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！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！
music began to reach them。 At the foot of the hill they saw the sparse
lights and shapes of the town where ended the gray strip of road。 The
many soundsfeet； voices； and musicgrew clearer； unravelling from
their muffled confusion； and the fiddling became a tune that could be
known。〃
〃There's a dance to…night；〃 said the wife to the husband。 〃Hurry。〃
He drove as he had been driving。 Perhaps he had not heard her。
〃I'm telling you to hurry；〃 she repeated。 〃My new dress is in that wagon。
There'll be folks to welcome me here that's older friends than you。〃
She put her horse to a gallop down the broad road toward the music and
the older friends。 The husband spoke to his horse； cleared his throat and
spoke louder； cleared his throat again and this time his sullen voice
carried； and the animal started。 So Lusk went ahead of Lin McLean；
following his wife with the new dress at as good a pace as he might。 If
he did not want her company； perhaps to be alone with the cow…puncher was
still less to his mind。
〃It ain't only her he's stopped caring for；〃 mused Lin； as he rode slowly
along。 〃He don't care for himself any more。〃
PART III
To…day； Drybone has altogether returned to the dust。 Even in that day its
hour could have been heard beginning to sound； but its inhabitants were
rather deaf。 Gamblers； saloon…keepers； murderers； outlaws male and
female； all were so busy with their cards； their lovers； and their
bottles as to make the place seem young and vigorous； but it was second
childhood which had set in。
Drybone had known a wholesome adventurous youth； where manly lives and
deaths were plenty。 It had been an army post。 It had seen horse and foot；
and heard the trumpet。 Brave wives had kept house for their captains upon
its bluffs。 Winter and summer they had made the best of it。 When the War
Department ordered the captains to catch Indians； the wives bade them
Godspeed。 When the Interior Department ordered the captains to let the
Indians go again； still they made the best of it。 You must not waste
Indians。 Indians were a source of revenue to so many people in Washington
and elsewhere。 But the process of catching Indians； armed with weapons
sold them by friends of the Interior Department； was not entirely
harmless。 Therefore there came to be graves in the Drybone graveyard。 The
pale weather…washed head…boards told all about it： 〃Sacred to the memory
of Private So…and…So； killed on the Dry Cheyenne； May 6； 1875。〃 Or it
would be； 〃Mrs。 So…and…So； found scalped on Sage Creek。〃 But even the
financiers at Washington could not wholly preserve the Indian in
Drybone's neighborhood。 As the cattle by ten thousands came treading with
the next step of civilization into this huge domain； the soldiers were
taken away。 Some of them went West to fight more Indians in Idaho；
Oregon； or Arizona。 The battles of the others being done； they went East
in better coffins to sleep where their mothers or their comrades wanted
them。 Though wind and rain wrought changes upon the hill； the ready…made
graves and boxes which these soldiers left behind proved heirlooms as
serviceable in their way as were the tenements that the living had
bequeathed to Drybone。 Into these empty barracks came to dwell and do
business every joy that made the cow…puncher's holiday； and every hunted
person who was baffling the sheriff。 For the sheriff must stop outside
the line of Drybone； as shall presently be made clear。 The captain's
quarters were a saloon now； professional cards were going in the
adjutant's office night and day； and the commissary building made a good
dance…hall and hotel。 Instead of guard…mounting； you would see a
horse…race on the parade…ground； and there was no provost…sergeant to
gather up the broken bottles and old boots。 Heaps of these choked the
rusty fountain。 In the tufts of yellow； ragged grass that dotted the
place plentifully were lodged many aces and queens and ten…spots； which
the Drybone wind had blown wide from the doors out of which they had been
thrown when a new pack was called for inside。 Among the grass tufts would
lie visitors who had applied for beds too late at the dance…hall； frankly
sleeping their whiskey off in the morning air。
Above； on the hill； the graveyard quietly chronicled this new epoch of
Drybone。 So…and…so was seldom killed very far out of town； and of course
scalping had disappeared。 〃Sacred to the memory of Four…ace Johnston；
accidently shot； Sep。 4； 1885。〃 Perhaps one is still there unaltered：
〃Sacred to the memory of Mrs。 Ryan's babe。 Aged two months。〃 This unique
corpse had succeeded in dying with its boots off。
But a succession of graves was not always needed to read the changing
tale of the place； and how people died there； one grave would often be
enough。 The soldiers； of course； had kept treeless Drybone supplied with
wood。 But in these latter days wood was very scarce。 None grew nearer
than twenty or thirty milesnone； that is； to make boards of a
sufficient width for epitaphs。 And twenty miles was naturally far to go
to hew a board for a man of whom you knew perhaps nothing but what he
said his name was； and to whom you owed nothing； perhaps； but a trifling
poker debt。 Hence it came to pass that headboards grew into a sort of
directory。 They were light to lift from one place to another。 A single
coat of white paint would wipe out the first tenant's name sufficiently
to paint over it the next comer's。 By this thrifty habit the original
boards belonging to the soldiers could go round； keeping pace with the
new civilian population； and though at first sight you might be puzzled
by the layers of names still visible beneath the white paint； you could
be sure that the clearest and blackest was the one to which the present
tenant had answered。
So there on the hill lay the graveyard； steadily writing Drybone's
history； and making that history lay the town at the bottomone thin
line of houses framing three sides of the old parade ground。 In these
slowly rotting shells people rioted； believing the golden age was here；
the age when everybody should have money and nobody should be arrested。
For Drybone soil； you see； was still government soil； not yet handed over
to Wyoming； and only government could arrest there； and only for
government crimes。 But government had gone； and seldom worried Drybone！
The spot was a postage…stamp of sanctuary pasted in the middle of
Wyoming's big map； a paradise for the Four…ace Johnstons。 Only； you must
not steal a horse。 That was really wicked； and brought you instantly to
the notice of Drybone's one officialthe coroner！ For they did keep a
coronerJudge Slaghammer。 He was perfectly illegal； and lived next door
in Albany County。 But that county paid fees and mileage to keep tally of
Drybone's casualties。 His wife owned the dance…hall； and between their
industries they made out a living。 And all the citizens made out a
living。 The happy cow…punchers on ranches far and near still earned and
instantly spent the high wages still paid them。 With their bodies full of
youth and their pockets full of gold； they rode into town by twenties； by
fifties； and out again next morning； penniless always and happy。 And then
the Four…ace Johnstons would sit card…playing with each other till the
innocents should come to town again。
To…night the innocents had certainly come to town； and Drybone was
furnishing to them all its joys。 Their many horses stood tied at every
post and cornerpatient； experienced cow…ponies； well knowing it was an
all…night affair。 The talk and laughter of the riders was in the saloons；
they leaned joking over the bars； they sat behind their cards at the
tables； they strolled to the post…trader's to buy presents for their easy
sweethearts their boots were keeping audible time with the fiddle at Mrs。
Slaghammer's。 From the multitude and vigor of the sounds there； the dance
was being done regularly。 〃Regularly〃 meant that upon the conclusion of
each set the gentleman led his lady to the bar and invited her to choose
and it was also regular that the lady should choose。 Beer and whiskey
were the alternatives。
Lin McLean's horse took him across the square without guiding from the
cow…puncher； who sat absently with his hands folded upon the horn of his
saddle。 This horse； too； was patient and experienced； and could not know
what remote thoughts filled his master's mind。 He looked around to see
why his master did not get off lightly； as he had done during so many
gallant years； and hasten in to the conviviality。 But the lonely
cow…puncher sat mechanically identifying the horses of acquaintances。
〃Toothpick Kid is here；〃 said he； 〃and Limber Jim； and the Doughie。 You'd
think he'd stay away after the trouble heI expect that pinto is Jerky
Bill's。〃
〃Go home！〃 said a hearty voice。
McLean eagerly turned。 For the moment his face lighted from its
sombreness。 〃I'd forgot you'