IV.
That night, a few hours before, when the storm was at its worst, a
horseman had come galloping along the bank of the Solomon. He drew
rein at the foot of a steep, naked bluff and sat in his saddle looking about
him. It was a sorry night for a man to be out. The blackness of the sky
seemed to bear down upon him, save when now and then it was
ripped from end to end by a jagged thrust of lightning, which rent it like
the veil of the temple. At each flash he could see the muddy water of the
swollen river whirling along wraiths of white foam over the little
shivering willows. Save for that one lonely light across the river, there
was no sign of man. He dismounted from his horse and, tying it to a
sapling, he took a spade, strapped to the saddle, and began to climb the
bluff. The water from the uplands was running down the hill wearing
channels in the soft stone and made the grass so slippery that he could
scarcely stand. When he reached the top he took a dark lantern from his
pocket and lit it, sheltering it under the cape of his mackintosh; then he
set it behind a clump of bunch grass. Starting from a lone oak, he
carefully paced a distance and began to dig. His clothing was wet
through, and even his mackintosh was wet enough to impede his arms.
He impatiently threw off everything but his shirt and trousers and fell to
work again. His shirt was wet and his necktie hung like a rag under his
collar. His black hair hung wet over his white forehead, his brows were
drawn together and his teeth were set. His eyes were fixed on the
ground, and he worked with the desperation of a man who works to
forget. He drove the spade in to the top at every thrust and threw the
soggy earth far down the hillside, blistering his white hands with the
rigor of his toil. The rain beat ceaselessly in his face and dripped from
his hair and mustache; but he never paused save when now and then he
heard some strange sound from the river. Then he started, shut off the
light from his dark lantern and waited until all was quiet.
When he had been digging for some time, he knelt down and thrust
his arm into the hole to feel its depth. Close beside him he heard a shrill,
whirring, metallic sound which a man who hears it once remembers to
his dying day. He felt a sharp pain in the big vein of his right arm and
sprang to his feet with an oath; and then the rattlesnake, having been the
avenger of many, slid quietly off through the wet grass.
