Virginian, The The. Owen Wister

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СКАЧАТЬ come to town?” inquired Steve of the Virginian.

      “Been here since noon. Been waiting for the train.”

      “Going out to-night?”

      “I reckon I’ll pull out to-morro’.”

      “Beds are all took,” said Steve. This was for my benefit.

      “Dear me,” said I.

      “But I guess one of them drummers will let yu’ double up with him.” Steve was enjoying himself, I think. He had his saddle and blankets, and beds were nothing to him.

      “Drummers, are they?” asked the Virginian.

      “Two Jews handling cigars, one American with consumption killer, and a Dutchman with jew’lry.”

      The Virginian set down my valise, and seemed to meditate. “I did want a bed to-night,” he murmured gently.

      “Well,” Steve suggested, “the American looks like he washed the oftenest.”

      “That’s of no consequence to me,” observed the Southerner.

      “Guess it’ll be when yu’ see ‘em.”

      “Oh, I’m meaning something different. I wanted a bed to myself.”

      “Then you’ll have to build one.”

      “Bet yu’ I have the Dutchman’s.”

      “Take a man that won’t scare. Bet yu’ drinks yu’ can’t have the American’s.”

      “Go yu’” said the Virginian. “I’ll have his bed without any fuss. Drinks for the crowd.”

      “I suppose you have me beat,” said Steve, grinning at him affectionately. “You’re such a son-of-a—— when you get down to work. Well, so long! I got to fix my horse’s hoofs.”

      I had expected that the man would be struck down. He had used to the Virginian a term of heaviest insult, I thought. I had marvelled to hear it come so unheralded from Steve’s friendly lips. And now I marvelled still more. Evidently he had meant no harm by it, and evidently no offence had been taken. Used thus, this language was plainly complimentary. I had stepped into a world new to me indeed, and novelties were occurring with scarce any time to get breath between them. As to where I should sleep, I had forgotten that problem altogether in my curiosity. What was the Virginian going to do now? I began to know that the quiet of this man was volcanic.

      “Will you wash first, sir?”

      We were at the door of the eating-house, and he set my valise inside. In my tenderfoot innocence I was looking indoors for the washing arrangements.

      “It’s out hyeh, seh,” he informed me gravely, but with strong Southern accent. Internal mirth seemed often to heighten the local flavor of his speech. There were other times when it had scarce any special accent or fault in grammar.

      A trough was to my right, slippery with soapy water; and hanging from a roller above one end of it was a rag of discouraging appearance. The Virginian caught it, and it performed one whirling revolution on its roller. Not a dry or clean inch could be found on it. He took off his hat, and put his head in the door.

      “Your towel, ma’am,” said he, “has been too popular.”

      She came out, a pretty woman. Her eyes rested upon him for a moment, then upon me with disfavor; then they returned to his black hair.

      “The allowance is one a day,” said she, very quietly. “But when folks are particular—” She completed her sentence by removing the old towel and giving a clean one to us.

      “Thank you, ma’am,” said the cow-puncher.

      She looked once more at his black hair, and without any word returned to her guests at supper.

      A pail stood in the trough, almost empty; and this he filled for me from a well. There was some soap sliding at large in the trough, but I got my own. And then in a tin basin I removed as many of the stains of travel as I was able. It was not much of a toilet that I made in this first wash-trough of my experience, but it had to suffice, and I took my seat at supper.

      Canned stuff it was,—corned beef. And one of my table companions said the truth about it. “When I slung my teeth over that,” he remarked, “I thought I was chewing a hammock.” We had strange coffee, and condensed milk; and I have never seen more flies. I made no attempt to talk, for no one in this country seemed favorable to me. By reason of something,—my clothes, my hat, my pronunciation, whatever it might be, I possessed the secret of estranging people at sight. Yet I was doing better than I knew; my strict silence and attention to the corned beef made me in the eyes of the cow-boys at table compare well with the over-talkative commercial travellers.

      The Virginian’s entrance produced a slight silence. He had done wonders with the wash-trough, and he had somehow brushed his clothes. With all the roughness of his dress, he was now the neatest of us. He nodded to some of the other cow-boys, and began his meal in quiet.

      But silence is not the native element of the drummer. An average fish can go a longer time out of water than this breed can live without talking. One of them now looked across the table at the grave, flannel-shirted Virginian; he inspected, and came to the imprudent conclusion that he understood his man.

      “Good evening,” he said briskly.

      “Good evening,” said the Virginian.

      “Just come to town?” pursued the drummer.

      “Just come to town,” the Virginian suavely assented.

      “Cattle business jumping along?” inquired the drummer.

      “Oh, fair.” And the Virginian took some more corned beef.

      “Gets a move on your appetite, anyway,” suggested the drummer.

      The Virginian drank some coffee. Presently the pretty woman refilled his cup without his asking her.

      “Guess I’ve met you before,” the drummer stated next.

      The Virginian glanced at him for a brief moment.

      “Haven’t I, now? Ain’t I seen you somewhere? Look at me. You been in Chicago, ain’t you? You look at me well. Remember Ikey’s, don’t you?”

      “I don’t reckon I do.”

      “See, now! I knowed you’d been in Chicago. Four or five years ago. Or maybe it’s two years. Time’s nothing to me. But I never forget a face. Yes, sir. Him and me’s met at Ikey’s, all right.” This important point the drummer stated to all of us. We were called to witness how well he had proved old acquaintanceship. “Ain’t the world small, though!” he exclaimed complacently. “Meet a man once and you’re sure to run on to him again. That’s straight. That’s no bar-room josh.” And the drummer’s eye included us all in his confidence. I wondered if he had attained that high perfection when a man believes his own lies.

      The Virginian did not seem interested. He placidly attended to his food, while our landlady СКАЧАТЬ