a death in the desert-第1部分

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〃A　Death　in　the　Desert〃









Everett　Hilgarde　was　conscious　that　the　man　in　the　seat



across　the　aisle　was　looking　at　him　intently。　　He　was　a　large；



florid　man；　wore　a　conspicuous　diamond　solitaire　upon　his　third



finger；　and　Everett　judged　him　to　be　a　traveling　salesman　of　some



sort。　　He　had　the　air　of　an　adaptable　fellow　who　had　been　about



the　world　and　who　could　keep　cool　and　clean　under　almost　any



circumstances。







The　〃High　Line　Flyer；〃　as　this　train　was　derisively　called



among　railroad　men；　was　jerking　along　through　the　hot　afternoon



over　the　monotonous　country　between　Holdridge　and　Cheyenne。　



Besides　the　blond　man　and　himself　the　only　occupants　of　the　car



were　two　dusty；　bedraggled…looking　girls　who　had　been　to　the



Exposition　at　Chicago；　and　who　were　earnestly　discussing　the　cost



of　their　first　trip　out　of　Colorado。　　The　four　uncomfortable



passengers　were　covered　with　a　sediment　of　fine；　yellow　dust



which　clung　to　their　hair　and　eyebrows　like　gold　powder。　　It　blew



up　in　clouds　from　the　bleak；　lifeless　country　through　which　they



passed；　until　they　were　one　color　with　the　sagebrush　and



sandhills。　　The　gray…and…yellow　desert　was　varied　only　by



occasional　ruins　of　deserted　towns；　and　the　little　red　boxes　of



station　houses；　where　the　spindling　trees　and　sickly　vines　in　the



bluegrass　yards　made　little　green　reserves　fenced　off　in　that



confusing　wilderness　of　sand。







As　the　slanting　rays　of　the　sun　beat　in　stronger　and



stronger　through　the　car　windows；　the　blond　gentleman　asked　the



ladies'　permission　to　remove　his　coat；　and　sat　in　his　lavender



striped　shirt　sleeves；　with　a　black　silk　handkerchief　tucked



carefully　about　his　collar。　　He　had　seemed　interested　in　Everett



since　they　had　boarded　the　train　at　Holdridge；　and　kept



glancing　at　him　curiously　and　then　looking　reflectively　out　of



the　window；　as　though　he　were　trying　to　recall　something。　　But



wherever　Everett　went　someone　was　almost　sure　to　look　at　him　with



that　curious　interest；　and　it　had　ceased　to　embarrass　or　annoy　him。



Presently　the　stranger；　seeming　satisfied　with　his　observation；



leaned　back　in　his　seat；　half…closed　his　eyes；　and　began　softly



to　whistle　the　〃Spring　Song〃　from　Proserpine；　the　cantata



that　a　dozen　years　before　had　made　its　young　composer　famous　in　a



night。　　Everett　had　heard　that　air　on　guitars　in　Old　Mexico；　on



mandolins　at　college　glees；　on　cottage　organs　in　New　England



hamlets；　and　only　two　weeks　ago　he　had　heard　it　played　on



sleighbells　at　a　variety　theater　in　Denver。　　There　was　literally　no



way　of　escaping　his　brother's　precocity。　　Adriance　could　live　on



the　other　side　of　the　Atlantic；　where　his　youthful　indiscretions



were　forgotten　in　his　mature　achievements；　but　his　brother　had



never　been　able　to　outrun　Proserpine；　and　here　he　found　it



again　in　the　Colorado　sand　hills。　　Not　that　Everett　was　exactly



ashamed　of　Proserpine；　only　a　man　of　genius　could　have



written　it；　but　it　was　the　sort　of　thing　that　a　man　of　genius



outgrows　as　soon　as　he　can。







Everett　unbent　a　trifle　and　smiled　at　his　neighbor　across



the　aisle。　　Immediately　the　large　man　rose　and；　coming　over；



dropped　into　the　seat　facing　Hilgarde；　extending　his　card。







〃Dusty　ride；　isn't　it？　　I　don't　mind　it　myself；　I'm　used　to



it。　　Born　and　bred　in　de　briar　patch；　like　Br'er　Rabbit。　　I've



been　trying　to　place　you　for　a　long　time；　I　think　I　must　have　met



you　before。〃







〃Thank　you；〃　said　Everett；　taking　the　card；　〃my　name　is



Hilgarde。　　You've　probably　met　my　brother；　Adriance；　people　often



mistake　me　for　him。〃







The　traveling　man　brought　his　hand　down　upon　his　knee　with



such　vehemence　that　the　solitaire　blazed。







〃So　I　was　right　after　all；　and　if　you're　not　Adriance



Hilgarde；　you're　his　double。　　I　thought　I　couldn't　be　mistaken。　



Seen　him？　　Well；　I　guess！　　I　never　missed　one　of　his　recitals　at



the　Auditorium；　and　he　played　the　piano　score　of　Proserpine



through　to　us　once　at　the　Chicago　Press　Club。　　I　used　to　be　on



the　Commercial　there　before　I　146　began　to　travel



for　the　publishing　department　of　the　concern。　　So　you're　Hilgarde's



brother；　and　here　I've　run　into　you　at　the　jumping…off　place。　



Sounds　like　a　newspaper　yarn；　doesn't　it？〃







The　traveling　man　laughed　and　offered　Everett　a　cigar；　and



plied　him　with　questions　on　the　only　subject　that　people　ever



seemed　to　care　to　talk　to　Everett　about。　　At　length　the　salesman



and　the　two　girls　alighted　at　a　Colorado　way　station；　and　Everett



went　on　to　Cheyenne　alone。







The　train　pulled　into　Cheyenne　at　nine　o'clock；　late　by　a



matter　of　four　hours　or　so；　but　no　one　seemed　particularly



concerned　at　its　tardiness　except　the　station　agent；　who　grumbled



at　being　kept　in　the　office　overtime　on　a　summer　night。　　When



Everett　alighted　from　the　train　he　walked　down　the　platform　and



stopped　at　the　track　crossing；　uncertain　as　to　what　direction　he



should　take　to　reach　a　hotel。　　A　phaeton　stood　near　the　crossing；



and　a　woman　held　the　reins。　　She　was　dressed　in　white；　and　her



figure　was　clearly　silhouetted　against　the　cushions；　though　it



was　too　dark　to　see　her　face。　　Everett　had　scarcely　noticed　her；



when　the　switch　engine　came　puffing　up　from　the　opposite



direction；　and　the　headlight　threw　a　strong　glare　of　light　on　his



face。　　Suddenly　the　woman　in　the　phaeton　uttered　a　low　cry　and



dropped　the　reins。　　Everett　started　forward　and　caught　the



horse's　head；　but　the　animal　only　lifted　its　ears　and　whisked　its



tail　in　impatient　surprise。　　The　woman　sat　perfectly　still；　her



head　sunk　between　her　shoulders　and　her　handkerchief　pressed　to



her　face。　　Another　woman　came　out　of　the　depot　and　hurried　toward



the　phaeton；　crying；　〃Katharine；　dear；　what　is　the　matter？〃







Everett　hesitated　a　moment　in　painful　embarrassment；　then



lifted　his　hat　and　passed　on。　　He　was　accustomed　to　sudden



recognitions　in　the　most　impossible　places；　especially　by　women；



but　this　cry　out　of　the　night　had　shaken　him。







While　Everett　was　breakfasting　the　next　morning；　the　headwaiter



leaned　over　his　chair　to　murmur　that　there　was　a　gentleman　waiting



to　see　him　in　the　parlor。　　Everett　finished　his　coffee　and　went　in



the　direction　indicated；　where　he　found　his　visitor　restlessly



pacing　the　floor。　　His　whole　manner　betrayed　a　high　degree　of



agitation；　though　his　physique　was　not　that　of　a　man　whose　nerves



lie　near　the　surface。　　He　was　something　below　medium　height；



square…shouldered　and　solidly　built。　　His　thick；　closely　cut　hair



was　beginning　to　show　gray　about　the　ears；　and　his　bronzed　face　was



heavily　lined。　　His　square　brown　hands　were　locked　behind　him；　and



he　held　his　shoulders　like　a　man　conscious　of　responsibilities；



yet；　as　he　turned　to　greet　Everett；　there　was　an　incongruous



diffidence　in　his　address。







〃Good　morning；　Mr。　Hilgarde；〃　he　said；　extending　his　hand；



〃I　found　your　name　on　the　hotel　register。　　My　name　is　Gaylord。　



I'm　afraid　my　sister　startled　you　at　the　station　last　night；　Mr。



Hilgarde；　and　I've　come　around　to　apologize。〃







〃Ah！　　The　young　lady　in　the　phaeton？　　I'm　sure　I　didn't　know



whether　I　had　anything　to　do　with　her　alarm　or　not。　　If　I　did；　it



is　I　who　owe　the　apology。〃







The　man　colored　a　little　under　the　dark　brown　of　his　face。







〃Oh；　it's　nothing　you　could　help；　sir；　I　fully　understand



that。　　You　see；　my　sister　used　to　be　a　pupil　of　your　brother's；



and　it　seems　you　favor　him；　and　when　the　switch　engine　threw　a



light　on　your　face　it　startled　her。〃







Everett　wheeled　about　in　his　chair。　　〃Oh！　Katharine　Gaylord！



Is　it　possible！　　Now　it's　you　who　have　given　me　a　turn。　　Why；　I



used　to　know　her　when　I　was　a　boy。　　What　on　earth〃







〃Is　she　doing　here？〃　said　Gaylord；　grimly　filling　out　the



pause。　　〃You've　got　at　the　heart　of　the　matter。　　You　knew　my



sister　had　been　in　bad　health　for　a　long　time？〃







〃No；　I　had　never　heard　a　word　of　that。　　The　last　I　knew　of



her　she　was　singing　in　London。　　My　brother　and　I　correspond



infrequently　and　seldom　get　beyond　family　matters。　　I　am　deeply



sorry　to　hear　this。　　There　are　more　reasons　why　I　am　concerned



than　I　can　tell　you。〃







The　lines　in　Charley　Gaylord's　brow　relaxed　a　little。







〃What　I'm　trying　to　say；　Mr。　Hilgarde；　is　that　she　wants　to　see



you。　　I　hate　to　ask　you；　but　she's　so　set　on　it。　　We　live　several



miles　out　of　town；　but　my　rig