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lin mclean(林·迈林恩)-第48部分

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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 



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                                          LIN McLEAN 



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; 



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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 



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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'd   be   here;〃   said   he。   And   he   sprang   to   the 

ground。 〃It's fine to see you。〃 

     〃Go home!〃 repeated the Governor of Wyoming; shaking his ancient 

friend's hand。 〃You in Drybone to…night; and claim you're reformed? 

     〃Yu' seem to be on hand yourself;〃 said the cow…puncher; bracing to be 

jocular; if he could。 

     〃Me!     I've   gone    fishing。   Don't   you    read   the  papers?     If  we   poor 

governors can't lock up the State House and take a whirl now and then〃 

     〃Doc;〃   interrupted   Lin;   〃it's   plumb   fine   to   see   yu'!〃 Again   he   shook 

hands。 

     〃Why; yes! we've met here before; you and I。〃 His Excellency the Hon。 

Amory  W。   Barker;   M。D。;   stood   laughing;   familiar   and   genial;   his   sound 

white     teeth   shining。    But   behind    his   round    spectacles    he   scrutinized 

McLean。 For in this seco
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