to the last man- 第44部分

〃Oh　nohe　doesn't！〃　faltered　Ellen。

〃Wal；　he　jest　does。〃

〃Oh；　Uncle　John；　he　cain't　believe　that！〃　she　cried。

〃Of　course　he　can。　　He　does。　　You　are　goodgood　as　gold；　Ellen；　an'
he　knows　it。　。　。　。　What　a　queer　deal　it　all　is！　　Poor　devil！　　To　love
you　thet　turribly　an'　hev　to　fight　your　people！　　Ellen；　your　dad　had
it　correct。　　Isbel　or　not；　he's　a　man。　。　。　。　An'　I　say　what　a　shame
you　two　are　divided　by　hate。　　Hate　thet　you　hed　nothin'　to　do　with。〃
Sprague　patted　her　head　and　rose　to　go。　　〃Mebbe　thet　fight　will　end
the　trouble。　　I　reckon　it　will。　　Don't　cross　bridges　till　you　come　to
them；　Ellen。　；　。　。　I　must　hurry　back　now。　　I　didn't　take　time　to　unpack
my　burros。　　Come　up　soon。　。　。　。　An'；　say；　Ellen；　don't　think　hard　any
more　of　thet　Jean　Isbel。〃

Sprague　strode　away；　and　Ellen　neither　heard　nor　saw　him　go。　　She　sat
perfectly　motionless；　yet　had　a　strange　sensation　of　being　lifted　by
invisible　and　mighty　power。　　It　was　like　movement　felt　in　a　dream。
She　was　being　impelled　upward　when　her　body　seemed　immovable　as　stone。
When　her　blood　beat　down　this　deadlock　of　an　her　physical　being　and
rushed　on　and　on　through　her　veins　it　gave　her　an　irresistible　impulse
to　fly；　to　sail　through　space；　to　ran　and　run　and　ran。

And　on　the　moment　the　black　horse；　Spades；　coming　from　the　meadow；
whinnied　at　sight　of　her。　　Ellen　leaped　up　and　ran　swiftly；　but　her
feet　seemed　to　be　stumbling。　　She　hugged　the　horse　and　buried　her　hot
face　in　his　mane　and　clung　to　him。　　Then　just　as　violently　she　rushed
for　her　saddle　and　bridle　and　carried　the　heavy　weight　as　easily　as　if
it　had　been　an　empty　sack。　　Throwing　them　upon　him；　she　buckled　and
strapped　with　strong；　eager　hands。　　It　never　occurred　to　her　that　she
was　not　dressed　to　ride。　　Up　she　flung　herself。　　And　the　horse；　sensing
her　spirit；　plunged　into　strong；　free　gait　down　the　canyon　trail。

The　ride；　the　action；　the　thrill；　the　sensations　of　violence　were　not
all　she　needed。　　Solitude；　the　empty　aisles　of　the　forest；　the　far　miles
of　lonely　wildernesswere　these　the　added　all？　　Spades　took　a　swinging；
rhythmic　lope　up　the　winding　trail。　　The　wind　fanned　her　hot　face。　　The　
sting　of　whipping　aspen　branches　was　pleasant。　　A　deep　rumble　of　thunder
shook　the　sultry　air。　　Up　beyond　the　green　slope　of　the　canyon　massed
the　creamy　clouds；　shading　darker　and　darker。　　Spades　loped　on　the
levels；　leaped　the　washes；　trotted　over　the　rocky　ground；　and　took　to
a　walk　up　the　long　slope。　　Ellen　dropped　the　reins　over　the　pommel。
Her　hands　could　not　stay　set　on　anything。　　They　pressed　her　breast
and　flew　out　to　caress　the　white　aspens　and　to　tear　at　the　maple　leaves；
and　gather　the　lavender　juniper　berries；　and　came　back　again　to　her　heart。
Her　heart　that　was　going　to　burst　or　break！　　As　it　had　swelled；　so　now
it　labored。　It　could　not　keep　pace　with　her　needs。　　All　that　was　physical；
all　that　was　living　in　her　had　to　be　unleashed。

Spades　gained　the　level　forest。　　How　the　great；　brown…green　pines　seemed
to　bend　their　lofty　branches　over　her；　protectively；　understandingly。
Patches　of　azure…blue　sky　flashed　between　the　trees。　　The　great　white
clouds　sailed　along　with　her；　and　shafts　of　golden　sunlight；　flecked　
with　gleams　of　falling　pine　needles；　shone　down　through　the　canopy
overhead。　　Away　in　front　of　her；　up　the　slow　heave　of　forest　land；
boomed　the　heavy　thunderbolts　along　the　battlements　of　the　Rim。

Was　she　riding　to　escape　from　herself？　　For　no　gait　suited　her　until
Spades　was　running　hard　and　fast　through　the　glades。　　Then　the　pressure
of　dry　wind；　the　thick　odor　of　pine；　the　flashes　of　brown　and　green　and
gold　and　blue；　the　soft；　rhythmic　thuds　of　hoofs；　the　feel　of　the　powerful
horse　under　her；　the　whip　of　spruce　branches　on　her　muscles　contracting
and　expanding　in　hard　actionall　these　sensations　seemed　to　quell　for
the　time　the　mounting　cataclysm　in　her　heart。

The　oak　swales；　the　maple　thickets；　the　aspen　groves；　the　pine…shaded
aisles；　and　the　miles　of　silver　spruce　all　sped　by　her；　as　if　she　had
ridden　the　wind；　and　through　the　forest　ahead　shone　the　vast　open　of
the　Basin；　gloomed　by　purple　and　silver　cloud；　shadowed　by　gray　storm；
and　in　the　west　brightened　by　golden　sky。

Straight　to　the　Rim　she　had　ridden；　and　to　the　point　where　she　had
watched　Jean　Isbel　that　unforgetable　day。　　She　rode　to　the　promontory
behind　the　pine　thicket　and　beheld　a　scene　which　stayed　her　restless
hands　upon　her　heaving　breast。

The　world　of　sky　and　cloud　and　earthly　abyss　seemed　one　of　storm…sundered
grandeur。　　The　air　was　sultry　and　still；　and　smelled　of　the　peculiar
burnt…wood　odor　caused　by　lightning　striking　trees。　　A　few　heavy　drops
of　rain　were　pattering　down　from　the　thin；　gray　edge　of　clouds　overhead。
To　the　east　hung　the　storma　black　cloud　lodged　against　the　Rim；　from
which　long；　misty　veils　of　rain　streamed　down　into　the　gulf。　　The　roar
of　rain　sounded　like　the　steady　roar　of　the　rapids　of　a　river。　　Then　a
blue…white；　piercingly　bright；　ragged　streak　of　lightning　shot　down　out
of　the　black　cloud。　　It　struck　with　a　splitting　report　that　shocked　the
very　wall　of　rock　under　Ellen。　　Then　the　heavens　seemed　to　burst　open
with　thundering　crash　and　close　with　mighty　thundering　boom。　　Long　roar
and　longer　rumble　rolled　away　to　the　eastward。　　The　rain　poured　down　in
roaring　cataracts。

The　south　held　a　panorama　of　purple…shrouded　range　and　canyon；　canyon
and　range；　on　across　the　rolling　leagues　to　the　dim；　lofty　peaks；　all
canopied　over　with　angry；　dusky；　low…drifting　clouds；　horizon…wide；
smoky；　and　sulphurous。　　And　as　Ellen　watched；　hands　pressed　to　her
breast；　feeling　incalculable　relief　in　sight　of　this　tempest　and　gulf
that　resembled　her　soul；　the　sun　burst　out　from　behind　the　long　bank
of　purple　cloud　in　the　west　and　flooded　the　world　there　with　golden
lightning。

〃It　is　for　me！〃　cried　Ellen。　〃My　mindmy　heartmy　very　soul。　。　。　。
Oh；　I　know！　　I　know　now！　。　。　。　I　love　himlove　himlove　him！〃

She　cried　it　out　to　the　elements。　　〃Oh；　I　love　Jean　Isbelan'　my
heart　will　burst　or　break！〃

The　might　of　her　passion　was　like　the　blaze　of　the　sun。　　Before　it　all
else　retreated；　diminished。　　The　suddenness　of　the　truth　dimmed　her　sight。
But　she　saw　clearly　enough　to　crawl　into　the　pine　thicket；　through　the
clutching；　dry　twigs；　over　the　mats　of　fragrant　needles　to　the　covert　
where　she　had　once　spied　upon　Jean　Isbel。　　And　here　she　lay　face　down
for　a　while；　hands　clutching　the　needles；　breast　pressed　hard　upon　the　
ground；　stricken　and　spent。　　But　vitality　was　exceeding　strong　in　her。
It　passed；　that　weakness　of　realization；　and　she　awakened　to　the
consciousness　of　love。

But　in　the　beginning　it　was　not　consciousness　of　the　man。　　It　was　new；
sensorial　life；　elemental；　primitive；　a　liberation　of　a　million　inherited
instincts；　quivering　and　physical；　over　which　Ellen　had　no　more　control
than　she　had　over　the　glory　of　the　sun。　　If　she　thought　at　all　it　was
of　her　need　to　be　hidden；　like　an　animal；　low　down　near　the　earth；
covered　by　green　thicket；　lost　in　the　wildness　of　nature。　　She　went
to　nature；　unconsciously　seeking　a　mother。　　And　love　was　a　birth　from
the　depths　of　her；　like　a　rushing　spring　of　pure　water；　long　underground；
and　at　last　propelled　to　the　surface　by　a　convulsion。

Ellen　gradually　lost　her　tense　rigidity　and　relaxed。　　Her　body　softened。
She　rolled　over　until　her　face　caught　the　lacy；　golden　shadows　cast　by
sun　and　bough。　　Scattered　drops　of　rain　pattered　around　her。　　The　air
was　hot；　and　its　odor　was　that　of　dry　pine　and　spruce　fragrance　penetrated
by　brimstone　from　the　lightning。　　The　nest　where　she　lay　was　warm　and
sweet。　　No　eye　save　that　of　nature　saw　her　in　her　abandonment。　　An
ineffable　and　exquisite　smile　wreathed　her　lips；　dreamy；　sad；　sensuous；
the　supremity　of　unconscious　happiness。　　Over　her　dark　and　eloquent　eyes；
as　Ellen　gazed　upward；　spread　a　luminous　film；　a　veil。　　She　was　looking
intensely；　yet　she　did　not　see。　　The　wilderness　enveloped　her　with　its　
secretive；　elemental　sheaths　of　rock；　of　tree；　of　cloud；　of　sunlight。
Through　her　thrilling　skin　poured　the　multiple　and　nameless　sensations
of　the　living　organism　stirred　to　supreme　sensitiveness。　　She　could　not
lie　still；　but　all　her　movements　were　gentle；　involuntary。　　The　slow
reaching　out　of　her　hand；　to　grasp　at　nothing　visible；　was　similar　to
the　lazy　stretching　of　her　limbs；　to　the　heave　of　her　breast；　to　the
ripple　of　muscle。

Ellen　knew　not　what　she　felt。　　To　live　that　sublime　hour　was　beyond
thought。　　Such　happiness　was　like　the　first　dawn　of　the　world　to　the
sight　of　man。　　It　had　to　do　with　bygone　ages。　　Her　heart；　her　blood；
her　flesh；　her　very　bones　were　filled　with　instincts　and　emotions　common
to　the　race　before　intellect　developed　；　when　the　savage　lived　only　with
his　sensorial　perceptions。　　Of　all　happiness；　joy；　bliss；　rapture　to
which　man　was　heir；　that　of　intense　and　exquisite　preoccupation　of　the
senses；　unhindered　and　unburdened　by　thought；　was　the　greatest。　　Ellen
felt　that　which　life　meant　with　its　inscrutable　design。　　Love　was　only
the　realization　of　her　mission　on　the　earth。

The　dark　storm　cloud　with　its　white；　ragged　ropes　of　lightning　and
down…streaming　gray　veils　of　rain