The Lonesome Trail. John G. Neihardt

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СКАЧАТЬ it was just like he was before the girl came between ’em.

      “And Jacques left before sunup one morning, and when it came day Narcisse went to fix him some breakfast, and there was only enough grub left for five or six days. That scared him, because it was a long trip to Brown’s and back, and he couldn’t walk.

      “But he didn’t cuss Jacques. He just said to himself: ‘He didn’t go to take so much, and it was dark when he left.’ And then he just took the hand that was dealt him and began playing against a run of hard luck. The grub lasted only about a week, and close picking at that. Jacques had plenty of wood chopped up, and Narcisse sat all day by the fire with his leg aching and his stomach a-gnawing, a-looking down the white waste towards Brown’s. And night ’d come and no dog sled. Then day ’d come and he’d begin looking, looking. And when the grub was all gone, he soaked up all the leather there was about him and sucked that. And then he’d begin looking, looking, looking into the white waste, till he got so’s he could see dozens of dog sleds coming and vanishing, coming and vanishing.

      “But he didn’t cuss Jacques. He said: ‘The poor devil’s been killed like as not; he wouldn’t go back on his pard.’ And one day he felt he was getting too weak to watch much more, and so he set a pole in the snow with a strip of blanket tied to it; and that tuckered him out so’s he couldn’t hardly crawl back to shelter. And with the last strength he had, he dragged the wood that was left up close to him where he could reach it, because he knew that in another day he couldn’t get up.

      “And then he began forgetting everything ’most, and having bad dreams that scared him, all the time a-worrying about the fire like as if he was half asleep, and hearing dogs barking, and trying to get up.

      “And then at last he didn’t know anything, till he was on a dog sled with the feel of hot soup in his belly. And when he came to, he said: ‘I knowed you’d come, Jacques; it was hard sledding without the grub, though.’

      “And then he found out it wasn’t Jacques at all; only some Jesuit missionaries travelling from the North. They’d seen his signal of distress a-flying, and had come and got him.

      “And still Narcisse didn’t cuss Jacques. He said: ‘Poor devil’s got killed or something.’

      “And by and by the Jesuits got him to Brown’s Landing, and he laid up there till the last of December, getting so he could walk. There wasn’t anybody at Brown’s who had seen Jacques; and Narcisse’s heart ached; he thought sure Jacques was dead.

      “And when Narcisse got well, he borrowed a horse from the factor at Brown’s and went south to Pierre. It was night when he got to the post. He rode up to the cabin where he and Jacques bached together, and tied his horse. There was a cheery light coming out of the windows, and that seemed odd, seeing that Jacques was likely dead somewheres up the trail. And what seemed stranger, there was someone singing inside, and every now and then a woman’d laugh. God! man, did you ever hear a woman laughing when your heart had been aching for weeks?

      “‘Beats the devil!’ Narcisse thought, ‘how quick folks fill your place when you’re dead!’ Gave him a tight feeling in the throat to think how someone was laughing inside, and Jacques somewheres up trail with the coyotes sniffing at him and the snow blowing over him all day and all night!

      “Then Narcisse slips up quiet as could be to the window and peeps in. He falls back like someone had hit him hard in the face. But nobody had. All he saw inside was Paulette and Jacques!

      “Narcisse leans against the cabin, dazed like, for quite a spell. Seemed like he couldn’t get it all through his head at once. Then he saw it all—the cards had been stacked on him. He should’ve been dead and he wasn’t. That was the trouble.

      “Didn’t cuss Jacques even then, Narcisse didn’t. Wasn’t mad—just ached in his chest like. And by and by he goes up to the window and taps on it with his fingers. And Jacques comes out into the starlight, whistling.

      “When he runs into Narcisse a-tottering around the corner like a drunken man, he gasps and leans against the cabin, a-holding on to it and staring.

      “‘Good God!!’ he wheezes. ‘Good God!’

      “‘Old pard,’ says Narcisse; and his voice was like it had smoke in it, ‘you win; I pass; mine’s a bob-tail flush; but you stacked the deck!’

      “‘For Christ’s sake, Narcisse,’ whispers Jacques, ‘don’t let her see you! Don’t let her hear you! Come on!’

      “And he takes down toward the river, a-walking like the devil was after him; but it wasn’t anybody but Narcisse, limping a little with the bad leg.

      “And when they came to the river Jacques didn’t seem to have anything to say but ‘O, it’s a devil of a mess! A hell of a mess!’ Said it over and over like he was half crazy. And Narcisse said: ‘Last fall I’d have killed the man who’d said this about you, Jacques. It isn’t the girl so much, Jacques; but you and I have starved and frozen together many’s the time, and we always split fair till now. It was hard sledding up there without the grub and with only one leg. You stole the cards on me this deal, Jacques; but I’m not going to call for a new deal. I’ll play the hand.’

      “Just that way Narcisse said it. And with Jacques muttering, ‘O, it’s a devil of a mess,’ they came to an air hole where the black water was gurgling and chuckling.

      “And all at once Jacques flared up and snarled: ‘Why in hell didn’t you die?’ And slashing out with a long knife, he made a long gash in Narcisse’s scalp, and gave him a shove toward the hole. But he didn’t go in, Narcisse didn’t. He’s got that scar yet, but he’s got a deeper one where nobody sees.

      “And then Narcisse somehow forgot the long trails they’d tramped together and the starvings and the freezings together. Couldn’t think of anything but the sting of the knife and the trickle of the blood. And the white starlight swam round him like water in a suck hole, and got red like blood, and buzzed and hummed. And he was a better man than Jacques—better fighter. And when the light quit swimming around and got white again and the stillness of the frozen night came back, Narcisse found himself sobbing and turning his heel round and round in somebody’s mouth. And it was Jacques.

      “And what does Narcisse get?”

      The man, after finishing his tale, took a handkerchief from his pocket, carefully placed it about his throat like a halter, threw his head to one side and simulated strangulation.

      We didn’t tell any more stories after that. When night came we rolled up in our blankets, after having made a rousing fire. I did not sleep much that night. The man did, however. He was the coolest I ever saw. Went to sleep like a child, knowing full well that he too had a noose awaiting him.

      When I was sure that he was sound asleep, I got up and carefully took off his bearskin cap, which he had not removed night or day since we had been together.

      I saw by the blue glow of the falling embers that which I had expected to see—a long, ugly gash running across his scalp. It was not yet quite healed.

      In the morning, as the storm had died in the night, we saddled up. “You take the mule and go on ahead,” I said; “I’ll probably catch up with you by noon.”

      The man obeyed. I did not expect to catch up with him, but along about noon I overtook him.

      “You seem determined to travel my way,” I said. He stared at me for some СКАЧАТЬ