mg.greeneyes-第1部分

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　　　THE　MARK　OF　DEATH　
　　THE　MOUNTAIN　LIMITED　was　clicking　slowly　over　the　rails　that　trail　through　the　highest　and　wildest　land　in　America…the　western　slope　of　the　Rockies。
　　Speed　was　cut　down　as　the　big　special　labored　toward　the　highest　point　on　its　line…nearly　seven　thousand　feet　above　sea　level。
　　Midnight　had　struck。
　　Outside；　the　gloomy　mountains　hung　over　the　track；　seemed　about　to　close　in　on　it；　and　wipe　out　the　train　and　all　its　passengers。
　　Within　the　club　car　of　the　train；　only　a　handful　of　men　remained　in　the　fortable　chairs。
　　All　of　these　were　dozing　away；　with　the　exception　of　one　who　sat　at　the　end　of　the　car；　puffing　furiously　at　a　pipe　that　was　no　longer　alight。　His　lips　twitched；　his　eyes　blinked　furiously；　and　every　time　one　of　his　dozing　panions　stirred；　he　whirled　around　quickly；　as　though　the　sound　had　some　hideous　portent。
　　Pulling　a　watch　from　his　pocket；　he　gave　it　a　hurried　glance；　then　allowed　his　eyes　to　wander　around　the　car。　Satisfied　that　no　one　was　observing　him；　he　crossed　quickly　to　the　writing　desk。
　　His　hand　shook；　partly　from　nervousness　and　partly　from　the　swaying　of　the　train。　Making　no　effort　to　control　the　blotching　of　the　pen；　he　pushed　it　rapidly　across　the　paper。　There　was　something　furtive　in　his　haste。
　　Finally　he　signed　his　name…Stephen　Laird…and　blotted　the　letter。　Just　then　one　of　the　other　men　in　the　car　mumbled　something　drowsily；　and　Laird　thrust　the　letter　into　his　pocket。　He　leaned　back　and　assumed　an　air　of　nonchalance　that　was　obviously　false。
　　For　a　minute　he　sat　there；　tensely　posed　in　an　attitude　of　ease。　Then；　he　took　the　sheet　of　letter　paper　from　his　pocket；　and　laid　it　on　the　desk。
　　Rapidly　Laird　addressed　an　envelope；　blotted　it；　put　the　letter　in；　and　stamped　it。　The　glue　from　the　stamp　smeared　over　his　lower　lip　as　he　licked　it　with　sharp；　uncertain　movements。
　　Stephen　Laird　jumped　up　from　the　desk；　and　started　to　walk　forward　in　the　car。　Suddenly　he　stopped；　went　back　to　the　writing　desk；　and；　picking　up　the　blotter　that　he　had　used；　thrust　it　into　his　pocket。
　　It　was　a　new　sheet　of　white　blotting　paper；　and　had　retained　an　almost　perfect　reproduction　of　what　Laird　had　written。　Drops　of　sweat　appeared　upon　his　forehead；　as　though　in　horror　at　a　near　escape。
　　The　sweat　made　a　mark　on　the　man's　forehead　stand　out　in　relief。　It　was　a　red　mark…almost　as　red　as　blood。　There　was　something　awe…striking　about　it。
　　
　　
　　LAIRD　started　toward　the　front　end　of　the　car　again。　As　he　neared　the　corridor；　the　porter　appeared；　blinking　drowsily。　Laird　handed　the　Negro　a　dollar　bill。
　　〃How　soon　can　you　mail　a　letter　for　me？〃　he　asked　in　a　low；　nervous；　voice。
　　〃Next　stop　is　Truckee；　suh；〃　answered　the　porter。
　　〃How　soon？〃　was　the　sharp　retort。
　　〃Bout　fo'ty　minutes；　suh。　Train　goes　downhill　pretty　soon；　now。〃
　　Laird　hesitated。　His　hand　moved　toward　the　pocket　where　he　had　put　the　letter。
　　〃e　and　see　me　in　twenty　minutes；　then。　I'll　have　a　letter　for　you。〃
　　〃Yes；　suh。〃
　　〃Or；　no；　wait　a　minute。〃　Laird　took　the　letter　from　his　pocket；　and　held　it　tentatively　for　a　minute。　He　studied　the　porter　through　narrowed　eyelids。
　　The　porter　gazed　back　timidly。　He　noticed　that　the　passenger's　eyes　were　close　together。　They　seemed　like　two　threatening　knife　points　to　the　superstitious　Pullman　hand。
　　Laird　seemed　satisfied　with　his　scrutiny。　He　relaxed　slightly；　and　handed　the　porter　the　letter。　The　latter　gazed　at　it　slyly；　and　said：
　　〃I'll　sho'　mail　this；　Misteh　Laird。　I　won't　forget　now！〃
　　Laird　jumped。
　　〃How　did　you　know　my　name？〃　He　shot　the　question　at　the　terrified　porter　viciously。
　　〃Fum　the　envelope；　suh。　Jus'　fum　the　corner　of　the　envelope。〃
　　Again　Laird　relaxed。　The　porter　tried　to　pull　himself　together；　but　just　as　he　was　on　the　point　of　regaining　his　posure；　he　noticed　the　little　red　mark　on　Laird's　forehead。
　　It　seemed　to　strike　terror　to　the　Negro's　soul；　though　he　could　not　explain　why。　There　was　something　sinister　about　the　bloodlike　mark。
　　Laird　laughed；　half　in　relief　at　having　gotten　the　letter　off　his　hands；　half　in　amusement　at　the　porter's　obvious　terror。　Then　he　turned　and　walked　unconcernedly　back　toward　the　rear　of　the　train。
　　After　the　passenger　had　gone；　the　porter　stood　still　a　moment；　trying　to　connect　the　red　mark　with　something　else　in　his　experience。　Finally　he　shook　his　head；　and　walked　to　the　letter　rack　in　the　rear　of　the　car。
　　Into　the　open　rack　he　dropped　the　letter。　There　were　already　a　half　dozen　envelopes　there；　ready　to　be　mailed　at　Truckee。
　　The　porter　disappeared　into　the　linen　closet。　Immediately　one　of　the　dozing　men　leaped　to　his　feet。　He　sprang　to　the　letter　rack；　threw　a　quick　glance　around　the　car；　and　withdrew　the　letter　the　porter　had　just　placed　there。　Then　he　hurried　from　the　car。
　　
　　
　　THE　train　was　slowing　down　still　further　as　it　reached　the　pass　through　the　mountains。　As　the　man　who　had　just　stolen　the　letter　hastened　in　the　same　direction　Stephen　Laird　had　taken；　he　noticed　that　there　was　hardly　any　sideward　motion　at　all。
　　The　letter　thief　quickly　reached　the　observation　car。　It　was　deserted。　The　man　walked　to　the　glass　door　at　the　rear　of　the　car；　hesitated　a　few　moments；　and　then　stepped　out　onto　the　platform。
　　Although　it　was　now　past　one　o'clock；　there　was　a　man　sitting　in　the　darkness　on　the　left　side　of　the　little　platform。　He　glanced　up　sharply　as　the　thief　appeared；　but　the　newer　paid　no　attention　to　him。　Instead；　he　dusted　off　the　unoccupied　chair；　and　sat　down　on　the　right　side　of　the　gallery。
　　After　a　few　minutes　of　silence；　the　man　on　the　left　lighted　a　cigarette。
　　The　glare　of　the　match　in　his　cupped　hands　revealed　the　sallow；　nervous　features　of　Stephen　Laird。　The　crimson　mark　stood　out　over　the　blinking；　furtive　eyes。
　　The　match　went　out。　Laird's　head　was　facing　forward；　looking　straight　back　along　the　dropping　tracks　that　stretched　to　the　coast。
　　The　train　rattled　as　it　bumped　over　a　switch　point　and　onto　the　double…tracked　roadbed　that　indicated　a　bypass。　A　signal　post　appeared。
　　It　carried　a　single　green　light。　Laird's　eyes　focused　on　that　glare。　His　body　shook　with　an　irresistible　shudder。　That　single　disk　of　brilliant　green　had　awakened　some　horrible　memory　in　his　mind！
　　He　mumbled：　〃Green！　Green！　Like　those　other　lights…like　those　awful　eyes！〃
　　The　words　were　not　loud　enough　for　the　man　who　had　stolen　the　speaker's　letter　to　distinguish。　His　side　of　the　platform　was　wrapped　in　a　blanket　of　clickings　and　grumblings　as　a　long　line　of　darkened　sleepers　passed　by；　bound　west。
　　Brakes　ground　as　the　eastbound　limited　slowed。　A　crying　gasp　sounded　on　the　observation　platform。　It　rose　to　a　crescendo　that　was　pletely　obscured　by　the　noise　of　the　brakes　and　the　passing　train。　Finally　it　sank　to　a　gasping　moan。
　　The　observation　platform　was　dark。　The　brakeman　who　climbed　over　the　rear　railing　noticed　nothing　as　he　swung　his　lantern　over　the　right　side　of　the　platform　for　an　increase　in　speed。
　　The　limited　picked　up　speed　on　the　easy　down　grade　to　Truckee。　The　brakeman；　his　work　done；　turned　to　go　into　the　car。　His　red　lantern　swung　within　a　foot　of　the　chair　that　Laird　had　been　occupying。　The　light　showed　the　huddled；　motionless　form　of　a　man。　His　head　was　forward　on　his　chest。　His　breath　was　ing　in　short；　audible　gasps。
　　The　brakeman　set　down　the　lantern　and　shook　the　huddled　body。　There　was　no　response。　Quickly　the　train　hand　swung　the　helpless　man　into　the　closed　part　of　the　car；　and　dropped　him　on　a　long　couch。
　　The　light　in　the　car　showed　a　horrible　sight。　Stephen　Laird's　chest　was　covered　with　blood。　His　coat　and　vest　were　ripped　to　shreds。　He　had　been　brutally　stabbed！
　　The　brakeman　dropped　to　his　knees　to　support　the　gory　victim；　and　shouted　for　the　porter。　The　latter　brought　the　conductor；　who　tried　to　force　water　between　Laird's　lips。
　　Both　the　brakeman　and　the　conductor　focused　their　eyes　on　the　crimson　sign　that　stood　out　like　a　beacon　against　the　deathly　pallor　of　Laird's　forehead。
　　The　porter　ran　to　try　and　find　a　doctor。　It　was　immediately　apparent　that　without　medical　assistance；　Laird　would　not　li