eben holden-第29部分

快捷操作: 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! 如果本书没有阅读完，想下次继续接着阅读，可使用上方 "收藏到我的浏览器" 功能 和 "加入书签" 功能！


inking　it　might　be　somebody　in　trouble　we　worked　about　and　pulled　for　the　mouth　of　the　inlet。　Suddenly　I　saw　a　boat　coming　in　the　dead　timber。　There　were　three　men　in　it；　two　of　whom　were　paddling。　They　yelled　like　mad　men　as　they　caught　sight　of　us；　and　one　of　them　waved　a　bottle　in　the　air。

'They're　Indians；'　said　Uncle　Eb。　'Drunk　as　lords。　Guess　we'd　better　git　out　o'　the　way。'

I　put　about　and　with　a　hearty　pull　made　for　the　other　side　of　the　lake；　three　miles　away。　The　Indians　came　after　us；　their　yells　echoing　in　the　far　forest。　Suddenly　one　of　them　lifted　his　rifle；　as　if　taking　aim　at　us；　and；　bang　it　went　the　ball　ricocheting　across　our　bows。

'Crazy　drunk；'　said　Uncle　Eb；　'an'　they're　in　fer　trouble。　Pull　with　all　yer　might'

I　did　that　same　putting　my　arms　so　stiffly　to　their　task　I　feared　the　oars　would　break

In　a　moment　another　ball　came　splintering　the　gunwales　right　between　us；　but　fortunately；　wcll　above　the　water　line。　Being　half　a　mile　from　shore　I　saw　we　were　in　great　peril。　Uncle　Eb　reached　for　his　rifle；　his　hand　trembling。

'Sink　'em；'　I　shouted；　'an'　do　it　quick　or　they'll　sink　us。'

My　old　companion　took　careful　aim　and　his　ball　hit　them　right　on　the　starboard　bow　below　the　water　line。　A　splash　told　where　it　had　landed。　They　stopped　yelling。　The　man　in　the　bow　clapped　his　hat　against　the　side　of　the　boat。

'Guess　we've　gin　'em　a　little　business　t'　ten'　to；'　said　Uncle　Eb　as　he　made　haste　to　load　his　rifle。

The　Indian　at　the　bow　was　lifting　his　rifle　again。　He　seemed　to　reel　as　he　took　aim。　He　was　very　slow　about　it。　I　kept　pulling　as　I　watched　him。　I　saw　that　their　boat　was　slowly　sInking。　I　had　a　strange　fear　that　he　would　hit　me　in　the　stomach。　I　dodged　when　I　saw　the　flash　of　his　rifle。　His　ball　struck　the　water；　ten　feet　away　from　us；　and　threw　a　spray　into　my　face。

Uncle　Eb　had　lifted　his　rifle　to　shoot　again。　Suddenly　the　Indian；　who　had　shot　at　us；　went　overboard。　In　a　second　they　were　all　in　the　water；　their　boat　bottom　up。

'Now　take　yer　time；'　said　Uncle　Eb　coolly；　a　frown　upon　his　face。

'They'll　drown；'　said　I。

'Don't　care　if　they　do；　consam　'em；'　he　answered。　'They're　some　o'　them　St　Regis　devils；　an'　when　they　git　whisky　in　'em　they'd　jes'　soon　kill　ye　as　look　at　ye。　They　am'　no　better　'n　rats。'

We　kept　on　our　way　and　by　and　by　a　wind　came　up　that　gave　us　both　some　comfort；　for　we　knew　it　would　soon　blow　them　ashore。　Ab　Thomas　had　come　to　our　camp　and　sat　with　Tip　and　Gerald　when　we　got　there。　We　told　of　our　adventure　and　then　Ab　gave　us　a　bad　turn；　and　a　proper　appreciation　of　our　luck；　by　telling　us　that　they　were　a　gang　of　cut…throats　…　the　worst　in　the　wilderness。

'They'd　a　robbed　ye　sure；'　he　said。　'It's　the　same　gang　'at　killed　a　man　on　Cat　Mountain　las'　summer；　an'　I'll　bet　a　dollar　on　it。'

Tip　had　everything　ready　for　our　journey　home。　Each　day　Gerald　had　grown　paler　and　thinner。　As　we　wrapped　him　in　a　shawl　and　tenderly　helped　him　into　the　wagon　I　read　his　doom　in　his　face。　We　saw　so　much　of　that　kind　of　thing　in　our　stern　climate　we　knew　what　it　meant。　Our　fun　was　over。　We　sat　in　silence；　speeding　down　the　long　hills　in　the　fading　light　of　the　afternoon。　Those　few　solemn　hours　in　which　I　heard　oniy　the　wagon's　rumble　and　the　sweet　calls　of　the　whip…poor…will…waves　of　music　on　a　sea　of　silence…started　me　in　a　way　of　thought　which　has　led　me　high　and　low　these　many　years　and　still　invites　me。　The　day　was　near　its　end　when　we　got　to　the　first　big　clearing。　From　the　top　of　a　high　hill　we　could　see　above　the　far　forest；　the　red　rim　of　the　setting　sun；　big　with　winding　from　the　skein　of　day；　that　was　now　flying　off　the　tree…tops　in　the　west。

We　stopped　to　feed　the　horses　and　to　take　a　bite　of　jerked　venison；　wrapped　ourselves　warmer；　for　it　was　now　dunk　and　chilly；　and　went　on　again。　The　road　went　mostly　downhill；　going　out　of　the　woods；　and　we　could　make　good　time。　It　was　near　midnight　when　we　drove　in　at　our　gate。　There　was　a　light　in　the　sitting…room　and　Uncle　Eb　and　I　went　in　with　Gerald　at　once。　Elizabeth　Brower　knelt　at　the　feet　of　her　son；　unbuttoned　his　coat　and　took　off　his　muffler。　Then　she　put　her　arms　about　his　neck　while　neither　spoke　nor　uttered　any　sound。　Both　mother　and　son　felt　and　understood　and　were　silent。　The　ancient　law　of　God；　that　rends　asunder　and　makes　havoc　of　our　plans；　bore　heavy　on　them　in　that　moment；　I　have　no　doubt；　but　neither　murmured。　Uncle　Eb　began　to　pump　vigorously　at　the　cistern　while　David　fussed　with　the　fire。　We　were　all　quaking　inwardly　but　neither　betrayed　a　sign　of　it。　It　is　a　way　the　Puritan　has　of　suffering。　His　emotions　are　like　the　deep　undercurrents　of　the　sea。

Chapter　17

If　I　were　writing　a　novel　merely　I　should　try　to　fill　it　with　merriment　and　good　cheer。　I　should　thrust　no　sorrow　upon　the　reader　save　that　he　might　feel　for　having　wasted　his　time。　We　have　small　need　of　manufactured　sorrow　when；　truly；　there　is　so　much　of　the　real　thing　on　every　side　of　us。　But　this　book　is　nothing　more　nor　less　than　a　history；　and　by　the　same　token　it　cannot　be　all　as　I　would　have　wished　it。　In　October　following　the　events　of　the　last　chapter；　Gerald　died　of　consumption；　having　borne　a　lingering　illness　with　great　fortitude。　I；　who　had　come　there　a　homeless　orphan　in　a　basket；　and　who；　with　the　God…given　eloquence　of　childhood　had　brought　them　to　take　me　to　their　hearts　and　the　old　man　that　was　with　me　as　well；　was　now　the　only　son　left　to　Elizabeth　and　David　Brower。　There　were　those　who　called　it　folly　at　the　time　they　took　us　in；　I　have　heard；　but　he　who　shall　read　this　history　to　the　end　shall　see　how　that　kind　of　folly　may　profit　one　or　even　many　here　in　this　hard　world。

It　was　a　gloomy　summer　for　all　of　us。　The　industry　and　patience　with　which　Hope　bore　her　trial；　night　and　day；　is　the　sweetest　recollection　of　my　youth。　It　brought　to　her　young　face　a　tender　soberness　of　womanhood　…　a　subtle　change　of　expression　that　made　her　all　the　more　dear　to　me。　Every　day；　rain　or　shine；　the　old　doctor　had　come　to　visit　his　patient；　sometimes　sitting　an　hour　and　gazing　thoughtfully　in　his　face；　occasionally　asking　a　question；　or　telling　a　quaint　anecdote。　And　then　came　the　end。

The　sky　was　cold　and　grey　in　the　late　autumn　and　the　leaves　were　drifted　deep　in　the　edge　of　the　woodlands　when　Hope　and　I　went　away　to　school　together　at　HilIsborough。　Uncle　Eb　drove　us　to　our　boarding　place　in　town。　when　we　bade　him　goodbye　and　saw　him　driving　away；　alone　in　the　wagon；　we　hardly　dared　look　at　each　other　for　the　tears　in　our　eyes。

David　Brower　had　taken　board　for　us　at　the　house　of　one　Solomon　Rollin　…　universally　known　as　'Cooky'　Rollin；　that　was　one　of　the　first　things　I　learned　at　the　Academy。　It　seemed　that　many　years　ago　he　had　taken　his　girl　to　a　dance　and　offered　her；　in　lieu　of　supper；　cookies　that　he　had　thoughtfully　brought　with　him。　Thus　cheaply　he　had　come　to　life…long　distinction。

'You　know　Rollin's　Ancient　History；　don't　you？'　the　young　man　asked　who　sat　with　me　at　school　that　first　day。

'Have　it　at　home；'　I　answered；　'It's　in　five　volumes。'

'I　mean　the　history　of　Sol　Rollin；　the　man　you　are　boarding　with；'　said　he　smiling　at　me　and　then　he　told　the　story　of　the　cookies。

The　principal　of