Міжзірковий мандрівник
Chapter 13
Wherehehadhaltedwasanew-madegrave,andIknewitfortheWainwrightbaby’s—notthefirstofourgravessincewehadcrossedtheWasatchmountains.
Hewasaweirdfigureofaman.Agedandlean,long-faced,hollow-checked,withmatted,sunburnthairthatfellbelowtheshouldersofhisbuckskinshirt,hisfacewasdistortedwithhatredandhelplessrage.Holdinghislongrifleinhisbridle-hand,heshookhisfreefistatCedarCity.
“God’scurseonallofyou!”hecriedout.“Onyourchildren,andonyourbabesunborn.Maydroughtdestroyyourcrops.Mayyoueatsandseasonedwiththevenomofrattlesnakes.Maythesweetwaterofyourspringsturntobitteralkali.May...”
Herehiswordsbecameindistinctasourwagonsrattledon;buthisheavingshouldersandbrandishingfistattestedthathehadonlybeguntolaythecurse.Thatheexpressedthegeneralfeelinginourtrainwasevidencedbythemanywomenwholeanedfromthewagons,thrustingoutgauntforearmsandshakingbony,labour-malformedfistsatthelastofMormondom.Aman,whowalkedinthesandandgoadedtheoxenofthewagonbehindours,laughedandwavedhisgoad.Itwasunusual,thatlaugh,fortherehadbeennolaughterinourtrainformanydays.
“Give’mhell,Laban,”heencouraged.“Them’smysentiments.
