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She had no words with which to respond, and she stood there, wanting to say
something, to break down the wall between them, to let him see that she was a
woman, to feel the tenderness she suspected lay within him. She had talked
with few men, and those few were friends of her father's, and older than she.
"I shouldn't be talking to you," he said gloomily. "I'm no kind of a man to
talk to a girl like you."
"I ... I like you."
She said it hesitantly, feeling herself blush at saying such a thing to a man
she scarcely knew. It was the first time she had said that to any man, and she
was very still inside herself with the wonder of it.
"I'm an outlaw."
"I know."
They stood together, facing each other, only a few feet apart, and on the
roof above them the rain fell with a pleasant, soothing sound. The thunder had
retreated sullenly into the canyons where it muttered and grumbled.
She shivered.
"You're cold," he said. "You'd better go in."
But she did not move to go, and he took her in his arms and kissed her gently
on the lips. She held very still, trembling and frightened, yet liking it, and
wanting him to hold her closer.
Outside the rain whispered and something moved. He reached behind him,
feeling for the pitchfork. She had felt his hand leave her side, but had not
divined its purpose.
"Afterwards ... what will you do?"
"Go toMexico ."
She knew aboutMexico . Her father had told her that long ago men in trouble
always went toTexas , but now they went toMexico . Her father and mother had
lived there before she was born.
"Will you ever come back?"
"Maybe ... I don't think so."
He was listening, but there had been no further sound. Had he really heard
something? He considered it, and knew there had been a sound that was not of
the rain and the night. He turned around, lifting the pitchfork. He cursed
himself for a fool, so preoccupied with the girl that he had come out without
a gun.
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Suddenly a man stepped into the barn and faced them. It was DaveSpanyer , and
he had a gun in his hand.
He gestured atLennie ."You! Get to the room!"
As she went by him he said from the corner of his mouth, "And get dressed.
We'repullin ' out."
Considine stood still, holding the pitchfork in his hand, but realizing he
would not use it against this man, for he held nothing against him, and he
could understand how it must seem to him.
"Next time I see you,"Spanyer said, "you bewearin ' a gun."
"You're jumping to conclusions," Considine said quietly. "There was nothing
wrong. She came out to be with the horses, and I was afraid there might be
Indians around."
"You heard me."
DaveSpanyer backed to the door and stepped out, and then there was only
darkness and the falling rain.
Chapter V
THERE ARE NO dawns like the dawns that come to desert lands, nor are there
colors anywhere like the pastels of the wastelands. There is no atmosphere
anywhere with half the sharp clarity of the desert air following a rain and no
land holds death so close, so ready, so waiting.
Now the rain was over, the dry washes had carried away the weight of water,
their swift torrents running away to leave their sands once more exposed to
the relentless heat of the sun. Only the desert plants were greener, and the
countless tiny roots that lay just beneath the surface had drunk greedily of
the sudden rush of desert water.
Nowhere is survival so sharply geared to the changes of weather. Seeds lie
dormant, mixed with the sand; a little rain falls, and nothing happens, for
the water that has fallen is not enough for the seed to sprout. Within the
seed some delicate mechanism awaits sufficient water; then suddenly, when it
comes, the seed sprouts and grows, other plants put out their quick leaves,
and for the moment the desert is alive, glowing,beautiful .
This morning the tracks of animals and birds were sharp on the unblemished
sand, but there were no tracks of horsesnor of men. DaveSpanyer's cold eyes
swung to the hills, searching for smokes, the talking smokes of the Indian
that might carry word of his passing.
He was a worried man. He had been brusque withLennie , and he was sorry for
it now; but he had a way of forgetting that she was no longer a child, that
she was a young lady, and of an age when she would be thinking of a man. Yet
'lady" was the key word in his thinking. Her mother had been a lady, and he
wantedLennie to be no less.
Lenniewas angry with him, and letting him know it. He knew her ways, for she
was very much like her mother ... she carried her chin high when she was mad
about something, and kept her eyes fixed straight ahead.
"There's good menaround," he said. "I don't want my daughter marrying a
gunfighter."
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"My mother married one!"
That silenced him, and she knew it would. Her mother had married him, and it
had been the making of him. After his rough and wasted life, she had tamed him
down without making him less a man; and the few good years, the few happy
years of his life had been with her.
Uneasily,Spanyer's thoughts returned to Considine. Grudgingly, he admired the [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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