iam fleming.for your eyes only-第13部分

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ner　and　a　short　sleep　and　then　diluted　the　walnut　stain　and　washed　himself　all　over　with　the　stuff　even　to　the　roots　of　his　hair。　He　came　out　looking　like　a　Red　Indian　with　blue…grey　eyes。　Just　before　midnight　he　quietly　opened　the　side　door　into　the　automobile　bay；　got　into　the　Plymouth　and　drove　off　on　the　last　lap　south　to　Frelighsburg。
　The　man　at　the　all…night　garage　was　not　as　sleepy　as　Colonel　Johns　had　said　he　would　be。
　〃Goin'　huntin'；　mister？〃
　You　can　get　far　in　North　America　with　laconic　grunts。　Huh；　hun　and　hi！　in　their　various　modulations；　together　with　sure；　guess　so；　that　so？　and　nuts！　will　meet　almost　any　contingency。
　Bond；　slinging　the　strap　of　his　rifle　over　his　shoulder；　said　〃Hun。〃
　〃Man　got　a　fine　beaver　over　by　Highgate　Springs　Saturday。〃
　Bond　said　indifferently　〃That　so？〃；　paid　for　two　nights　and　walked　out　of　the　garage。　He　had　stopped　on　the　far　side　of　the　town；　and　now　he　only　had　to　follow　the　highway　for　a　hundred　yards　before　he　found　the　dirt　track　running　off　into　the　woods　on　his　right。　After　half　an　hour　the　track　petered　out　at　a　broken…down　farmhouse。　A　chained　dog　set　up　a　frenzied　barking；　but　no　light　showed　in　the　farmhouse　and　Bond　skirted　it　and　at　once　found　the　path　by　the　stream。　He　was　to　follow　this　for　three　miles。　He　lengthened　his　stride　to　get　away　from　the　dog。　When　the　barking　stopped　there　was　silence；　the　deep　velvet　silence　of　woods　on　a　still　night。　It　was　a　warm　night　with　a　full　yellow　moon　that　threw　enough　light　down　through　the　thick　spruce　for　Bond　to　follow　the　path　without　difficulty。　The　springy；　cushioned　soles　of　the　climbing　boots　were　wonderful　to　walk　on；　and　Bond　got　his　second　wind　and　knew　he　was　making　good　time。　At　around　four　o'clock　the　trees　began　to　thin　and　he　was　soon　walking　through　open　fields　with　the　scattered　lights　of　Franklin　on　his　right。　He　crossed　a　secondary；　tarred　road；　and　now　there　was　a　wider　track　through　the　woods　and　on　his　right　the　pale　glitter　of　a　lake。　By　five　o'clock　he　had　crossed　the　black　rivers　of　US　highways　108　and　120。　On　the　latter　was　a　sign　saying　ENOSBURG　FALLS　1　MI。　Now　he　was　on　the　last　lap　…　a　small　hunting　trail　that　climbed　steeply。　Well　away　from　the　highway；　he　stopped　and　shifted　his　rifle　and　knapsack　round；　had　a　cigarette　and　burned　the　sketch…map。　Already　there　was　a　faint　paling　in　the　sky　and　small　noises　in　the　forest　…　the　harsh；　melancholy　cry　of　a　bird　he　did　not　know　and　the　rustlings　of　small　animals。　Bond　visualised　the　house　deep　down　in　the　little　valley　on　the　other　side　of　the　mountain　ahead　of　him。　He　saw　the　blank　curtained　windows；　the　crumpled　sleeping　faces　of　the　four　men；　the　dew　on　the　lawn　and　the　widening　rings　of　the　early　rise　on　the　gunmetal　surface　of　the　lake。　And　here；　on　the　other　side　of　the　mountain；　was　the　executioner　ing　up　through　the　trees。　Bond　closed　his　mind　to　the　picture；　trod　the　remains　of　his　cigarette　into　the　ground　and　got　going。
　Was　this　a　hill　or　a　mountain？　At　what　height　does　a　hill　bee　a　mountain？　Why　don't　they　manufacture　something　out　of　the　silver　bark　of　birch　trees？　It　looks　so　useful　and　valuable。　The　best　things　in　America　are　chipmunks；　and　oyster　stew。　In　the　evening　darkness　doesn't　really　fall；　it　rises。　When　you　sit　on　top　of　a　mountain　and　watch　the　sun　go　down　behind　the　mountain　opposite；　the　darkness　rises　up　to　you　out　of　the　valley。　Will　the　birds　one　day　lose　their　fear　of　man？　It　must　be　centuries　since　man　has　killed　a　small　bird　for　food　in　these　woods；　yet　they　are　still　afraid。　Who　was　this　Ethan　Allen　who　manded　the　Green　Mountain　Boys　of　Vermont？　Now；　in　American　motels；　they　advertise　Ethan　Allen　furniture　as　an　attraction。　Why？　Did　he　make　furniture？　Army　boots　should　have　rubber　soles　like　these。
　With　these　and　other　random　thoughts　Bond　steadily　climbed　upwards　and　obstinately　pushed　away　from　him　the　thought　of　the　four　faces　asleep　on　the　white　pillows。
　The　round　peak　was　below　the　tree…line　and　Bond　could　see　nothing　of　the　valley　below。　He　rested　and　then　chose　an　oak　tree；　and　climbed　up　and　out　along　a　thick　bough。　Now　he　could　see　everything　…　the　endless　vista　of　the　Green　Mountains　stretching　in　every　direction　as　far　as　he　could　see；　away　to　the　east　the　golden　ball　of　the　sun　just　ing　up　in　glory；　and　below；　two　thousand　feet　down　a　long　easy　slope　of　treetops　broken　once　by　a　wide　band　of　meadow；　through　a　thin　veil　of　mist；　the　lake；　the　lawns　and　the　house。
　Bond　lay　along　the　branch　and　watched　the　band　of　pale　early　morning　sunshine　creeping　down　into　the　valley。　It　took　a　quarter　of　an　hour　to　reach　the　lake；　and　then　seemed　to　flood　at　once　over　the　glittering　lawn　and　over　the　wet　slate　tiles　of　the　roofs。　Then　the　mist　went　quickly　from　the　lake　and　the　target　area；　washed　and　bright　and　new；　lay　waiting　like　an　empty　stage。
　Bond　slipped　the　telescopic　sight　out　of　his　pocket　and　went　over　the　scene　inch　by　inch。　Then　he　examined　the　sloping　ground　below　him　and　estimated　ranges。　From　the　edge　of　the　meadow；　which　would　be　his　only　open　field　of　fire　unless　he　went　down　through　the　last　belt　of　trees　to　the　edge　of　the　lake；　it　would　be　about　five　hundred　yards　to　the　terrace　and　the　patio；　and　about　three　hundred　to　the　diving…board　and　the　edge　of　the　lake。　What　did　these　people　do　with　their　time？　What　was　their　routine？　Did　they　ever　bathe？　It　was　still　warm　enough。　Well；　there　was　all　day。　If　by　the　end　of　it　they　had　not　e　down　to　the　lake；　he　would　just　have　to　take　his　chance　at　the　patio　and　five　hundred　yards。　But　it　would　not　be　a　good　chance　with　a　strange　rifle。　Ought　he　to　get　on　down　straight　away　to　the　edge　of　the　meadow？　It　was　a　wide　meadow；　perhaps　five　hundred　yards　of　going　without　cover。　It　would　be　as　well　to　get　that　behind　him　before　the　house　awoke。　What　time　did　these　people　get　up　in　the　morning？
　As　if　to　answer　him；　a　white　blind　rolled　up　in　one　of　the　smaller　windows　to　the　left　of　the　main　block。　Bond　could　distinctly　hear　the　final　snap　of　the　spring　roller。　Echo　Lake！　Of　course。　Did　the　echo　work　both　ways？　Would　he　have　to　be　careful　of　breaking　branches　and　twigs？　Probably　not。　The　sounds　in　the　valley　would　bounce　upwards　off　the　surface　of　the　water。　But　there　must　be　no　chances　taken。
　A　thin　column　of　smoke　began　to　trickle　up　straight　into　the　air　from　one　of　the　left…hand　chimneys。　Bond　thought　of　the　bacon　and　eggs　that　would　soon　be　frying。　And　the　hot　coffee。　He　eased　himself　back　along　the　branch　and　down　to　the　ground。　He　would　have　something　to　eat；　smoke　his　last　safe　cigarette　and　get　on　down　to　the　firing　point。
　The　bread　stuck　in　Bond's　throat。　Tension　was　building　up　in　him。　In　his　imagination　he　could　already　hear　the　deep　bark　of　the　Savage。　He　could　see　the　black　bullet　lazily；　like　a　slow　flying　bee；　homing　down　into　the　valley　towards　a　square　of　pink　skin。　There　was　a　light　smack　as　it　hit。　The　skin　dented；　broke　and　then　closed　up　again　leaving　a　small　hole　with　bruised　edges。　The　bullet　ploughed　on；　unhurriedly；　towards　the　pulsing　heart　…　the　tissues；　the　bloodvessels；　parting　obediently　to　let　it　through。　Who　was　this　man　he　was　going　to　do　this　to？　What　had　he　ever　done　to　Bond？　Bond　looked　thoughtfully　down　at　his　trigger　finger。　He　crooked　it　slowly；　feeling　in　his　imagination　the　cool　curve　of　metal。　Almost　automatically；　his　left　hand　reached　out　for　the　flask。　He　held　it　to　his　lips　and　tilted　his　head　back。　The　coffee　and　whisky　burned　a　small　fire　down　his　throat。　He　put　the　top　back　on　the　flask　and　waited　for　the　warmth　of　the　whisky　to　reach　his　stomach。　Then　he　got　slowly　to　his　feet；　stretched　and　yawned　deeply　and　picked　up　the　rifle　and　slung　it　over　his　shoulder。　He　looked　round　carefully　to　mark　the　place　when　he　came　back　up　the　hill　and　started　slowly　off　down　through　the　trees。
　Now　there　was　no　trail　and　he　had　to　pick　his　way　slowly；　watching　the　ground　for　dead　branches。　The　trees　were　more　mixed。　Among　the　spruce　and　silver　birch　there　was　an　occasional　oak　and　beech　and　sycamore　and；　here　and　there；　the　blazing　Bengal　fire　of　a　maple　in　autumn　dress。　Under　the　trees　was　a　sparse　undergrowth　of　their　saplings　and　much　dead　wood　from　old　hurricanes。　Bond　went　carefully　down；　his　f