The Roads We Take　我們選擇的道路

歐·亨利　王永年

Twenty miles west of Tucson1 the “Sunset Express” stopped at a tank to take on water. Besides the aqueous addition the engine of that famous flyer acquired some other things that were not good for it.

While the fireman was lowering the feeding hose， Bob Tidball， “Shark” Dodson， and a quarter-bred Creek Indian called John Big Dog climbed on the engine and showed the engineer three round orifices in pieces of ordnance that they carried. These orifices so impressed the engineer with their possibilities that he raised both hands in a gesture such as accompanies the ejaculation “Do tell！”

At the crisp command of Shark Dodson， who was leader of the attacking force， the engineer descended to the ground and uncoupled the engine and tender. Then John Big Dog， perched upon the coal， sportively held two guns upon the engine driver and the fireman， and suggested that they run the engine fifty yards away and there await further orders.

Shark Dodson and Bob Tidball， scorning to put such low-grade ore as the passengers through the mill， struck out for the rich pocket of the express car. They found the messenger serene in the belief that the “Sunset Express” was taking on nothing more stimulating and dangerous than aqua pura. While Bob was knocking this idea out of his head with the butt-end of his six-shooter Shark Dodson was already dosing the express-car safe with dynamite.

The safe exploded to the tune of $30，000， all gold and currency. The passengers thrust their heads casually out of the windows to look for the thunder-cloud. The conductor jerked at the bell rope， which sagged down loose and unresisting， at his tug. Shark Dodson and Bob Tidball， with their booty in a stout canvas bag， tumbled out of the express car and ran awkwardly in their high- heeled boots to the engine.

The engineer， sullenly angry but wise， ran the engine， according to orders， rapidly away from the inert train. But before this was accomplished the express messenger， recovered from Bob Tidballs persuader to neutrality， jumped out of his car with a Winchester rifle and took a trick in the game. Mr. John Big Dog， sitting on the coal tender， unwittingly made a wrong lead by giving an imitation of a target， and the messenger trumped him. With a ball exactly between his shoulder blades the Creek chevalier of industry rolled off to the ground， thus increasing the share of his comrades in the loot by one-sixth each.

Two miles from the tank the engineer was ordered to stop.

The robbers waved a defiant adieu and plunged down the steep slope into the thick woods that lined the track. Five minutes of crashing through a thicket of chaparral brought them to open woods， where the three horses were tied to low-hanging branches. One was waiting for John Big Dog， who would never ride by night or day again. This animal the robbers divested of saddle and bridle and set free. They mounted the other two with the bag across one pommel， and rode fast and with discretion through the forest and up a primeval， lonely gorge. Here the animal that bore Bob Tidball slipped on a mossy boulder and broke a foreleg. They shot him through the head at once and sat down to hold a council of flight. Made secure for the present by the tortuous trail they had traveled， the question of time was no longer so big. Many miles and hours lay between them and the spryest posse that could follow. Shark Dodsons horse， with trailing rope and dropped bridle， panted and cropped thankfully of the grass along the stream in the gorge. Bob Tidball opened the sack， and drew out double handfuls of the neat packages of currency and the one sack of gold and chuckled with the glee of a child.

“Say， you old double-decked pirate，” he called joyfully to Dodson， you said we could do it—you got a head for financing that knocks the horns off of anything in Arizona.”

“What are we going to do about a hoss for you， Bob？ We aint got long to wait here. Theyll be on our trail before daylight in the mornin. ”

“Oh， I guess that cayuse of yournll carry double for a while，” answered the sanguine Bob. “Well annex the first animal we come across. By jingoes， we made a haul， didnt we？ Accordin to the marks on this money theres $ 30，000—? ?$ 15，000 apiece！ ”

“Its short of what I expected，” said Shark Dodson， kicking softly at the packages with the toe of his boot. And then he looked pensively at the wet sides of his tired horse.

“Old Bolivars mighty nigh played out，” he said， slowly. “I wish that sorrel of yours hadnt got hurt.”

“So do I，” said Bob， heartily， “but it cant be helped. Bolivars got plenty of bottom—hell get us both far enough to get fresh mounts. Dang it， Shark， I cant help thinkin how funny it is that an Easterner like you can come out here and give us Western fellows cards and spades in the desperado business. What part of the East was you from， anyway？”

“New York State， said Shark Dod-son， sitting down on a boulder and chewing a twig. “I was born on a farm in Ulster County. I ran away from home when I was seventeen. It was an accident my cornin West. I was walkin along the road with my clothes in a bundle， makin for New York City. I had an idea of goin there and makin lots of money. I always felt like I could do it. I came to a place one evenin where the road forked and I didnt know which fork take： I studied about it for half an hour and then I took the left-hand. That night I run into the camp of a Wild West show that was travelin among the little towns， and I went West with it. Ive often wondered if I wouldnt have turned out different if Id took the other road.”

“Oh， I reckon youd have ended up about the same，” said Bob Tidball， cheerfully philosophical. “It aint the roads we take; its whats inside of us that makes us turn out the way we do.”

Shark Dodson got up and leaned against a tree.

“Id a good deal rather that sorrel of yourn hadnt hurt himself， Bob，” he said again， almost pathetically.

“Same here，” agreed Bob; “he sure was a first-rate kind of a crowbait. But Bolivar， hell pull us through all right. Reckon wed better be movinon， hadnt we， Shark？ Ill bag the boodle agin and well hit the trail for higher timber.”

Bob Tidball replaced the spoil in the bag and tied the mouth of it tightly with a cord. When he looked up the most prominent object that he saw was the muzzle of Shark Dodsons .45 held upon him without a waver.

“Stop your funnin，” said Bob， with a grin. “We got to be hittin the breeze.”

“Set still，” said Shark. “You aint goin to hit no breeze， Bob. I hate to tell you， but there aint any chance for but one of us. Bolivar， hes plenty tired， and he cant carry double.”

“We been pards， me and you， Shark Dodson， for three years，” Bob said quietly. “Weve risked our lives together time and again. Ive always give you a square deal， and I thought you was a man. Ive heard some queer stories about you shootin one or two men in a peculiar way， but I never believed em. Now if youre just havin a little fun with me， Shark， put your gun up， and well get on Bolivar and vamose. If you mean to shoot—shoot， you blackhearted son of a tarantula！”

Shark Dodsons face bore a deeply sorrowful look.

“You dont know how bad I feel，” he sighed， “about that sorrel of yourn breakin his leg， Bob.”

The expression on Dodsons face changed in an instant to one of cold ferocity mingled with inexorable cupidity. The soul of the man showed itself for a moment like an evil face in the window of a reputable house.

Truly Bob Tidball was never to “hit the breeze” again. The deadly .45 of the false friend cracked and filled the gorge with a roar that the walls hurled back with indignant echoes. And Bolivar， unconscious accomplice， swiftly bore away the last of the holders-up of the “Sunset Express”， not put to the stress of “carrying double”.

But as Shark Dodson galloped away the woods seemed to fade from his view; the revolver in his right hand turned to the curved arm of a mahogany chair; his saddle was strangely upholstered， and he opened his eyes and saw his feet， not in stirrups， but resting quietly on the edge of a quartered-oak desk.

I am telling you that Dodson， of the firm of Dodson & Decker， Wall Street brokers， opened his eyes. Peabody， the confidential clerk， was standing by his chair， hesitating to speak. There was a confused hum of wheels below， and the sedative buzz of an electric fan.

“Ahem！ Peabody，” said Dodson， blinking. “I must have fallen asleep. I had a most remarkable dream. What is it， Peabody？”

“Mr. Williams， sir， of Tracy & Williams， is outside. He has come to settle his deal in X. Y. Z. The market caught him short， sir， if you remember.”

“Yes， I remember. What is X. Y. Z. quoted at today， Peabody？”

“One eighty-five， sir.”

“Then thats his price.”

“Excuse me，” said Peabody， rather nervously， “for speaking of it， but Ive been talking to Williams. Hes an old friend of yours， Mr. Dodson， and you practically have a corner in X. Y. Z. I thought you might—that is， I thought you might not remember that he sold you the stock at 98. If he settles at the market price it will take every cent he has in the world and his home too to deliver the shares.”

The expression on Dodsons face changed in an instant to one of cold ferocity mingled with inexorable cupidity. The soul of the man showed itself for a moment like an evil face in the window of a reputable house.

“He will settle at one eighty-five.” said Dodson. “Bolivar cannot carry double.”

“落日快車”在塔克森以西二十英里的一座水塔旁邊停下來加水。那列著名快車的車頭除了加水，還加了一些對它不利的東西。

火夫放下輸水管的時候，三個人爬上了車頭：鮑勃·蒂德博爾、“鯊魚”多德森和有四分之一克里克印第安血統的約翰·比格道格。他們把帶在身邊的三件家伙的圓口子對準了司機。司機被這些口子所暗示的可能性嚇得舉起了雙手，仿佛要說：“不至于吧！”

進攻隊伍的頭兒，鯊魚多德森，利索地發了一個命令，司機下了車，把車頭和煤水車同列車脫開。接著，約翰·比格道格蹲在煤堆上，開玩笑似的用兩支手槍分別對著司機和火夫，吩咐他們把車頭開出五十碼，在那里聽候命令。

鯊魚多德森和鮑勃·蒂德博爾認為旅客是品位不高的礦石，沒有篩選的價值，便直奔特別快車的富礦。他們發現押運員正自得其樂地認為“落日快車”也就運運清水，沒什么危險刺激的東西。鮑勃用六響手槍的槍柄把這個念頭從他腦袋里敲了出去，與此同時，鯊魚多德森已經動手用炸藥炸開了快車車廂的保險柜。

保險柜炸開后，發現有三萬元之多，全是金幣和現鈔。旅客們漫不經心地從窗口探出頭去看看哪里有雷雨云。列車員急忙拉鈴索，可是已被割斷的繩索一拉就軟綿綿地脫落下來。鯊魚多德森和鮑勃·蒂德博爾把他們的戰利品裝進一只結實的帆布袋，跳出車廂朝車頭跑去，高跟的馬靴使他們在奔跑時有些蹣跚。

司機正生著悶氣，人卻不傻，他遵照命令把車頭迅速駛離不能動彈的列車。然而在車頭開出之前，押運員已經從鮑勃·蒂德博爾迫使他退居中立的一擊下蘇醒過來。他抓起一支溫徹斯特來復槍跳出車廂，加入了這場爭斗。坐在煤水車上的約翰·比格道格先生無意中成了靶子，頭一個被瞄上，押運員打中了他。子彈恰恰打進他兩片肩胛骨中間，這個克里克的騙子一個跟頭栽到地上，讓他的伙伴每人多分到六分之一的贓款。

車頭開到離水塔兩英里時，司機被命令停車。

兩個強盜大模大樣地揮手告別，然后沖下陡坡，在路軌旁邊的密林中消失了。他們在矮槲樹林里橫沖直闖了五分鐘之后，到了開闊的林地，那兒有三匹馬給拴在低垂的樹枝上。其中一匹是等候約翰·比格道格的，但是無論白天黑夜，他再也騎不成馬了。兩個強盜卸掉這頭牲口的鞍轡，放了它。他們跨上另外兩匹馬，把帆布袋擱在一匹馬的鞍頭上，審慎而迅速地穿過樹林，馳進一個原始的荒涼峽谷。在這里，鮑勃·蒂德博爾的坐騎在一塊長滿苔蘚的巖石上打了滑，摔折了前腿。他們立刻朝它腦袋開了一槍，然后坐下來討論怎樣遠走高飛。由于他們所走的路徑盤旋曲折，暫時可保安全，時間的問題不像先前那么嚴重了。追蹤而來的搜索隊，即使矯健非凡，在時間和空間上同他們還隔著一大段距離。鯊魚多德森的馬已經松開籠頭，拖著韁繩，喘著氣在峽谷的溪流邊上大吃青草。鮑勃·蒂德博爾打開帆布袋，雙手抓起扎得整整齊齊的現鈔和一小袋金幣，像小孩一般咯咯笑起來。

“喂，你這個雙料強盜，”他快活地招呼多德森，“你說我們準能行——在金融事業上，你的頭腦可真行，整個亞利桑那都找不到你的對手。”

“你沒有坐騎怎么辦呢，鮑勃？我們不能在這里多耗時間。明早天沒亮，他們就會追來的。”

“哦，我想你那匹小野馬暫時馱得動我們兩個人。”樂天派的鮑勃回答說，“路上一見到馬，我們就征用一匹。天哪，我們發了一筆財，不是嗎？看錢上的標簽，一共三萬，每人一萬五！”

“比我預料的要少。”鯊魚多德森說，用靴尖輕輕踢著鈔票捆。接著，他沉思地瞅著他那匹跑累的馬汗水淋漓的脅腹。

“老博利瓦差不多要累垮啦。”他慢吞吞地說，“我真希望你的栗毛馬沒有摔傷。”

“我也這樣希望。”鮑勃勁頭十足地說，“不過那也是沒有辦法的事。博利瓦的腳力很健——它能把我們馱到可以換新坐騎的地方。媽的，鯊魚，我想起來就納悶，像你這樣的一個東部人來到這里，在這種亡命勾當中居然能勝過我們西部人。你究竟是東部哪里的人？”

“紐約州。”鯊魚多德森說著在一塊巖石上坐下，嘴里嚼著一根小樹枝，“我出生在厄斯特縣的一個農莊，十七歲的時候從家里跑了出來。我來到西部完全是一個偶然的機遇。當時我挎著一小包衣服，沿路走去，想到紐約市。我打算到那里去掙大錢。我一直覺得我能行。一天傍晚，我到了一個岔路口，不知道該走哪一條路。我琢磨了半個小時，終于選擇了左面的一條。就在那天晚上，我遇到一個在鄉鎮巡演的西部戲班子，我跟著他們來到了西部。我常想，如果當時我選擇了另一條路，會不會成為另一種人。”

“哦，我想結果還是一樣的。”鮑勃·蒂德博爾愉快而帶有哲理地說，“我們選擇的道路關系不大;我們成為哪一種人，完全由本質決定。”

鯊魚多德森站起來，靠在一棵樹上。

“我真不愿意你那匹栗毛馬摔傷，鮑勃。”他又說了一遍，幾乎有點兒傷感。

“我也不愿意，”鮑勃附和說，“它確實是匹頭挑的快馬。但是博利瓦準能幫我們渡過難關的。我們還是趕緊上路吧，好吧，鯊魚？我把錢裝好，我們上路找一個更妥當的地方吧。”

鮑勃·蒂德博爾把搶來的錢重新裝進帆布袋，用繩索扎緊袋口。他抬起頭時發現有個東西對準了他，極其扎眼，那是鯊魚多德森手里握得四平八穩的四五口徑手槍的槍口。

“別開玩笑。”鮑勃咧著嘴說，“我們還得趕路呢。”

“別動。”鯊魚說，“你不必趕路了，鮑勃。我不得不告訴你，我們中間只有一個人有機會逃脫。博利瓦已經夠累的了，馱不動兩個人。”

“鯊魚多德森，你我搭檔已有三年，”鮑勃平靜地說，“我們一起出生入死也不止一次。我一向同你公平交易，滿以為你是條漢子。我曾聽到一些古怪的傳說，說你暗地里殺過一兩個人，但是我從不相信。如果你只是同我開開小玩笑，鯊魚，那就收起你的槍，讓我們騎上博利瓦趕路。如果你存心要槍殺我——那就殺吧，你這個毒蜘蛛養的黑心小子！”

鯊魚多德森的神色顯得十分悲哀。

“你不了解，鮑勃，”他嘆了一口氣說，“你那匹栗毛馬摔折了腿，我有多難過。”

剎那間，多德森換了一副凜冽的兇相，還夾雜著一種冷酷的貪婪。那個人的靈魂暴露了片刻，像一幢體面的房子的窗口出現了一張邪惡的臉龐。

一點兒不假，鮑勃·蒂德博爾不必再趕路了。那個假朋友致命的四五口徑手槍砰的一聲，在山谷間布滿了吼號，石壁響起了憤憤不平的回音。博利瓦，那個不自知的同謀者，馱著搶劫“落日快車”的最后一個強盜飛快地馳走，沒有被強迫“馱兩個人”。

在鯊魚多德森疾馳而去時，他眼前的樹林似乎逐漸消失了;他右手握的槍變成了桃花心木椅子的彎扶手;他的馬鞍奇怪地裝上了彈簧——他睜眼一看，發現自己的腳并沒有踩在馬鐙上，而是安詳地擱在那張直紋橡木辦公桌的桌邊。

我想告訴各位的是：華爾街經紀人、多德森—德克爾公司的多德森睜開了眼睛。機要秘書皮博迪站在他的椅子旁邊，囁囁嚅嚅地正想說話。樓下傳來雜亂的車輪聲，屋里是電風扇催人欲眠的營營聲。

“呃嗯！皮博迪，”多德森眨了眨眼睛說，“我準是睡著了。我做了一個非常奇怪的夢。有什么事嗎，皮博迪？”

“特雷西—威廉斯公司的威廉斯先生等在外面。他是來結算那筆X. Y. Z.股票賬目的。他拋空失了風，您大概還記得吧，先生。“

“對，我記得。今天X. Y. Z.是什么行情，皮博迪？”

“一塊八毛五，先生。”

“那就按這個行情結賬好啦。”

“對不起，我想說一句，”皮博迪局促不安地說，“我剛才同威廉斯談過。多德森先生，他是您的老朋友，事實上您壟斷了X. Y. Z.股票。我想您也許——呃，您也許不記得他賣給您的價錢是九毛八。如果要他按市場行情結賬，那他就得傾家蕩產變賣掉一切才能交割。”

剎那間，多德森換了一副凜冽的兇相，還夾雜著一種冷酷的貪婪。那個人的靈魂暴露了片刻，像一幢體面的房子的窗口出現了一張邪惡的臉龐。

“他得按一元八毛五的行情結賬。”多德森說，“博利瓦馱不動兩個人。”

[本文選自《歐·亨利短篇小說選》（名著名譯英漢對照讀本），商務印書館，2019]

1美國亞利桑那州南部城市。