to the last man-第6部分

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the　sun。　　Deep　ravines　were　black　with　brush。　　From　somewhere　rose　a
roar　of　running　water；　most　pleasant　to　Jean's　ears。　　Fresh　deer　and
bear　tracks　covered　old　ones　made　in　the　trail。

Those　timbered　ridges　were　but　billows　of　that　tremendous　slope　that
now　sheered　above　Jean；　ending　in　a　magnificent　yellow　wall　of　rock；
greened　in　niches；　stained　by　weather　rust；　carved　and　cracked　and
caverned。　　As　Jean　descended　farther　the　hum　of　bees　made　melody；
the　roar　of　rapid　water　and　the　murmur　of　a　rising　breeze　filled
him　with　the　content　of　the　wild。　　Sheepmen　like　Colter　and　wild
girls　like　Ellen　Jorth　and　all　that　seemed　promising　or　menacing
in　his　father's　letter　could　never　change　the　Indian　in　Jean。　　So
he　thought。　　Hard　upon　that　conclusion　rushed　anotherone　which
troubled　with　its　stinging　revelation。　　Surely　these　influences
he　had　defied　were　just　the　ones　to　bring　out　in　him　the　Indian
he　had　sensed　but　had　never　known。　　The　eventful　day　had　brought
new　and　bitter　food　for　Jean　to　reflect　upon。

The　trail　landed　him　in　the　bowlder…strewn　bed　of　a　wide　canyon；
where　the　huge　trees　stretched　a　canopy　of　foliage　which　denied　the
sunlight；　and　where　a　beautiful　brook　rushed　and　foamed。　　Here　at　last
Jean　tasted　water　that　rivaled　his　Oregon　springs。　　〃Ah；〃　he　cried；
〃that　sure　is　good！〃　　Dark　and　shaded　and　ferny　and　mossy　was　this
streamway；　and　everywhere　were　tracks　of　game；　from　the　giant　spread
of　a　grizzly　bear　to　the　tiny；　birdlike　imprints　of　a　squirrel。　　Jean
heard　familiar　sounds　of　deer　crackling　the　dead　twigs；　and　the　chatter
of　squirrels　was　incessant。　　This　fragrant；　cool　retreat　under　the　Rim
brought　back　to　him　the　dim　recesses　of　Oregon　forests。　　After　all；
Jean　felt　that　he　would　not　miss　anything　that　he　had　loved　in　the
Cascades。　　But　what　was　the　vague　sense　of　all　not　being　well　with
himthe　essence　of　a　faint　regretthe　insistence　of　a　hovering
shadow？　　And　then　flashed　again；　etched　more　vividly　by　the　repetition
in　memory；　a　picture　of　eyes；　of　lipsof　something　he　had　to　forget。

Wild　and　broken　as　this　rolling　Basin　floor　had　appeared　from　the　Rim；
the　reality　of　traveling　over　it　made　that　first　impression　a　deceit
of　distance。　　Down　here　all　was　on　a　big；　rough；　broken　scale。　　Jean
did　not　find　even　a　few　rods　of　level　ground。　　Bowlders　as　huge　as
houses　obstructed　the　stream　bed；　spruce　trees　eight　feet　thick　tried
to　lord　it　over　the　brawny　pines；　the　ravine　was　a　veritable　canyon
from　which　occasional　glimpses　through　the　foliage　showed　the　Rim
as　a　lofty　red…tipped　mountain　peak。

Jean's　pack　mule　became　frightened　at　scent　of　a　bear　or　lion　and　ran
off　down　the　rough　trail；　imperiling　Jean's　outfit。　　It　was　not　an
easy　task　to　head　him　off　nor；　when　that　was　accomplished；　to　keep
him　to　a　trot。　　But　his　fright　and　succeeding　skittishness　at　least
made　for　fast　traveling。　　Jean　calculated　that　he　covered　ten　miles
under　the　Rim　before　the　character　of　ground　and　forest　began　to　change。

The　trail　had　turned　southeast。　　Instead　of　gorge　after　gorge；
red…walled　and　choked　with　forest；　there　began　to　be　rolling　ridges；
some　high；　others　were　knolls；　and　a　thick　cedar　growth　made　up　for
a　falling　off　of　pine。　　The　spruce　had　long　disappeared。　　Juniper
thickets　gave　way　more　and　more　to　the　beautiful　manzanita；　and　soon
on　the　south　slopes　appeared　cactus　and　a　scrubby　live　oak。　　But　for
the　well…broken　trail；　Jean　would　have　fared　ill　through　this　tough
brush。

Jean　espied　several　deer；　and　again　a　coyote；　and　what　he　took　to　be
a　small　herd　of　wild　horses。　　No　more　turkey　tracks　showed　in　the　dusty
patches。　　He　crossed　a　number　of　tiny　brooklets；　and　at　length　came　to
a　place　where　the　trail　ended　or　merged　in　a　rough　road　that　showed
evidence　of　considerable　travel。　　Horses；　sheep；　and　cattle　had　passed
along　there　that　day。　　This　road　turned　southward；　and　Jean　began　to
have　pleasurable　expectations。

The　road；　like　the　trail；　led　down　grade；　but　no　longer　at　such　steep
angles；　and　was　bordered　by　cedar　and　pinyon；　jack…pine　and　juniper；
mescal　and　manzanita。　　Quite　sharply；　going　around　a　ridge；　the　road
led　Jean's　eye　down　to　a　small　open　flat　of　marshy；　or　at　least　grassy；
ground。　　This　green　oasis　in　the　wilderness　of　red　and　timbered　ridges
marked　another　change　in　the　character　of　the　Basin。　　Beyond　that　the
country　began　to　spread　out　and　roll　gracefully；　its　dark…green　forest
interspersed　with　grassy　parks；　until　Jean　headed　into　a　long；　wide
gray…green　valley　surrounded　by　black…fringed　hills。　　His　pulses
quickened　here。　　He　saw　cattle　dotting　the　expanse；　and　here　and
there　along　the　edge　log　cabins　and　corrals。

As　a　village；　Grass　Valley　could　not　boast　of　much；　apparently；　in　the
way　of　population。　　Cabins　and　houses　were　widely　scattered；　as　if　the
inhabitants　did　not　care　to　encroach　upon　one　another。　　But　the　one
store；　built　of　stone；　and　stamped　also　with　the　characteristic
isolation；　seemed　to　Jean　to　be　a　rather　remarkable　edifice。　　Not
exactly　like　a　fort　did　it　strike　him；　but　if　it　had　not　been　designed
for　defense　it　certainly　gave　that　impression；　especially　from　the　long；
low　side　with　its　dark　eye…like　windows　about　the　height　of　a　man's
shoulder。　　Some　rather　fine　horses　were　tied　to　a　hitching　rail。
Otherwise　dust　and　dirt　and　age　and　long　use　stamped　this　Grass　Valley
store　and　its　immediate　environment。

Jean　threw　his　bridle；　and；　getting　down；　mounted　the　low　porch　and
stepped　into　the　wide　open　door。　　A　face；　gray　against　the　background
of　gloom　inside；　passed　out　of　sight　just　as　Jean　entered。　　He　knew　he
had　been　seen。　　In　front　of　the　long；　rather　low…ceiled　store　were　four
men；　all　absorbed；　apparently；　in　a　game　of　checkers。　　Two　were　playing
and　two　were　looking　on。　　One　of　these；　a　gaunt…faced　man　past　middle
age；　casually　looked　up　as　Jean　entered。　　But　the　moment　of　that　casual
glance　afforded　Jean　time　enough　to　meet　eyes　he　instinctively　distrusted。
They　masked　their　penetration。　　They　seemed　neither　curious　nor　friendly。
They　saw　him　as　if　he　had　been　merely　thin　air。

〃Good　evenin'；〃　said　Jean。

After　what　appeared　to　Jean　a　lapse　of　time　sufficient　to　impress　him
with　a　possible　deafness　of　these　men；　the　gaunt…faced　one　said；
〃Howdy；　Isbel！　〃

The　tone　was　impersonal；　dry；　easy；　cool；　laconic；　and　yet　it　could
not　have　been　more　pregnant　with　meaning。　　Jean's　sharp　sensibilities
absorbed　much。　　None　of　the　slouch…sombreroed；　long…mustached　Texans
for　so　Jean　at　once　classed　themhad　ever　seen　Jean；　but　they　knew
him　and　knew　that　he　was　expected　in　Grass　Valley。　　All　but　the　one
who　had　spoken　happened　to　have　their　faces　in　shadow　under　the
wide…brimmed　black　hats。　　Motley…garbed；　gun…belted；　dusty…booted；
they　gave　Jean　the　same　impression　of　latent　force　that　he　had
encountered　in　Colter。

〃Will　somebody　please　tell　me　where　to　find　my　father；　Gaston　Isbel？〃
inquired　Jean；　with　as　civil　a　tongue　as　he　could　command。

Nobody　paid　the　slightest　attention。　　It　was　the　same　as　if　Jean　had
not　spoken。　　Waiting；　half　amused；　half　irritated；　Jean　shot　a　rapid
glance　around　the　store。　　The　place　had　felt　bare；　and　Jean；　peering
back　through　gloomy　space；　saw　that　it　did　not　contain　much。　　Dry　goods
and　sacks　littered　a　long　rude　counter；　long　rough　shelves　divided
their　length　into　stacks　of　canned　foods　and　empty　sections；　a　low
shelf　back　of　the　counter　held　a　generous　burden　of　cartridge　boxes；
and　next　to　it　stood　a　rack　of　rifles。　　On　the　counter　lay　open　cases
of　plug　tobacco；　the　odor　of　which　was　second　in　strength　only　to　that
of　rum。

Jean's　swift…roving　eye　reverted　to　the　men；　three　of　whom　were
absorbed　in　the　greasy　checkerboard。　　The　fourth　man　was　the　one
who　had　spoken　and　he　now　deigned　to　look　at　Jean。　　Not　much　flesh
was　there　stretched　over　his　bony；　powerful　physiognomy。　　He　stroked
a　lean　chin　with　a　big　mobile　hand　that　suggested　more　of　bridle
holding　than　familiarity　with　a　bucksaw　and　plow　handle。　　It　was
a　lazy　hand。　　The　man　looked　lazy。　　If　he　spoke　at　all　it　would　be
with　lazy　speech。　yet　Jean　had　not　encountered　many　men　to　whom　he
would　have　accorded　more　potency　to　stir　in　him　the　instinct　of
self…preservation。

〃Shore；〃　drawled　this　gaunt…faced　Texan；　〃old　Gass　lives　aboot　a　mile
down　heah。　　〃With　slow　sweep　of　the　big　hand　he　indicated　a　general
direction　to　the　south；　then；　appearing　to　forget　his　questioner；
he　turned　his　attention　to　the　game。

Jean　muttered　his　thanks　and；　striding　out；　he　mounted　again；　and
drove　the　pack　mule　down　the　road。　　〃Reckon　I've　ran　into　the　wrong
folds　to…day；〃　he　said。　　〃If　I　remember　dad　right　he　was　a　man　to　make
an'　keep　friends。　　Somehow　I'll　bet　there's　goin'　to　be　hell。〃　　Beyond
the　store　were　some　rather　pretty　and　comfortable　homes；　little　ranch
houses　back　in　the　coves　of　the　hills。　　The　road　turned　west　and　Jean
saw　his　first　sunset　in　the　Tonto　Basin。　　It　was　a　pageant　of　purple
clouds　with　silver　edges；　and　background　of　deep　rich　gold。　　Presently
Jean　met　a　lad　driving　a　cow。　　〃Hello；　Johnny！〃　he　said；　genially；　and
with　a　double　purpose。　　〃My　name's　Jean　Isbel。　　By　Golly！　I'm　lost　in
Grass　Valley。　　Will　you　tell　me　where　my　dad　lives？〃

〃Yep。　　Keep　right　on；　an'　y'u　cain't　miss　him；〃　replied　the　lad；　with
a　bright　smile。　　〃He's　lookin'　fer　y'u。〃

〃How　do　you　know；　boy？〃　queried　Jean；　warmed　by　that　smile。

〃Aw；　I　know。　　It's　all　over　the　valley　thet　y'u'd　ride　in　ter…day。
Shore　I　wus　the　one　thet　tole　yer　dad　an'　he　give　me　a　dollar。〃

〃Was　he　glad　to　hear　it？〃　asked　Jean；　with　a　queer　sensation　in
his　throat。

〃Wal；　he　plumb　was。〃

〃An'　who　told　you　I　was　goin'　to　ride　in　to…day？〃

〃I　heerd　it　at　the　store；〃　replied　the　lad；　with　an　air　of　confidence。
〃Some　sheepmen　was　talkin'　to　Greaves。　　He's　the　storekeeper。　　I　was
settin'　outside；　but　I　heerd。　　A　Mexican　come　down　off　the　Rim　ter…day
an'　he　fetched　the　news。〃　　Here　the　lad　looked　furtively　around；　then
whispered。　　〃An'　thet　greaser　was　sent　by　somebody。　　I　never　heerd　no
more；　but　them　sheepmen　looked　pretty　plumb　sour。　　An'　one　of　them；
comin'　out；　give　me　a　kick；　darn　him。　　It　shore　is　the　luckedest　day
fer　us　cowmen。〃

〃How's　that；　Johnny？〃