to the last man-第13章

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！


full　of　bounding　life；　strangely　aware　of　the　beauty　and　sweetness
of　the　scented　forest；　strangely　conscious　of　some　nameless　stimulus
to　her　feelings。

Not　long　was　Ellen　in　associating　this　new　and　delightful　variety　of
sensations　with　the　fact　that　Jean　Isbel　had　set　to…day　for　his　ride
up　to　the　Rim　to　see　her。　　Ellen's　joyousness　fled；　her　smiles　faded。
The　spring　morning　lost　its　magic　radiance。

〃Shore　there's　no　sense　in　my　lyin'　to　myself；〃　she　soliloquized；
thoughtfully。　　〃It's　queer　of　mefeelin'　glad　aboot　himwithout
knowin'。　　Lord！　　I　must　be　lonesome！　　To　be　glad　of　seein'　an　Isbel；
even　if　he　is　different！〃

Soberly　she　accepted　the　astounding　reality。　　Her　confidence　died
with　her　gayety；　her　vanity　began　to　suffer。　　And　she　caught　at　her
admission　that　Jean　Isbel　was　different；　she　resented　it　in　amaze；
she　ridiculed　it；　she　laughed　at　her　naive　confession。　　She　could
arrive　at　no　conclusion　other　than　that　she　was　a　weak…minded；
fluctuating；　inexplicable　little　fool。

But　for　all　that　she　found　her　mind　had　been　made　up　for　her；　without
consent　or　desire；　before　her　will　had　been　consulted；　and　that
inevitably　and　unalterably　she　meant　to　see　Jean　Isbel　again。
Long　she　battled　with　this　strange　decree。　　One　moment　she　won
a　victory　over；　this　new　curious　self；　only　to　lose　it　the　next。
And　at　last　out　of　her　conflict　there　emerged　a　few　convictions
that　left　her　with　some　shreds　of　pride。　　She　hated　all　Isbels；
she　hated　any　Isbel；　and　particularly　she　hated　Jean　Isbel。　　She　was
only　curiousintensely　curious　to　see　if　he　would　come　back；　and　if
he　did　come　what　he　would　do。　　She　wanted　only　to　watch　him　from　some
covert。　　She　would　not　go　near　him；　not　let　him　see　her　or　guess　of
her　presence。

Thus　she　assuaged　her　hurt　vanitythus　she　stifled　her　miserable　doubts。

Long　before　the　sun　had　begun　to　slant　westward　toward　the
mid…afternoon　Jean　Isbel　had　set　as　a　meeting　time　Ellen　directed
her　steps　through　the　forest　to　the　Rim。　　She　felt　ashamed　of　her
eagerness。　　She　had　a　guilty　conscience　that　no　strange　thrills　could
silence。　　It　would　be　fun　to　see　him；　to　watch　him；　to　let　him　wait
for　her；　to　fool　him。

Like　an　Indian；　she　chose　the　soft　pine…needle　mats　to　tread　upon；
and　her　light…moccasined　feet　left　no　trace。　　Like　an　Indian　also　she
made　a　wide　detour；　and　reached　the　Rim　a　quarter　of　a　mile　west　of　the
spot　where　she　had　talked　with　Jean　Isbel；　and　here；　turning　east；　she
took　care　to　step　on　the　bare　stones。　　This　was　an　adventure；　seemingly
the　first　she　had　ever　had　in　her　life。　　Assuredly　she　had　never　before
come　directly　to　the　Rim　without　halting　to　look；　to　wonder；　to　worship。
This　time　she　scarcely　glanced　into　the　blue　abyss。　　All　absorbed　was
she　in　hiding　her　tracks。　　Not　one　chance　in　a　thousand　would　she　risk。
The　Jorth　pride　burned　even　while　the　feminine　side　of　her　dominated
her　actions。　　She　had　some　difficult　rocky　points　to　cross；　then
windfalls　to　round；　and　at　length　reached　the　covert　she　desired。
A　rugged　yellow　point　of　the　Rim　stood　somewhat　higher　than　the　spot
Ellen　wanted　to　watch。　　A　dense　thicket　of　jack　pines　grew　to　the
very　edge。　　It　afforded　an　ambush　that　even　the　Indian　eyes　Jean
Isbel　was　credited　with　could　never　penetrate。　　Moreover；　if　by
accident　she　made　a　noise　and　excited　suspicion；　she　could　retreat
unobserved　and　hide　in　the　huge　rocks　below　the　Rim；　where　a　ferret
could　not　locate　her。

With　her　plan　decided　upon；　Ellen　had　nothing　to　do　but　wait；
so　she　repaired　to　the　other　side　　of　the　pine　thicket　and　to　the
edge　of　the　Rim　where　she　could　watch　and　listen。　　She　knew　that
long　before　she　saw　Isbel　she　would　hear　his　horse。　　It　was　altogether
unlikely　that　he　would　come　on　foot。

〃Shore；　Ellen　Jorth；　y'u're　a　queer　girl；〃　she　mused。　　〃I　reckon　I
wasn't　well　acquainted　with　y'u。〃

Beneath　her　yawned　a　wonderful　deep　canyon；　rugged　and　rocky　with　but
few　pines　on　the　north　slope；　thick　with　dark　green　timber　on　the
south　slope。　　Yellow　and　gray　crags；　like　turreted　castles；　stood　up
out　of　the　sloping　forest　on　the　side　opposite　her。　　The　trees　were　
all　sharp；　spear　pointed。　　Patches　of　light　green　aspens　showed
strikingly　against　the　dense　black。　　The　great　slope　beneath　Ellen
was　serrated　with　narrow；　deep　gorges；　almost　canyons　in　themselves。
Shadows　alternated　with　clear　bright　spaces。　　The　mile…wide　mouth　of
the　canyon　opened　upon　the　Basin；　down　into　a　world　of　wild　timbered
ranges　and　ravines；　valleys　and　hills；　that　rolled　and　tumbled　in
dark…green　waves　to　the　Sierra　Anchas。

But　for　once　Ellen　seemed　singularly　unresponsive　to　this　panorama
of　wildness　and　grandeur。　　Her　ears　were　like　those　of　a　listening　deer；
and　her　eyes　continually　reverted　to　the　open　places　along　the　Rim。
At　first；　in　her　excitement；　time　flew　by。　　Gradually；　however；　as　
the　sun　moved　westward；　she　began　to　be　restless。　　The　soft　thud　of
dropping　pine　cones；　the　rustling　of　squirrels　up　and　down　the
shaggy…barked　spruces；　the　cracking　of　weathered　bits　of　rock；
these　caught　her　keen　ears　many　times　and　brought　her　up　erect　and
thrilling。　　Finally　she　heard　a　sound　which　resembled　that　of　an
unshod　hoof　on　stone。　　Stealthily　then　she　took　her　rifle　and　slipped
back　through　the　pine　thicket　to　the　spot　she　had　chosen。　　The　little
pines　were　so　close　together　that　she　had　to　crawl　between　their　trunks。
The　ground　was　covered　with　a　soft　bed　of　pine　needles；　brown　and
fragrant。　　In　her　hurry　she　pricked　her　ungloved　hand　on　a　sharp　pine
cone　and　drew　the　blood。　　She　sucked　the　tiny　wound。　　〃Shore　I'm
wonderin'　if　that's　a　bad　omen；〃　she　muttered；　darkly　thoughtful。
Then　she　resumed　her　sinuous　approach　to　the　edge　of　the　thicket；
and　presently　reached　it。

Ellen　lay　flat　a　moment　to　recover　her　breath；　then　raised　herself　on
her　elbows。　　Through　an　opening　in　the　fringe　of　buck　brush　she　could
plainly　see　the　promontory　where　she　had　stood　with　Jean　Isbel；　and
also　the　approaches　by　which　he　might　come。　　Rather　nervously　she　
realized　that　her　covert　was　hardly　more　than　a　hundred　feet　from
the　promontory。　　It　was　imperative　that　she　be　absolutely　silent。
Her　eyes　searched　the　openings　along　the　Rim。　　The　gray　form　of　a
deer　crossed　one　of　these；　and　she　concluded　it　had　made　the　sound
she　had　heard。　　Then　she　lay　down　more　comfortably　and　waited。
Resolutely　she　held；　as　much　as　possible；　to　her　sensorial　perceptions。
The　meaning　of　Ellen　Jorth　lying　in　ambush　just　to　see　an　Isbel　was　a
conundrum　she　refused　to　ponder　in　the　present。　　She　was　doing　it；　and
the　physical　act　had　its　fascination。　　Her　ears；　attuned　to　all　the
sounds　of　the　lonely　forest；　caught　them　and　arranged　them　according
to　her　knowledge　of　woodcraft。

A　long　hour　passed　by。　　The　sun　had　slanted　to　a　point　halfway　between
the　zenith　and　the　horizon。　　Suddenly　a　thought　confronted　Ellen　Jorth：
〃He's　not　comin'；〃　she　whispered。　　The　instant　that　idea　presented
itself　she　felt　a　blank　sense　of　loss；　a　vague　regretsomething　that
must　have　been　disappointment。　　Unprepared　for　this；　she　was　held　by
surprise　for　a　moment；　and　then　she　was　stunned。　　Her　spirit；　swift
and　rebellious；　had　no　time　to　rise　in　her　defense。　　She　was　a　lonely；
guilty；　miserable　girl；　too　weak　for　pride　to　uphold；　too　fluctuating
to　know　her　real　self。　　She　stretched　there；　burying　her　face　in　the
pine　needles；　digging　her　fingers　into　them；　wanting　nothing　so　much
as　that　they　might　hide　her。　　The　moment　was　incomprehensible　to　Ellen；
and　utterly　intolerable。　　The　sharp　pine　needles；　piercing　her　wrists　
and　cheeks；　and　her　hot　heaving　breast；　seemed　to　give　her　exquisite
relief。

The　shrill　snort　of　a　horse　sounded　near　at　hand。　　With　a　shock　Ellen's
body　stiffened。　　Then　she　　quivered　a　little　and　her　feelings　underwent
swift　change。　　Cautiously　and　noiselessly　she　raised　herself　upon　her
elbows　and　peeped　through　the　opening　in　the　brush。　　She　saw　a　man
tying　a　horse　to　a　bush　somewhat　back　from　the　Rim。　　Drawing　a　rifle
from　its　saddle　sheath　he　threw　it　in　the　hollow　of　his　arm　and　walked
to　the　edge　of　the　precipice。　　He　gazed　away　across　the　Basin　and
appeared　lost　in　contemplation　or　thought。　　Then　he　turned　to　look
back　into　the　forest；　as　if　he　expected　some　one。

Ellen　recognized　the　lithe　figure；　the　dark　face　so　like　an　Indian's。
It　was　Isbel。　　He　had　come。　　Somehow　his　coming　seemed　wonderful　and
terrible。　　Ellen　shook　as　she　leaned　on　her　elbows。　　Jean　Isbel；　true
to　his　word；　in　spite　of　her　scorn；　had　come　back　to　see　her。　　The　fact　
seemed　monstrous。　　He　was　an　enemy　of　her　father。　　Long　had　range　rumor
been　bandied　from　lip　to　lipold　Gass　Isbel　had　sent　for　his　Indian
son　to　fight　the　Jorths。　　Jean　Isbelson　of　a　Texanunerring　shot
peerless　trackera　bad　and　dangerous　man！　　Then　there　flashed　over
Ellen　a　burning　thoughtif　it　were　true；　if　he　was　an　enemy　of　her
father's；　if　a　fight　between　Jorth　and　Isbel　was　inevitable；　she　ought
to　kill　this　Jean　Isbel　right　there　in　his　tracks　as　he　boldly　and
confidently　waited　for　her。　　Fool　he　was　to　think　she　would　come。
Ellen　sank　down　and　dropped　her　head　until　the　strange　tremor　of　her
arms　ceased。　　That　dark　and　grim　flash　of　thought　retreated。　　She　had　
not　come　to　murder　a　man　from　ambush；　but　only　to　watch　him；　to　try　to
see　what　he　meant；　what　he　thought；　to　allay　a　strange　curiosity。

After　a　while　she　looked　again。　　Isbel　was　sitting　on　an　upheaved
section　of　the　Rim；　in　a　comfortable　position　from　which　he　could
watch　the　openings　in　the　forest　and　gaze　as　well　across　the　west
curve　of　the　Basin　to　the　Mazatzals。　　He　had　composed　himself　to　wait。
He　was　clad　in　a　buckskin　suit；　rather　new；　and　it　certainly　showed
off　to　advantage；　compared　with　the　ragged　and　soiled　apparel　Ellen
remembered。　　He　did　not　look　so　large。　　Ellen　was　used　to　the　long；
lean；　rangy　Arizonians　and　Texans。　　This　man　was　built　differently。
He　had　the　widest　shoulders　of　any　man　she　had　ever　seen；　and　they
made　him　appear　rather　short。　　But　his　lithe；　powerful　limbs　proved
he　was　not　short。　　Whenever　he　moved　the　muscles　rippled。　　His　hands
were　clasped　round　a　kneebrown；　sinewy　hands；　very　broad；　and　fitting
the　thick　muscular　wrists。　　His　collar　was　open；　and　he　did　not　wear　a
scarf；　as　did　the　men　Ellen　knew。　　Then　her　intense　curiosity　at　last
brought　her　steady　gaze　to　Jean　Isbel's　head　and　face。　　He　wore　a　cap；
evidently　of　some　thin　fur。　　His　hair　was　straight　and　short；　and　in
color　a　dead　raven　black。　　His　complexion　was　dark；　clear　tan；　with　no
trace　of　red。　　He　did　not　have　the　prominent　cheek　bones　nor　the
high…bridged　nose　usual　with　white　men　who　were　part　Indian。　　Still
he　had　the　Indian　look。　　Ellen　caught　that　in　the　dark；　intent；
piercing　eyes；　in　the　wide；　level；　thoughtful　brows；　in　the　stern
impassiveness　of　his　smooth　face。　　He　had　a　straight；　sharp…cut　profile。

Ellen　whispered　to　herself：　〃I　saw　him　right　the　other　day。　　Only；
I'd　not　admit　it。　。　。　。　The　finest…lookin'　man　I　ever　saw　in　my　life
is　a　damned　Isbel！　　Was　that　what　I　come　out　heah　for？〃

She　lowered　herself　once　more　and；　folding　her　arms　under　her　breast；
she　reclined　comfortably　on　them；　and　searched　out　a　smaller　peephole
from　whi