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以下歐美電影榜英文介紹
equal to the task of risking the sheep up in the enemies' stronghold.
This flock was known to be grazing in a side draw, well up from Grass
Valley, where the brush afforded some protection from the sun, and
there was good water and a little feed. Before Jean reached his destination he heard a shot. It was not a rifle shot, which fact caused Jean a little
concern. Evarts and Bernardino had rifles, but, to his knowledge, no
small arms. Jean rode up on one of the black-brushed conical hills that
rose on the south side of Grass Valley, and from there he took a sharp
survey of the country. At first he made out only cattle, and bare meadowland, and the low encircling ridges and hills. But presently up toward
the head of the valley he descried a bunch of horsemen riding toward the
village. He could not tell their number. That dark moving mass seemed
to Jean to be instinct with life, mystery, menace. Who were they? It was
too far for him to recognize horses, let alone riders. They were moving
fast, too.
Jean watched them out of sight, then turned his horse downhill again,
and rode on his quest. A number of horsemen like that was a very unusual sight around Grass Valley at any time. What then did it portend
now? Jean experienced a little shock of uneasy dread that was a new sensation for him. Brooding over this he proceeded on his way, at length to
turn into the draw where the camp of the sheep-herders was located.
Upon coming in sight of it he heard a hoarse shout. Young Evarts appeared running frantically out of the brush. Jean urged his horse into a
run and soon covered the distance between them. Evarts appeared beside himself with terror.
"Boy! what's the matter?" queried Jean, as he dismounted, rifle in
hand, peering quickly from Evarts's white face to the camp, and all
around.
"Ber-nardino! Ber-nardino!" gasped the boy, wringing his hands and
pointing.
112
Jean ran the few remaining rods to the sheep camp. He saw the little
teepee, a burned-out fire, a half-finished meal—and then the Mexican lad
lying prone on the ground, dead, with a bullet hole in his ghastly face.
Near him lay an old six-shooter.
"Whose gun is that?" demanded Jean, as he picked it up.
"Ber-nardino's," replied Evarts, huskily. "He—he jest got it—the other
day."
"Did he shoot himself accidentally?"
"Oh no! No! He didn't do it—atall."
"Who did, then?"
"The men—they rode up—a gang-they did it," panted Evarts.
"Did you know who they were?"
"No. I couldn't tell. I saw them comin' an' I was skeered. Bernardino
had gone fer water. I run an' hid in the brush. I wanted to yell, but they
come too close… . Then I heerd them talkin'. Bernardino come back.
They 'peared friendly-like. Thet made me raise up, to look. An' I couldn't
see good. I heerd one of them ask Bernardino to let him see his gun. An'
Bernardino handed it over. He looked at the gun an' haw-hawed, an'
flipped it up in the air, an' when it fell back in his hand it—it went off
bang! … An' Bernardino dropped… . I hid down close. I was skeered
stiff. I heerd them talk more, but not what they said. Then they rode
away… . An' I hid there till I seen y'u comin'."
"Have you got a horse?" queried Jean, sharply.
"No. But I can ride one of Bernardino's burros."
"Get one. Hurry over to Blaisdell. Tell him to send word to Blue and
Gordon and Fredericks to ride like the devil to my father's ranch. Hurry
now!"
Young Evarts ran off without reply. Jean stood looking down at the
limp and pathetic figure of the Mexican boy. "By Heaven!" he exclaimed,
grimly "the Jorth-Isbel war is on! … Deliberate, cold-blooded murder! I'll
gamble Daggs did this job. He's been given the leadership. He's started
it… . Bernardino, greaser or not, you were a faithful lad, and you won't
go long unavenged."
Jean had no time to spare. Tearing a tarpaulin out of the teepee he
covered the lad with it and then ran for, his horse. Mounting, he galloped down the draw, over the little red ridges, out into the valley,
where he put his horse to a run.
113
Action changed the sickening horror that sight of Bernardino had engendered. Jean even felt a strange, grim relief. The long, dragging days
of waiting were over. Jorth's gang had taken the initiative. Blood had begun to flow. And it would continue to flow now till the last man of one
faction stood over the dead body of the last man of the other. Would it be
a Jorth or an Isbel? "My instinct was right," he muttered, aloud. "That
bunch of horses gave me a queer feelin'." Jean gazed all around the
grassy, cattle-dotted valley he was crossing so swiftly, and toward the
village, but he did not see any sign of the dark group of riders. They had
gone on to Greaves's store, there, no doubt, to drink and to add more enemies of the Isbels to their gang. Suddenly across Jean's mind flashed a
thought of Ellen Jorth. "What 'll become of her? … What 'll become of all
the women? My sister? … The little ones?"
No one was in sight around the ranch. Never had it appeared more
peaceful and pastoral to Jean. The grazing cattle and horses in the foreground, the haystack half eaten away, the cows in the fenced pasture, the
column of blue smoke lazily ascending, the cackle of hens, the solid,
well-built cabins—all these seemed to repudiate Jean's haste and his
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