"Grey, Zane - The U.P. Trail" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grey Zane)

"Dug? Across them Utah deserts an' up them mountains? Hell! Men sure
hev more sense than thet," exclaimed the third.

And so they talked and argued at their tasks.

The women, however, had little to say. One, the wife of the
loquacious Jones, lived among past associations of happy years that
would not come again--a sober-faced, middle-aged woman. The other
woman was younger, and her sad face showed traces of a former
comeliness. They called her Mrs. Durade. The girl was her daughter
Allie. She appeared about fifteen years old, and was slight of form.
Her face did not seem to tan. It was pale. She looked tired, and was
shy and silent, almost ashamed. She had long, rich, chestnut-colored
hair which she wore in a braid. Her eyes were singularly large and
dark, and violet in color.

"It's a long, long way we are from home yet," sighed Mrs. Jones.

"You call East home!" replied Mrs. Durade, bitterly.

"For land's sake! Yes, I do," exclaimed the other. "If there was a
home in that California, I never saw it. Tents and log cabins and
mud-holes! Such places for a woman to live. Oh, I hated that
California! A lot of wild men, all crazy for gold. Gold that only a
few could find and none could keep! ... I pray every night to live to
get back home."

Mrs. Durade had no reply; she gazed away over the ridges toward the
east with a haunting shadow in her eyes.

Just then a rifle-shot sounded from up in the ravine. The men paused
in their tasks and looked at one another. Then reassured by this
exchange of glances, they fell to work again. But the women cast
apprehensive eyes around. There was no life in sight except the
grazing oxen. Presently Horn appeared carrying a deer slung over his
shoulders.

Allie ran to meet him. She and Horn were great friends. To her alone
was he gentle and kind. She saw him pause at the brook, then drop
the deer carcass and bend over the ground, as if to search for
something. When Allie reached his side he was on his knees examining
a moccasin print in the sand.

"An Indian track!" exclaimed Allie.

"Allie, it sure ain't anythin' else," he replied. "Thet is what I've
been lookin' fer.... A day old--mebbe more."

"Uncle Bill, is there any danger?" she asked, fearfully gazing up
the slope.