arizona nights(亚利桑那之夜)-第40章
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bearer and signed Estrella Johnson。 It called for fifteen thousand dollars。
Across the middle was a great ink blot； reason for its rejection。 At
once Senor Johnson became singularly and dangerously cool。 〃I
reckon you're right； Jed；〃 he cried in his natural voice。 〃she's gone with
him。 She's got all her traps with her； and she's drawn on Goodrich for
fifteen thousand。 And SHE never thought of going just this time of
month when the miners are in with their dust； and Goodrich would be sure
to have that much。 That's friend Palmer。 Been going on a month； you
say？〃 〃I couldn't say anything； Buck；〃 said Parker anxiously。 〃A
man's never sure enough about them things till afterwards。〃 〃I
know；〃 agreed Buck Johnson； 〃give me a light for my cigarette。〃 He
puffed for a moment； then rose； stretching his legs。 In a moment he
returned from the other room； the old shiny Colt's forty…five strapped
loosely on his hip。 Jed looked him in the face with some anxiety。 The
foreman was not deceived by the man's easy manner； in fact； he knew it to
be symptomatic of one of the dangerous phases of Senor Johnson's
character。 〃What's up； Buck？〃 he inquired。 〃Just going out for a
pasear with the little horse； Jed。〃 〃I suppose I better come along？〃
〃Not with your lame foot； Jed。〃 The tone of voice was conclusive。
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Jed cleared his throat。 〃She left this for you；〃 said he； proffering an
envelope。 〃Them kind always writes。〃 〃Sure；〃 agreed Senor
Johnson； stuffing the letter carelessly into his side pocket。 He half drew
the Colt's from its holster and slipped it back again。 〃Makes you feel
plumb like a man to have one of these things rubbin' against you again；〃
he observed irrelevantly。 Then he went out； leaving the foreman leaning；
chair tilted； against the wall。
CHAPTER ELEVEN THE CAPTURE
Although he had left the room so suddenly； Senor Johnson did not at
once open the gate of the adobe wall。 His demeanour was gay； for he
was a Westerner； but his heart was black。 Hardly did he see beyond the
convexity of his eyeballs。 The pony； warmed up by its little run；
pawed the ground； impatient to be off。 It was a fine animal； clean…built；
deep…chested； one of the mustang stock descended from the Arabs brought
over by Pizarro。 Sang watched fearfully from the slant of the kitchen
window。 Jed Parker； even； listened for the beat of the horse's hoofs。
But Senor Johnson stood stock…still； his brain absolutely numb and empty。
His hand brushed against something which fell； to the ground。 He
brought his dull gaze to bear on it。 The object proved to be a black；
wrinkled spheroid； baked hard as iron in the sunshine of Estrella's toys； a
potato squeezed to dryness by the constricting power of the rawhide。 In a
row along the fence were others。 To Senor Johnson it seemed that thus
his heart was being squeezed in the fire of suffering。 But the slight
movement of the falling object roused him。 He swung open the gate。
The pony bowed his head delightedly。 He was not tired； but his reins
depended straight to the ground； and it was a point of honour with him to
stand。 At the saddle born； in its sling； hung the riata； the 〃rope〃 without
which no cowman ever stirs abroad； but which Senor Johnson had rarely
used of late。 Senor Johnson threw the reins over； seized the pony's mane
in his left hand； held the pommel with his right； and so swung easily
aboard； the pony's jump helping him to the saddle。 Wheel tracks led
down the trail。 He followed them。 Truth to tell； Senor Johnson had
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very little idea of what he was going to do。 His action was entirely
instinctive。 The wheel tracks held to the southwest so he held to the
southwest； too。 The pony hit his stride。 The miles slipped by。
After seven of them the animal slowed to a walk。 Senor Johnson allowed
him to get his wind； then spurred him on again。 He did not even take the
ordinary precautions of a pursuer。 He did not even glance to the horizon
in search。 About supper…time he came to the first ranch house。
There he took a bite to eat and exchanged his horse for another； a favourite
of his； named Button。 The two men asked no questions。 〃See Mrs。
Johnson go through？〃 asked the Senor from the saddle。 〃Yes； about
three o'clock。 Brent Palmer driving her。 Bound for Willets to visit the
preacher's wife； she said。 Ought to catch up at the Circle I。 That's
where they'd all spend the night； of course。 So long。〃 Senor
Johnson knew now the couple would follow the straight road。 They
would fear no pursuit。 He himself was supposed not to return for a week；
and the story of visiting the minister's wife was not only plausible； it was
natural。 Jed had upset calculations； because Jed was shrewd； and had
eyes in his head。 Buck Johnson's first mental numbness was wearing
away； he was beginning to think。 The night was very still and very
dark； the stars very bright in their candle…like glow。 The man； loping
steadily on through the darkness； recalled that other night； equally still；
equally dark； equally starry； when he had driven out from his accustomed
life into the unknown with a woman by his side； the sight of whom asleep
had made him feel 〃almost holy。〃 He uttered a short laugh。 The
pony was a good one； well equal to twice the distance he would be called
upon to cover this night。 Senor Johnson managed him well。 By long
experience and a natural instinct he knew just how hard to push his mount；
just how to keep inside the point where too rapid exhaustion of vitality
begins。 Toward the hour of sunrise he drew rein to look about him。
The desert； till now wrapped in the thousand little noises that make night
silence； drew breath in preparation for the awe of the daily wonder。 It lay
across the world heavy as a sea of lead； and as lifeless； deeply unconscious；
like an exhausted sleeper。 The sky bent above； the stars paling。 Far
away the mountains seemed to wait。 And then； imperceptibly； those in
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the east became blacker and sharper； while those in the west became
faintly lucent and lost the distinctness of their outline。 The change was
nothing； yet everything。 And suddenly a desert bird sprang into the air
and began to sing。 Senor Johnson caught the wonder of it。
The wonder of it seemed to him wasted； useless； cruel in its effect。 He
sighed impatiently； and drew his hand across his eyes。
The desert became grey with the first light before the glory。 In the
illusory revealment of it Senor Johnson's sharp frontiersman's eyes made
out an object moving away from him in the middle distance。 In a
moment the object rose for a second against the sky line； then disappeared。
He knew it to be the buckboard； and that the vehicle had just plunged into
the dry bed of an arroyo。 Immediately life surged through
him like an electric shock。 He unfastened the riata from its sling； shook
loose the noose； and moved forward in the direction in which he had last
seen the buckboard。 At the top of the steep little bank he
stopped behind the mesquite； straining his eyes； luck had been good to
him。 The buckboard had pulled up； and Brent Palmer was at the moment
beginning a little fire； evidently to make the morning coffee。
Senor Johnson struck spurs to his horse and half slid； half fell； clattering；
down the steep clay bank almost on top of the couple below。
Estrella screamed。 Brent Palmer jerked out an oath； and reached for
his gun。 The loop of the riata fell wide over him； immediately to be
jerked tight； binding his arms tight to his side。 The bronco…buster；
swept from his feet by the pony's rapid turn； nevertheless struggled
desperately to wrench himself loose。 Button； intelligent at all rope work；
walked steadily backward； step by step； taking up the slack； keeping the
rope tight as he had done hundreds of times before when a steer had
struggled as this man was struggling now。 His master leaped from the
saddle and ran forward。 Button continued to walk slowly back。 The
riata remained taut。 The noose held。 Brent Palmer fought savagely；
even then。 He kicked； he rolled over and over； he wrenched violently at
his pinioned arms； he twisted his powerful young body from Senor
Johnson's grasp again and again。 But it was no use。 In less than a
minute he was bound hard and fast。 Button promptly slackened the rope。
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The dust settled。 The noise of the combat died。 Again could be he
