osc.am2.redprophet-第32部分
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Al； being ten years old； was more inclined to believe the stories； the bloodier the better。 〃Maybe when they kill somebody； they kill the whole family so nobody talks about it。〃
〃Now you think about it； Al。 That don't make sense。 Ta…Kumsaw wants all the White people out of there； don't he？ So he wants them scared to death； so they pack up and move； don't he？ So wouldn't he leave one alive to tell about it； if he was doing massacres？ Wouldn't somebody've found some bodies； at least？〃
〃Well where do the stories e from； then？〃
〃Armor…of…God says Harrison's telling lies； to try to get people het up against the Reds。〃
〃Well； he couldn't very well lie about them burning down his house and his stockade。 People could plain see if it got burnt； couldn't they？ And he couldn't very well lie about it killing his wife and his little boy； could he？〃
〃Well of course it did burn； Al。 But maybe it wasn't fire arrows from Ta…Kumsaw started that fire。 You ever think of that？〃
〃Governor Harrison isn't going to burn down his own house and kill his own family just so he can get people hot against the Reds；〃 said Al。 〃That's plain dumb。〃
And they speculated on and on about Red troubles in the south part of the Wobbish country； because that was the most important topic of conversation around； and since nobody knowed anything accurate anyway； everybody's opinion was as good as anybody else's。
Seeing how they weren't more than a half mile from two different farms； in country they'd visited four or five times a year for ten years； it never even came to mind they ought to keep their eyes open for trouble。 You just don't keep too wary that close to home； not even when you're talking about Red massacres and stones about murders and torture。 Fact is； though； careful or not there wasn't much they could've done。 Al was coiling ropes and Measure was cinching up the saddles when all of a sudden there was about a dozen Reds around them。 One minute nobody but crickets and mice and a bird here and there； the next minute Reds all painted up。
It took a few seconds even at that for them to be afraid。 There was a lot of Reds in Prophetstown； and they came pretty regular to trade at Armor…of…God's store。 So Alvin spoke before he even hardly looked at them。 〃Howdy；〃 said Alvin。
They didn't howdy him back。 They had paint all over their faces。
〃These ain't no howdy Reds；〃 said Measure softly。 〃They got muskets。〃
That made it sure these weren't no Prophetsotwn Reds。 The Prophet taught his followers never to use White man's weapons。 A true Red didn't need to hunt with a gun； because the land knew his need； and the game would e near enough to kill with a bow。 Only reason for a Red to have a gun； said the Prophet； was to be a murderer； and murdering was for White men。 That's what he said。 So it was plain these weren't Reds that put much store in the Prophet。
Alvin was looking one right in the face。 Al must've showed his fear； cause the Red got a glint in his eye and smiled a little。 The Red reached out his hand。
〃Give him the rope；〃 said Measure。
〃It's our rope；〃 said Al。 As soon as he said it he knew it didn't make no sense。 Al handed both ropes to him。
The Red took the coils； gentle as you please。 Then he tossed one over the White boys' heads； to another Red； and the whole bunch of them set to work； stripping off the boys' outer clothes and then tying their arms behind them so tight it was pulling on their shoulder joints something painful。
〃Why do they want our clothes？〃 Al asked。
In answer； one of the Reds slapped him hard across the face。 He must've liked the sound it made； because he slapped him again。 The sting of it brought tears to Al's eyes； but he didn't cry out； partly cause he was so surprised； partly cause it made him mad and he didn't want to give them no satisfaction。 Slapping was an idea that caught on real good with the other Reds； cause they started in slapping Measure； too； both of the boys； again and again； till they were half…dazed and their cheeks were bleeding inside and out。
One Red babbled something； and they gave him Al's shirt。 He slashed at it with his knife； and then rubbed it on Al's bleeding face。 Must not have got enough blood on it； because he took his knife and slashed right across Al's forehead。 The blood just gushed out； and a second later the pain hit Al and for the first time he did cry out。 It felt like he'd been laid open right to the bone； and the blood was running down in his eyes so he couldn't see。 Measure yelled for them to leave Al alone； but there wasn't no chance of that。 Everybody knew that once a Red started in to cutting on you； you were bound to end up dead。
Minute Al cried out and the blood started ing； them Reds started laughing and making little hooting sounds。 This bunch was out for real trouble； and Al thought back to all the stories he heard。 Most famous one was probably about Dan Boone； a Pennsylvania man who tried to settle in the Crown Colonies for a while。 That was back when the Cherriky were against the White man； and one day Dan Boone's boy got kidnapped。 Boone wasn't a half hour behind them Reds。 It was like they were playing with him。 They'd stop and cut off parts of the boy's skin； or poke out an eye； something to cause bad pain and make him scream。 Boone heard his boy screaming； and followed； him and his neighbors； armed with their muskets and half…mad with rage。 They'd reach the place where the boy'd been tortured； and the Reds were gone； not a trace of a track in the wood； and then there'd e another scream。 Twenty miles they went that day； and finally at nightfall they found the boy hanging from three different trees。 They say Boone never forgot that； he could never look a Red in the eye after that without thinking on that twenty…mile day。
Al had that twenty…mile day on his mind now； too； hearing them Reds laugh； feeling the pain； just the start of the pain； knowing that whatever these Reds were after； they wanted it to start with two dead White boys； and they wouldn't mind a little noise along the way。 Keep still； he told himself。 Keep still。
They rubbed his slashed…up shirt on his face； and Measure's hacked up clothes； too。 While they were doing that； Al kept his mind on other things。 Only time he ever tried to heal himself was that busted leg of his； and then he was lying down； resting； plenty of time to study it out； to find his way to all those small places where there was broken veins and heal them up； knit together the skin and bone。 This time he was a…scared and getting pushed this way and that； not calm； not resting。 But he still managed to find the biggest veins and arteries； make them close up。 Last time they wiped his face ou a shirt； his forehead didn't gush blood down to cover his eyes again。 It was still bleeding； but just a trickle now； and Al tipped his head up so the blood would ooze on down his temples； and leave his eyes clear to see。
They hadn't cut Measure yet。 He was looking at Al； and there was a sick look on Measure's face。 Al knew his brother well enough to guess what he was thinking； about how Ma and Pa trusted Al into Measure's keeping； and now look how he let them down。 That was crazy； to blame himself。 They could've done what they were doing now at any cabin or house in the whole countryside； and weren't nobody could stop them。 If Al and Measure hadn't been going off on a long trip； they might still have been on this very road at this very time anyhow。 But Al couldn't say nothing like that to Measure； couldn't do much except to smile。
Smile and； as best he could； work on healing up his own wound。 Making everything in his forehead go back to the way it was supposed to be。 He kept at it； finding it easier and easier to do； while he watched what the Reds were doing。
They didn't talk much。 They pretty much knew what to do。 They got the blood…smeared clothes and tied them to the saddles。 Then with a knife one of them carved the English letters for 〃Ta…Kumsaw〃 in one of the saddle seats； and 〃Prophet〃 in the other。 For a second Al was surprised that he could write English； but then he saw him checking how he made the letters； paring them to a paper he had folded u
