Читать книгу Pillar Mountain - Frederick Schiller Faust - Страница 8

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Philip began to grow excited. The trail was joined by another; presently they were riding along a road which was rutted by wheels and which wound with a pleasant carelessness back and forth among the woods. He felt that they were bound to come upon men soon and his heart quickened with anticipation, for these other encounters hardly could be typical of what he was to expect of society. He had met, first of all, a fugitive criminal; and hot on the trail of that wicked man he had found a sheriff, fierce in the pursuit, and surrounded by savage manhunters. As for Doc Rivers, he was pleasant and kind enough, but since the episode of the revolver and the little white stone, he had fallen strangely silent, only turning a quick and searching side-glance at his companion from time to time.

Now, before them, they heard the rapid sound of a horse trotting up the road, and presently a mustang came in view with its rider sitting sideways, his left knee hooked over the horn of the saddle. He gave a hunchbacked appearance in the distance, smoking a cigarette, his head bobbing up and down with the jar of the trot, but when he came nearer, saw them, and straightened Philip made out a strongly built young man with a rather handsome, lazy face.

“Hello, Lew,” said Rivers.

And: “Hello, Doc. Whacha doin’ up here?”

“Been Dormaning.”

“Is he loose again?”

“Ain’t you heard?”

“Nothin’ lately.”

“He got Bud Chalmers, at last.”

“The hell you tell me.”

“The hell I don’t.”

“Is this part of Dorman’s gang?”

“Him? He ain’t part of nobody but himself,” Rivers explained Philip.

Lew appeared curious, but Rivers merely added: “I’d introduce you, but I ain’t got time to write a book. Anyway, his name is Philip. This is Lew Thompson.”

“Philip what?” asked Lew Thompson, shifting his cigarette across his mouth on the tip of his tongue.

“Philip nothin’,” answered Doc.

“How do you do,” said Philip out of a book. “I’m charmed to meet you, Mr. Thompson.”

“Hello,” said Thompson, the cigarette bobbing on his lips. “Where did you get it, Doc?”

“Loose up yonder.”

“It ain’t branded?” continued Thompson in the same curious, impersonal manner.

His attitude seemed to Philip rather rude; he did not like to be talked about as though he were a rock or a tree, but at the same time he understood so few of the remarks that he hardly knew how to take offense.

“He ain’t branded,” agreed Doc.

“And he’s too young to be a maverick?”

“I guess you read him right, Buddie.”

“Listen.”

“I’m hearin’.”

“You two come sashaying up to me shanty. Lil’ll have a snack for you.”

“I don’t mind if I do,” agreed Doc Rivers.

They turned back with the stranger.

“What happened to his hoss?” asked Thompson.

“He ain’t never rode nothin’ but a mule,” asserted Doc Rivers, and he turned a blank eye upon Lew, and Lew turned a still blanker glance upon Philip. There was a taste of innuendo in the air, as it seemed to Philip, but he said nothing, and decided that he would certainly follow the advice of his uncle and never look for trouble until it stood bodily before his eyes.

From the main trail they branched on to a thin bridle path, so faintly worn that the horses were continually weaving to avoid brush or the stretched arms of trees.

“We’re losin’ a lot a time,” said Doc Rivers.

“You hook on,” said Thompson. “Maybe I’ll need you.”

“What for?”

“Lil is what for.”

“You been out?”

“Kind of.”

This conversation was astonishing to Philip. He guessed that it must be a species of shorthand, much significance being attached to short phrases, and he was rather depressed when he thought how much time he must needs spend in mastering this vernacular before he could converse freely with his fellows.

Now they broke out of the deeper forest and went through an area of ugly stumps, and beyond this to cleared ground, in the center of which stood a small log cabin.

Philip now hung in mid-stride, because on the threshold of the hut, the interior of the cabin blank and dark behind her, sat a stalwart, handsome girl nursing a baby at her breast. She put the child away when she saw the three approaching and stood up.

Now Philip had seen the glory of storms in the wild country above timberline, and he knew the golden moment of the year when the first frost streaks the mountain forests with gold or crimson or purple or staring yellow, and he had lived among wild animals, and watched the rivers go mad and glorious after the thaw of May, but never had he seen a sight so beautiful as this first woman, and never had he seen anything that so filled him with awe. Out of his reading, phrases and lines of poetry leaped across his mind; he could have fallen upon his knees—beauty, motherhood combined!

“Look at the kid,” chuckled Doc Rivers. “He’s scared of Lil.”

“That ain’t so funny,” remarked the husband.

Then he took off his hat and waved it.

“Hello, honey!” he called to her with a cheerful voice.

The brown beauty at the door of the cabin said nothing! She merely looked steadfastly upon her spouse.

“Brought home ol’ Doc Rivers,” said Thompson gaily, “and I thought—”

Musical and brief the voice of the girl responded: “Where you been?”

“Me?” asked Thompson, with most gentle tone of surprise. “Where I been?”

“Lewis Thompson, where you been? What you been doin’? Who you been rampin’ around with these two days? You been drinkin’ whisky!”

“I ain’t,” said Lew Thompson, without conviction. “I ain’t been doin’ no such thing. Ain’t you gunna be reasonable, Lil?”

“Lew Thompson, are you gunna come home lyin’ and sneakin’, you no-good, ornery, low-down varmint, you!”

“O God,” moaned Lew Thompson to Rivers, “she’s gunna open up. Doncha leave me, Doc. Oh, man, doncha leave me noways, will you?”

Philip rested a hand against the sweating shoulder of Doc’s horse; he needed something to sustain him. For he had come to the verge of heaven, to the opening of the very gates of Paradise, and this was the discord to which he must listen!

Lew Thompson went up to the girl with one hand extended.

“I wanna tell you,” he said, “about a business deal I been talkin’ over that’ll—”

“Don’t you come up to me like I was a hoss,” said the fierce girl. “I ain’t gunna eat out of your hand.”

Thompson thrust the offending hand into his pocket.

“Lil, for God’s sake, doncha go disgracin’ me in front of folks!”

“Is Doc Rivers folks?” said the terrible virago. “There ain’t nobody this side of the Pass that’s half so low-down and wuthless as him; but he’s good enough for you to go spendin’ your money on him, he is! I got enough of this. I don’t have to stand it; I ain’t gunna stand it!”

“We better go,” said Doc Rivers to Philip.

He might have spoken to a stone and been heard more clearly. These dreadful words which he had just listened to withered the whole joy of existence from the mind of the boy. Paradise? No, it was the deeps of hell into which he peered, and saw it seething with red fire and crossed by jagged arms of smoke. He could not draw his frightened eyes away.

“I don’t want nothin’ but a coupla minutes quiet talk with you, Lil,” said Thompson in persuasive manner. “I gotta scheme up my sleeve that oughta change everything for—”

“So’ve I,” said the girl. “I got a change up my sleeve, too. It’s a change of address. The only reason that I been waitin’ this long for you to come back was to tell you what I thought about you, and let you know where to send my mail, you low skunk, you Lew Thompson.”

“Aw, honey,” said Thompson, and stepped desperately close.

That instant the hand of the girl which had been held behind her swept into view, bearing a stout homemade broom. It looked more like a quarterstaff than a mere broom, and with this she cut fairly at the head of Lew Thompson. He raised an arm to protect himself, and yelled with pain as the arm took the blow.

“You she-devil!” shouted Thompson, and smote her on the root of the jaw.

Philip caught his breath, and blackness spun before his eyes. Somewhere he had read of it in books. There were wild and terrible romances which spoke of such things as men beating women. He looked forth again.

She was staggered, but not down! Broad, massive, clothed in hard muscle, it was a Homeric jaw upon which Thompson had struck, and it withstood the blow. She reeled, and crashed with an audible grunt against the wall of the cabin. Then, more horrible than all else, it was seen that Thompson was rushing in upon her, his fists clenched, his face fierce.

“I’m gunna give you a bringin’ up and a draggin’ down,” cried Thompson. “I’m gunna be a pa and a ma to you, you chunk of female bronco, you—”

The distance was great, but the need was dreadful, and with one bound Philip crossed the intervening space. He caught Thompson’s shoulder and drew him around.

“You mustn’t,” breathed Philip.

“Why, you damn young fool!” said Thompson, and raised his burly fist to strike a real blow.

He was forestalled. Hastily, with not half his force, Philip struck—as a bear might strike back-hand at a cub. But like the crash of a bear’s forepaw was the effect of that blow. The wind was jammed out of Thompson’s body in one gasping, whistling rush and he fell on his side, one leg drawn up beneath him, one leg kicking violently as he struggled for breath and knocked himself about in a circle like a dying hen.

“Good heavens!” cried Philip. “I hope I haven’t—”

A loud yell beat into his mind. He saw the girl coming at him like a tigress.

“I’ll teach you, you murderer!” said she. “I’ll break your head for you, you sneaking traitor, you—”

The blow missed the ear of Philip and crashed upon his shoulders, and the weight of it broke the stout staff of the broom as though it had been a straw. He did not wait for another, with the shortened truncheon of the staff. He merely fled, shouting to Loafer in time to stop the big dog as it flew at the throat of the girl.

On the edge of the trees, Philip looked back and saw the young mother on her knees beside her winded husband, calling pitifully to him to open his eyes, and assuring him that she loved him more than diamonds or mountains of gold.

Philip went slowly on, rubbing the bitter pain in his shoulder. And as he walked, he blinked at the dreadful images which had been thrust before him in the last few moments.

Behind him came a sound of loud laughter, and there was Doc Rivers, reeling in his saddle with his mirth. Loafer followed last of all, casting keen glances over his shoulder, as though he longed to be back in the fray.