　eyes　very　tight　and　then　opened　them　wide　to　clear　his　vision；　shook　himself　into　his　clothes　and　went　over　to　the　stove。　Cash　had　not　left　the　coffeepot　on　the　stove　but　had；　with　malicious　intentor　so　Bud　believedput　it　away　on　the　shelf　so　that　what　coffee　remained　was　stone　cold。　Bud　muttered　and　threw　out　the　coffee；　grounds　and　alla　bit　of　bachelor　extravagance　which　only　anger　could　drive　him　to　and　made　fresh　coffee；　and　made　it　strong。　He　did　not　want　it。　He　drank　it　for　the　work　of　physical　regeneration　it　would　do　for　him。

He　lay　down　afterwards；　and　this　time　he　dropped　into　a　more　nearly　normal　sleep；　which　lasted　until　Cash　returned　at　dusk　After　that　he　lay　with　his　face　hidden；　awake　and　thinking。　Thinking；　for　the　most　part；　of　how　dull　and　purposeless　life　was；　and　wondering　why　the　world　was　made；　or　the　people　in　it　since　nobody　was　happy；　and　few　even　pretended　to　be。　Did　God　really　make　the　world；　and　man；　just　to　play　withfor　a　pastime？　Then　why　bother　about　feeling　ashamed　for　anything　one　did　that　was　contrary　to　God's　laws？

Why　be　puffed　up　with　pride　for　keeping　one　or　two　of　them　unbrokenlike　Cash；　for　instance。　Just　because　Cash　never　drank　or　played　cards；　what　right　had　he　to　charge　the　whole　atmosphere　of　the　cabin　with　his　contempt　and　his　disapproval　of　Bud；　who　chose　to　do　both？

On　the　other　hand；　why　did　he　choose　a　spree　as　a　relief　from　his　particular　bunch　of　ghosts？　Trading　one　misery　for　another　was　all　you　could　call　it。　Doing　exactly　the　things　that　Marie's　mother　had　predicted　he　would　do；　committing　the　very　sins　that　Marie　was　always　a　little　afraid　he　would　committhere　must　be　some　sort　of　twisted　revenge　in　that；　he　thought；　but　for　the　life　of　him　he　could　not　quite　see　any　real；　permanent　satisfaction　in　itespecially　since　Marie　and　her　mother　would　never　get　to　hear　of　it。

For　that　matter；　he　was　not　so　sure　that　they　would　not　get　to　hear。　He　remembered　meeting；　just　on　the　first　edge　of　his　spree；　one　Joe　De　Barr；　a　cigar　salesman　whom　he　had　known　in　San　Jose。　Joe　knew　Mariein　fact；　Joe　had　paid　her　a　little　attention　before　Bud　came　into　her　life。　Joe　had　been　in　Alpine　between　trains；　taking　orders　for　goods　from　the　two　saloons　and　the　hotel。　He　had　seen　Bud　drinking。　Bud　knew　perfectly　well　how　much　Joe　had　seen　him　drinking；　and　he　knew　perfectly　well　that　Joe　was　surprised　to　the　point　of　amazementand；　Bud　suspected；　secretly　gratified　as　well。　Wherefore　Bud　had　deliberately　done　what　he　could　do　to　stimulate　and　emphasize　both　the　surprise　and　the　gratification。　Why　is　it　that　most　human　beings　feel　a　sneaking　satisfaction　in　the　downfall　of　another？　Especially　another　who　is；　or　has　been　at　sometime；　a　rival　in　love　or　in　business？

Bud　had　no　delusions　concerning　Joe　De　Barr。　If　Joe　should　happen　to　meet　Marie；　he　would　manage　somehow　to　let　her　know　that　Bud　was　going　to　the　dogson　the　toboggandown　and　outwhatever　it　suited　Joe　to　declare　him。　It　made　Bud　sore　now　to　think　of　Joe　standing　so　smug　and　so　well　dressed　and　so　immaculate　beside　the　bar；　smiling　and　twisting　the　ends　of　his　little　brown　mustache　while　he　watched　Bud　make　such　a　consummate　fool　of　himself。　At　the　time；　though；　Bud　had　taken　a　perverse　delight　in　making　himself　appear　more　soddenly　drunken；　more　boisterous　and　reckless　than　he　really　was。

Oh；　well；　what　was　the　odds？　Marie　couldn't　think　any　worse　of　him　than　she　already　thought。　And　whatever　she　thought；　their　trails　had　parted；　and　they　would　never　cross　againnot　if　Bud　could　help　it。　Probably　Marie　would　say　amen　to　that。　He　would　like　to　know　how　she　was　getting　alongand　the　baby；　too。　Though　the　baby　had　never　seemed　quite　real　to　Bud；　or　as　if　it　were　a　permanent　member　of　the　household。　It　was　a　leather…　lunged；　red…faced；　squirming　little　mite；　and　in　his　heart　of　hearts　Bud　had　not　felt　as　though　it　belonged　to　him　at　all。　He　had　never　rocked　it；　for　instance；　or　carried　it　in　his　arms。　He　had　been　afraid　he　might　drop　it；　or　squeeze　it　too　hard；　or　break　it　somehow　with　his　man's　strength。　When　he　thought　of　Marie　he　did　not　necessarily　think　of　the　baby；　though　sometimes　he　did；　wondering　vaguely　how　much　it　had　grown；　and　if　it　still　hollered　for　its　bottle；　all　hours　of　the　day　and　night。

Coming　back　to　Marie　and　Joeit　was　not　at　all　certain　that　they　would　meet；　or　that　Joe　would　mention　him；　even　if　they　did。　A　wrecked　home　is　always　a　touchy　subject；　so　touchy　that　Joe　had　never　intimated　in　his　few　remarks　to　Bud　that　there　had　ever　been　a　Marie；　and　Bud；　drunk　as　he　had　been；　was　still　not　too　drunk　to　held　back　the　question　that　clamored　to　be　spoken。

Whether　he　admitted　it　to　himself　or　not；　the　sober　Bud　Moore　who　lay　on　his　bunk　nursing　a　headache　and　a　grouch　against　the　world　was　ashamed　of　the　drunken　Bud　Moore　who　had　paraded　his　drunkenness　before　the　man　who　knew　Marie。　He　did　not　want　Marie　to　hear　what　Joe　might　tell　There　was　no　use；　he　told　himself　miserably；　in　making　Marie　despise　him　as　well　as　hate　him。　There　was　a　difference。　She　might　think　him　a　brute；　and　she　might　accuse　him　of　failing　to　be　a　kind　and　loving　husband；　but　she　could　not；　unless　Joe　told　of　his　spree；　say　that　she　had　ever　heard　of　his　carousing　around。　That　it　would　be　his　own　fault　if　she　did　hear；　served　only　to　embitter　his　mood。

He　rolled　over　and　glared　at　Cash；　who　had　cooked　his　supper　and　was　sitting　down　to　eat　it　alone。　Cash　was　looking　particularly　misanthropic　as　he　bent　his　head　to　meet　the　upward　journey　of　his　coffee　cup；　and　his　eyes；　when　they　lifted　involuntarily　with　Bud's　sudden　movement。　had　still　that　hard　look　of　bottled…up　rancor　that　had　impressed　itself　upon　Bud　earlier　in　the　day。

Neither　man　spoke；　or　made　any　sign　of　friendly　recognition。　Bud　would　not　have　talked　to　any　one　in　his　present　state　of　self…disgust；　but　for　all　that　Cash's　silence　rankled。　A　moment　their　eyes　met　and　held；　then　with　shifted　glances　the　souls　of　them　drew　apartfarther　apart　than　they　had　ever　been；　even　when　they　quarreled　over　Pete；　down　in　Arizona。

When　Cash　had　finished　and　was　filing　his　pipe；　Bud　got　up　and　reheated　the　coffee；　and　fried　more　bacon　and　potatoes；　Cash　having　cooked　just　enough　for　himself。　Cash　smoked　and　gave　no　heed；　and　Bud　retorted　by　eating　in　silence　and　in　straightway　washing　his　own　cup；　plate；　knife；　and　fork　and　wiping　clean　the　side　of　the　table　where　he　always　sat。　He　did　not　look　at　Cash；　but　he　felt　morbidly　that　Cash　was　regarding　him　with　that　hateful　sneer　hidden　under　his　beard。　He　knew　that　it　was　silly　to　keep　that　stony　silence；　but　he　kept　telling　himself　that　if　Cash　wanted　to　talk；　he　had　a　tongue；　and　it　was　not　tied。　Besides；　Cash　had　registered　pretty　plainly　his　intentions　and　his　wishes　when　he　excluded　Bud　from　his　supper。

It　was　a　foolish　quarrel；　but　it　was　that　kind　of　foolish　quarrel　which　is　very　apt　to　harden　into　a　lasting　one。



CHAPTER　TWELVE。　MARIE　TAKES　A　DESPERATE　CHANCE

Domestic　wrecks　may　be　a　subject　taboo　in　polite　conversation；　but　Joe　De