arizona nights(亚利桑那之夜)-第21章
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as babies； thinking the raft had gone adrift。 When they got into camp our
men opened up and killed four of them as a kind of hint。 After that the
ferry company didn't have any trouble。 The Yumas moved up river a
ways； where they've lived ever since。 They got the corpses and buried
them。 That is； they dug a trench for each one and laid poles across it；
with a funeral pyre on the poles。 Then they put the body on top； and the
women of the family cut their hair off and threw it on。 After that they set
fire to the outfit； and； when the poles bad burned through； the whole
business fell into the trench of its own accord。 It was the neatest；
automatic； self…cocking； double…action sort of a funeral I ever saw。 There
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wasn't any ceremonyonly crying。
The ferry business flourished at prices which were sometimes hard to
collect。 But it was a case of pay or go back； and it was a tur'ble long ways
back。 We got us timbers and made a scow； built a baile and saloon and
houses out of adobe； and called her Yuma； after the Injins that had really
started her。 We got our supplies through the Gulf of California； where
sailing boats worked up the river。 People began to come in for one
reason or another； and first thing we knew we had a store and all sorts of
trimmings。 In fact we was a real live town。
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CHAPTER ELEVEN THE
SAILOR WITH ONE HAND
At this moment the heavy beat of the storm on the roof ceased with
miraculous suddenness； leaving the outside world empty of sound save for
the DRIP； DRIP； DRIP of eaves。 Nobody ventured to fill in the pause
that followed the stranger's last words； so in a moment he continued his
narrative。
We had every sort of people with us off and on； and； as I was lookout
at a popular game； I saw them all。 One evening I was on my way home
about two o'clock of a moonlit night； when on the edge of the shadow I
stumbled over a body lying part across the footway。 At the same instant I
heard the rip of steel through cloth and felt a sharp stab in my left leg。
For a minute I thought some drunk had used his knife on me； and I mighty
near derringered him as he lay。 But somehow I didn't； and looking closer；
I saw the man was unconscious。 Then I scouted to see what had cut me；
and found that the fellow had lost a hand。 In place of it he wore a sharp
steel hook。 This I had tangled up with and gotten well pricked。 I
dragged him out into the light。 He was a slim…built young fellow； with
straight black hair； long and lank and oily； a lean face； and big hooked
nose。 He had on only a thin shirt； a pair of rough wool pants； and the
rawhide home…made zapatos the Mexicans wore then instead of boots。
Across his forehead ran a long gash； cutting his left eyebrow square in two。
There was no doubt of his being alive； for he was breathing hard； like a
man does when he gets hit over the head。 It didn't sound good。 When a
man breathes that way he's mostly all gone。
Well； it was really none of my business； as you might say。 Men got
batted over the head often enough in those days。 But for some reason I
picked him up and carried him to my 'dobe shack； and laid him out； and
washed his cut with sour wine。 That brought him to。 Sour wine is fine
to put a wound in shape to heal； but it's no soothing syrup。 He sat up as
though he'd been touched with a hot poker； stared around wild…eyed； and
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cut loose with that song you were singing。 Only it wasn't that verse。 It
was another one further along； that went like this：
Their coffin was their ship； and their grave it was the sea；
Blow high； blow low； what care we； And the quarter that we gave them
was to sink them in the sea； Down on the coast of the High Barbaree。
It fair made my hair rise to hear him； with the big； still； solemn desert
outside； and the quiet moonlight； and the shadows； and him sitting up
straight and gaunt； his eyes blazing each side his big eagle nose； and his
snaky hair hanging over the raw cut across his head。 However； I made
out to get him bandaged up and in shape； and pretty soon he sort of went
to sleep。 Well； he was clean out of his head for nigh two weeks。
Most of the time he lay flat on his back staring at the pole roof； his eyes
burning and looking like they saw each one something a different distance
off； the way crazy eyes do。 That was when he was best。 Then again
he'd sing that Barbaree song until I'd go out and look at the old Colorado
flowing by just to be sure I hadn't died and gone below。 Or else he'd just
talk。 That was the worst performance of all。 It was like listening to one
end of a telephone； though we didn't know what telephones were in those
days。 He began when be was a kid； and he gave his side of conversations；
pausing for replies。 I could mighty near furnish the replies sometimes。
It was queer lingoabout ships and ships' officers and gales and calms and
fights and pearls and whales and islands and birds and skies。 But it was
all little stuff。 I used to listen by the hour； but I never made out anything
really important as to who the man was； or where he'd come from； or what
he'd done。 At the end of the second week I came in at noon as per
usual to fix him up with grub。 I didn't pay any attention to him； for he
was quiet。 As I was bending over the fire he spoke。 Usually I didn't
bother with his talk； for it didn't mean anything； but something in his voice
made me turn。 He was lying on his side； those black eyes of his blazing
at me； but now both of them saw the same distance。 〃Where are my
clothes？〃 he asked； very intense。
〃You ain't in any shape to want clothes；〃 said I。 〃Lie still。〃 I
hadn't any more than got the words out of my mouth before he was atop
me。 His method was a winner。 He had me by the throat with his hand；
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and I felt the point of the hook pricking the back of my neck。 One little
squeezeTalk about your deadly weapons！ But he'd been too sick
and too long abed。 He turned dizzy and keeled over； and I dumped him
back on the bunk。 Then I put my six…shooter on。 In a minute or so
he came to。 〃Now you're a nice； sweet proposition；〃 said I； as soon as
I was sure he could understand me。 〃Here I pick you up on the street and
save your worthless carcass； and the first chance you get you try to crawl
my hump。 Explain。〃 〃Where's my clothes？〃 he demanded again；
very fierce。 〃For heaven's sake；〃 I yelled at him； 〃what's the matter
with you and your old clothes？ There ain't enough of them to dust a
fiddle with anyway。 What do you think I'd want with them？ They're safe
enough。〃'
〃Let me have them；〃 he begged。
〃Now； look here；〃 said I； 〃you can't get up to…day。 You ain't fit。〃
〃I know；〃 he pleaded； 〃but let me see them。〃
Just to satisfy him I passed over his old duds。
〃I've been robbed；〃 he cried。
〃Well；〃 said I； 〃what did you expect would happen to you lying around
Yuma after midnight with a hole in your head？〃
〃Where's my coat？〃 he asked。
〃You had no coat when I picked you up；〃 I replied。
He looked at me mighty suspicious； but didn't say anything more he
wouldn't even answer when I spoke to him。 After he'd eaten a fair meal
he fell asleep。 When I came back that evening the bunk was empty and
he was gone。 I didn't see him again for two days。 Then I caught
sight of him quite a ways off。 He nodded at me very sour； and dodged
around the corner of the store。
〃Guess he suspicions I stole that old coat of his；〃 thinks I； and
afterwards I found that my surmise had been correct。
However； he didn't stay long in that frame of mind。 It was along
towards evening； and I was walking on the banks looking down over the
muddy old Colorado； as I always liked to do。 The sun had just set； and
the mountains had turned hard and stiff； as they do after the glow； and the
sky above them was a thousand million miles deep of pale green…gold light。
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A pair of Greasers were ahead of me； but I could see only their outlines；
and they didn't seem to interfere any with the scenery。 Suddenly a black
figure seemed to rise up out of the ground； the Mexican man went down as
though he'd been jerked with a string； and the woman screeched。 I
ran up； pulling my gun。 The Mex was flat on his face； his arms stretched
out。 On the middle of his back knelt my one…armed friend。 And that
sharp hook was caught neatly under the point of the Mexican's jaw。 You
bet he lay still。 I really think I was just in time to save the man's life。
According to my belief another minute would have buried the hook in the
Mexican's neck。 Anyway； I thrust the muzzle of my Colt's into the
sailor's face。 〃What's this？〃 I asked。
The sailor looked up at me without changing his position。 He was
not the least bit afraid。 〃This man has my coat；〃 he explained。
〃Where'd you get the coat？〃 I asked the Mex。 〃I ween heem at monte
off Antonio Curvez；〃 said he。 〃Maybe；〃 g
