狗叫;然后那个女人站在doorway, and hearing iron strike stone down the steep road Covered her head with a black shawl and entered the light rain; she stood at the turn of the road. A nobly formed woman; erect and strong as a new tower; the features stolid and dark But sculptured into a strong grace; straight nose with a high bridge, firm and wide eyes, full chin, Red lips; she was only a fourth part Indian; a Scottish sailor had planted her in young native earth, Spanish and Indian, twenty-one years before. He had named her California when she was born; That was her name; and had gone north. She heard the hooves and wheels come nearer, up the steep road. The buckskin mare, leaning against the breastpiece, plodded into sight round the wet bank. The pale face of the driver followed; the burnt-out eyes; they had fortune in them. He sat twisted On the seat of the old buggy, leading a second horse by a long halter, a roan, a big one, That stepped daintily; by the swell of the neck, a stallion. 'What have you got, Johnny?' 'Maskerel's stallion. Mine now. I won him last night, I had very good luck.' He was quite drunk, 'They bring their mares up here now. I keep this fellow. I got money besides, but I'll not show you.' 'Did you buy something, Johnny, For our Christine? Christmas comes in two days, Johnny.' 'By God, forgot,' he answered laughing. 'Don't tell Christine it's Christmas; after while I get her something, maybe.' But California: 'I shared your luck when you lost: you lost me once, Johnny, remember? Tom Dell had me two nights Here in the house: other times we've gone hungry: now that you've won, Christine will have her Christmas. We share your luck, Johnny. You give me money, I go down to Monterey to-morrow, Buy presents for Christine, come back in the evening. Next day Christmas.' 'You have wet ride,' he answered Giggling. 'Here money. Five dollar; ten; twelve dollar. You buy two bottles of rye whiskey for Johnny.' A11 right. I go to-morrow.' He was an outcast Hollander; not old, but shriveled with bad living. The child Christine inherited from his race blue eyes, from his life a wizened forehead; she watched From the house-door her father lurch out of the buggy and lead with due respect the stallion To the new corral, the strong one; leaving the wearily breathing buckskin mare to his wife to unharness. Storm in the night; the rain on the thin shakes of the roof like the ocean on rock streamed battering; once thunder Walked down the narrow canyon into Carmel valley and wore away westward; Christine was wakeful With fears and wonders; her father lay too deep for storm to touch him. Dawn comes late in the year's dark, Later into the crack of a canyon under redwoods; and California slipped from bed An hour before it; the buckskin would be tired; there was a little barley, and why should Johnny Feed all the barley to his stallion? That is what he would do. She tip-toed out of the room. Leaving her clothes, he'd waken if she waited to put them on, and passed from the door of the house Into the dark of the rain; the big black drops were cold through the thin shift, but the wet earth Pleasant under her naked feet. There was a pleasant smell in the stable; and moving softly, Touching things gently with the supple bend of the unclothed body, was pleasant. She found a box, Filled it with sweet dry barley and took it down to the old corral. The little mare sighed deeply At the rail in the wet darkness; and California returning between two redwoods up to the house Heard the happy jaws grinding the grain. Johnny could mind the pigs and chickens. Christine called to her When she entered the house, but slept again under her hand. She laid the wet night-dress on a chair-back And stole into the bedroom to get her clothes. A plank creaked, and he wakened. She stood motionless Hearing him stir in the bed. When he was quiet she stooped after her shoes, and he said softly, 'What are you doing? Come back to bed.' 'It's late, I'm going to Monterey, I must hitch up.' 'You come to bed first. I been away three days. I give you money, I take back the money And what you do in town then?' she sighed sharply and came to the bed. He reaching his hands from it Felt the cool curve and firmness of her flank, and half rising caught her by the long wet hair. She endured, and to hasten the act she feigned desire; she had not for long, except in dream, felt it. Yesterday's drunkenness made him sluggish and exacting; she saw, turning her head sadly, The windows were bright gray with dawn; he embraced her still, stopping to talk about the stallion. At length she was permitted to put on her clothes. Clear daylight over the stee