04-in a far country-第4部分

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！



snowy　shoulder；　smiled　upon　them　an　instant；　then　dipped　from　sight

again。

　　There　were　tears　in　their　eyes　as　they　sought　each　other。　A

strange　softening　came　over　them。　They　felt　irresistibly　drawn

toward　each　other。　The　sun　was　coming　back　again。　It　would　be　with

them　tomorrow；　and　the　next　day；　and　the　next。　And　it　would　stay

longer　every　visit；　and　a　time　would　come　when　it　would　ride　their

heaven　day　and　night；　never　once　dropping　below　the　skyline。　There

would　be　no　night。　The　ice…locked　winter　would　be　broken；　the　winds

would　blow　and　the　forests　answer；　the　land　would　bathe　in　the　blessed

sunshine；　and　life　renew。　Hand　in　hand；　they　would　quit　this　horrid

dream　and　journey　back　to　the　Southland。　They　lurched　blindly　forward；

and　their　hands　met…　their　poor　maimed　hands；　swollen　and　distorted

beneath　their　mittens。

　　But　the　promise　was　destined　to　remain　unfulfilled。　The　Northland　is

the　Northland；　and　men　work　out　their　souls　by　strange　rules；　which

other　men；　who　have　not　journeyed　into　far　countries；　cannot　come　to

understand。



　　An　hour　later；　Cuthfert　put　a　pan　of　bread　into　the　oven；　and　fell

to　speculating　on　what　the　surgeons　could　do　with　his　feet　when　he　got

back。　Home　did　not　seem　so　very　far　away　now。　Weatherbee　was　rummaging

in　the　cache。　Of　a　sudden；　he　raised　a　whirlwind　of　blasphemy；　which

in　turn　ceased　with　startling　abruptness。　The　other　man　had　robbed　his

sugar…sack。　Still；　things　might　have　happened　differently；　had　not　the

two　dead　men　come　out　from　under　the　stones　and　hushed　the　hot　words

in　his　throat。　They　led　him　quite　gently　from　the　cache；　which　he

forgot　to　close。　That　consummation　was　reached；　that　something　they

had　whispered　to　him　in　his　dreams　was　about　to　happen。　They　guided

him　gently；　very　gently；　to　the　woodpile；　where　they　put　the　axe　in

his　hands。　Then　they　helped　him　shove　open　the　cabin　door；　and　he　felt

sure　they　shut　it　after　him…　at　least　he　heard　it　slam　and　the　latch

fall　sharply　into　place。　And　he　knew　they　were　waiting　just　without；

waiting　for　him　to　do　his　task。

　　'Carter！　I　say；　Carter！'

　　Percy　Cuthfert　was　frightened　at　the　look　on　the　clerk's　face；　and

he　made　haste　to　put　the　table　between　them。

　　Carter　Weatherbee　followed；　without　haste　and　without　enthusiasm。

There　was　neither　pity　nor　passion　in　his　face；　but　rather　the

patient；　stolid　look　of　one　who　has　certain　work　to　do　and　goes


about　it　methodically。

　　'I　say；　what's　the　matter？'

　　The　clerk　dodged　back；　cutting　off　his　retreat　to　the　door；　but

never　opening　his　mouth。

　　'I　say；　Carter；　I　say；　let's　talk。　There's　a　good　chap。'

　　The　master　of　arts　was　thinking　rapidly；　now；　shaping　a　skillful

flank　movement　on　the　bed　where　his　Smith　&　Wesson　lay。　Keeping　his

eyes　on　the　madman；　he　rolled　backward　on　the　bunk；　at　the　same　time

clutching　the　pistol。

　　'Carter！'

　　The　powder　flashed　full　in　Weatherbee's　face；　but　he　swung　his

weapon　and　leaped　forward。　The　axe　bit　deeply　at　the　base　of　the

spine；　and　Percy　Cuthfert　felt　all　consciousness　of　his　lower　limbs

leave　him。　Then　the　clerk　fell　heavily　upon　him；　clutching　him　by

the　throat　with　feeble　fingers。　The　sharp　bite　of　the　axe　had　caused

Cuthfert　to　drop　the　pistol；　and　as　his　lungs　panted　for　release；　he

fumbled　aimlessly　for　it　among　the　blankets。　Then　he　remembered。　He

slid　a　hand　up　the　clerk's　belt　to　the　sheath…knife；　and　they　drew

very　close　to　each　other　in　that　last　clinch。

　　Percy　Cuthfert　felt　his　strength　leave　him。　The　lower　portion　of　his

body　was　useless；　The　inert　weight　of　Weatherbee　crushed　him…

crushed　him　and　pinned　him　there　like　a　bear　under　a　trap。　The　cabin

became　filled　with　a　familiar　odor；　and　he　knew　the　bread　to　be

burning。　Yet　what　did　it　matter？　He　would　never　need　it。　And　there

were　all　of　six　cupfuls　of　sugar　in　the　cache…　if　he　had　foreseen　this

he　would　not　have　been　so　saving　the　last　several　days。　Would　the

wind…vane　ever　move？　Why　not'　Had　he　not　seen　the　sun　today？　He

would　go　and　see。　No；　it　was　impossible　to　move。　He　had　not　thought

the　clerk　so　heavy　a　man。

　　How　quickly　the　cabin　cooled！　The　fire　must　be　out。　The　cold　was

forcing　in。　It　must　be　below　zero　already；　and　the　ice　creeping　up　the

inside　of　the　door。　He　could　not　see　it；　but　his　past　experience

enabled　him　to　gauge　its　progress　by　the　cabin's　temperature。　The

lower　hinge　must　be　white　ere　now。　Would　the　tale　of　this　ever　reach

the　world？　How　would　his　friends　take　it？　They　would　read　it　over

their　coffee；　most　likely；　and　talk　it　over　at　the　clubs。　He　could　see

them　very　clearly；　'Poor　Old　Cuthfert；'　they　murmured；　'not　such　a　bad

sort　of　a　chap；　after　all。'　He　smiled　at　their　eulogies；　and　passed　on

in　search　of　a　Turkish　bath。　It　was　the　same　old　crowd　upon　the

streets。　Strange；　they　did　not　notice　his　moosehide　moccasins　and

tattered　German　socks！　He　would　take　a　cab。　And　after　the　bath　a　shave

would　not　be　bad。　No；　he　would　eat　first。　Steak；　and　potatoes；　and

green　things　how　fresh　it　all　was！　And　what　was　that？　Squares　of

honey；　streaming　liquid　amber！　But　why　did　they　bring　so　much？　Ha！　ha！

he　could　never　eat　it　all。　Shine！　Why　certainly。　He　put　his　foot　on

the　box。　The　bootblack　looked　curiously　up　at　him；　and　he　remembered

his　moosehide　moccasins　and　went　away　hastily。

　　Hark！　The　wind…vane　must　be　surely　spinning。　No；　a　mere　singing　in

his　ears。　That　was　all…　a　mere　singing。　The　ice　must　have　passed　the

latch　by　now。　More　likely　the　upper　hinge　was　covered。　Between　the

moss…chinked　roof…poles；　little　points　of　frost　began　to　appear。　How

slowly　they　grew！　No；　not　so　slowly。　There　was　a　new　one；　and　there

another。　Two…　three…　four；　they　were　coming　too　fast　to　count。　There

were　two　growing　together。　And　there；　a　third　had　joined　them。　Why；

there　were　no　more　spots。　They　had　run　together　and　formed　a　sheet。

　　Well；　he　would　have　company。　If　Gabriel　ever　broke　the　silence　of

the　North；　they　would　stand　together；　hand　in　hand；　before　the　great

White　Throne。　And　God　would　judge　them；　God　would　judge　them！

　　Then　Percy　Cuthfert　closed　his　eyes　and　dropped　off　to　sleep。

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　TO　THE　MAN　ON　THE　TRAIL。



　　'DUMP　IT　IN。'

　　'But　I　say；　Kid；　isn't　that　going　it　a　little　too　strong'　Whisky　and

alcohol's　bad　enough；　but　when　it　comes　to　brandy　and　pepper　sauce

and…'

　　'Dump　it　in。　Who's　making　this　punch；　anyway？'　And　Malemute　Kid

smiled　benignantly　through　the　clouds　of　steam。　'By　the　time　you've

been　in　this　country　as　long　as　I　have；　my　son；　and　lived　on　rabbit

tracks　and　salmon　belly；　you'll　learn　that　Christmas　comes　only　once

per　annum。　And　a　Christmas　without　punch　is　sinking　a　hole　to

bedrock　with　nary　a　pay　streak。'

　　'Stack　up　on　that　fer　a　high　cyard；'　approved　Big　Jim　Belden；　who

had　come　down　from　his　claim　on　Mazy　May　to　spend　Christmas；　and

who；　as　everyone　knew；　had　been　living　the　two　months　past　on　straight

moose　meat。　'Hain't　fergot　the　hooch　we…uns　made　on　the　Tanana；　hey

yeh？'

　　'Well；　I　guess　yes。　Boys；　it　would　have　done　your　hearts　good　to　see

that　whole　tribe　fighting　drunk…　and　all　because　of　a　glorious　ferment

of　sugar　and　sour　dough。　That　was　before　your　time；'　Malemute　Kid　said

as　he　turned　to　Stanley　Prince；　a　young　mining　expert　who　had　been

in　two　years。　'No　white　women　in　the　country　then；　and　Mason　wanted　to

get　married。　Ruth's　father　was　chief　of　the　Tananas；　and　objected；

like　the　rest　of　the　tribe。　Stiff？　Why；　I　used　my　last　pound　of　sugar；

finest　work　in　that　line　I　ever　did　in　my　life。　You　should　have　seen

the　chase；　down　the　river　and　across　the　portage。'

　　'But　the　squaw？'　asked　Louis　Savoy；　the　tall　French　Canadian；

becoming　interested；　for　he　had　heard　of　this　wild　deed　when　at

Forty　Mile　the　preceding　winter。

　　Then　Malemute　Kid；　who　was　a　born　raconteur；　told　the　unvarnished

tale　of　the　Northland　Lochinvar。　More　than　one　rough　adventurer　of　the

North　felt　his　heartstrings　draw　closer　and　experienced　vague

yearnings　for　the　sunnier　pastures　of　the　Southland；　where　life

promised　something　more　than　a　barren　struggle　with　cold　and　death。

　　'We　struck　the　Yukon　just　behind　the　first　ice　run；'　he　concluded；

'and　the　tribe　only　a　quarter　of　an　hour　behind。　But　that　saved　us；

for　the　second　run　broke　the　jam　above　and　shut　them　out。　When　they

finally　got　into　Nuklukyeto；　the　whole　post　was　ready　for　them。　And　as

to　the　forgathering；　ask　Father　Roubeau　here：　he　performed　the

ceremony。'

　　The　Jesuit　took　the　pipe　from　his　lips　but　could　only　express　his

gratification　with　patriarchal　smiles；　while　Protestant　and　Catholic

vigorously　applauded。

　　'By　gar！'　ejaculated　Louis　Savoy；　who　seemed　overcome　by　the　romance

of　it。　'La　petite　squaw：　mon　Mason　brav。　By　gar！'

　　Then；　as　the　first　tin　cups　of　punch　went　round；　Bettles　the

Unquenchable　sprang　to　his　feet　and　struck　up　his　favorite　drinking

song：



　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　'There's　Henry　Ward　Beecher

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　And　Sunday…school　teachers；

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　All　drink　of　the　sassafras　root；

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　But　you　bet　all　the　same；

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　If　it　had　its　right　name；

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　It's　the　juice　of　the　forbidden　fruit。'



　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　'Oh；　the　juice　of　the　forbidden　fruit；'



roared　out　the　bacchanalian　chorus；



　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　'Oh；　the　juice　of　the　forbidden　fruit；

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　But　you　bet　all　the　same；

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　If　it　had　its　right　name；

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　It's　the　juice　of　the　forbidden　fruit。'



　　Malemute　Kid's　frightful　concoction　did　its　work；　the　men　of　the

camps　and　trails　unbent　in　its　genial　glow；　and　jest　and　song　and

tales　of　past　adventure　went　round　the　board。　Aliens　from　a　dozen

lands；　they　toasted　each　and　all。　It　was　the　Englishman；　Prince；　who

pledged　'Uncle　Sam；　the　precocious　infant　of　the　New　World'；　the

Yankee；　Bettles；　who　drank　to　'The　Queen；　God　bless　her'；　and

together；　Savoy　and　Meyers；　the　German　trader；　clanged　their　cups　to

Alsace　and　L