osc.am2.redprophet-第51部分

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　was　nothing　like　digging　the　day　before；　rubbing　his　fingers　raw　on　the　dirt。　It　just　fell　away；　slid　off　him；　when　he　reached　up　to　dig　more；　the　dirt　slipped　under　his　shoulders；　and　there　it　firmed　right　up；　so　that　he　didn't　even　have　to　think　about　moving　the　dirt　out　of　the　hole；　it　was　just　filling　up　underneath　him。　He　kicked；　and　his　legs　jostled　the　dirt　loose；　so　his　whole　body　was　rising　up　the　same　way。
　　Swimming　through　dirt；　that's　what　I'm　doing；　he　thought；　and　he　started　to　laugh；　it　was　so　easy　and　so　strange。
　　His　laugh　was　finished　in　the　open　air。　He　was　on　top；　just　behind　the　root　cellar。　The　sky　was　pretty　light　　the　sun　would　be　up　in　just　a　minute　or　so。　The　booming　of　the　cannon　had　stopped。　Did　that　mean　it　was　over；　too　late？　Maybe；　though；　they　were　just　letting　the　guns　cool。　Or　moving　them　to　another　place。　Or　maybe　the　Reds　even　managed　to　capture　the　guns　But　would　that　be　good　news？　Right　or　wrong；　his　brothers　and　his　father　were　with　them　guns；　and　if　the　Reds　won　this　battle；　some　of　his　kin　might　die。　It　was　one　thing　to　know　that　the　Reds　were　in　the　right　and　the　Whites　in　the　wrong；　it　was　something　else　to　wish　defeat　on　your　own　family；　defeat　and　maybe　death。　He　had　to　stop　the　battle；　and　so　he　ran；　like　he　never　done　before。　Alvin's　voice　was　gone；　now；　but　Measure　didn't　need　to　be　encouraged。　He　fair　to　flew　down　that　road。
　　He　met　two　people　on　the　way。　One　was　Mrs。　Hatch；　who　was　driving　her　wagon　along　the　road；　loaded　down　with　supplies。　When　she　saw　Measure；　she　screamed　　he　was　wearing　a　loincloth　and　filthy　as　could　be；　and　she　couldn't　be　blamed　for　thinking　he　was　a　Red　all　set　to　scalp　her。　She　was　off　that　wagon　and　running　before　Measure　could　so　much　as　call　her　name。　Well；　that　was　fine　with　him。　He　nearly　tore　the　horse　from　the　wagon；　he　worked　so　fast；　and　then　he　was　riding　bareback；　galloping　along　the　road　hoping　that　the　horse　wouldn't　trip　and　spill　him。
　　The　other　person　he　met　along　the　way　was　Armor…of…God。　Armor　was　kneeling　in　the　middle　of　the　mon　green；　out　front　of　his　store；　praying　his　heart　out　while　the　cannon　roared　and　the　muskets　crackled　across　the　river。　Measure　hailed　him；　and　Armor　looked　up　with　a　face　like　as　if　he'd　seen　Jesus　resurrected。　〃Measure！〃　he　shouted。　〃Stop；　stop！〃
　　Measure　was　all　set　to　go　on；　to　say　he　had　no　time；　but　then　Armor　was　out　in　the　middle　of　the　way；　and　the　horse　was　shy　to　go　around　him；　so　he　did　stop。　〃Measure；　are　you　an　angel　or　alive？〃
　　〃Alive；　no　thanks　to　Harrison。　Tried　to　murder　me；　he　did。　I'm　alive　and　so　is　Alvin。　This　whole　thing　was　Harrison's　doing；　and　I've　got　to　put　a　stop　to　it。〃
　　〃Well　you　can't　go　like　that；〃　said　Armor。　〃Wait；　I　said！　You　can't　just　show　up　wearing　a　loincloth　and　covered　up　with　dirt　like　that；　somebody's　going　to　think　you're　a　Red　and　shoot　you　on　the　spot！〃
　　〃Then　hop　on　this　horse　behind　me；　and　give　me　your　clothing　on　the　way！〃
　　So　Measure　hoisted　Armor…of…God　onto　the　horse　behind　him；　and　they　rode　out　to　the　river　crossing。
　　Peter　Ferryman's　wife　was　there　to　run　the　winch。　One　look　at　Measure　was　enough　to　tell　her　all　she　needed　to　know。　〃Hurry；〃　she　said。　〃It's　so　bad；　the　river's　running　scarlet。〃
　　On　the　ferry；　Armor　stripped　off　his　clothes　while　Measure　ducked　himself　in　the　water；　blood　and　all；　to　wash　some　of　the　dirt　away。　He　didn't　e　out　clean；　but　at　least　he　looked　somewhat　like　a　White　man。　Still　wet；　he　put　on　Armor's　shirt　and　trousers；　and　then　his　waistcoat。　They　didn't　fit　too　good；　Armor　being　a　smaller　man；　but　Measure　shrugged　on　the　coat　all　the　same。　While　he　did；　he　said；　〃Sorry　to　leave　you　with　just　your　summerjohns。〃
　　〃I'd　stand　naked　half　the　day　in　front　of　all　the　ladies　in　church　if　it　would　stop　this　massacre；〃　said　Armor。　If　he　said　more；　Measure　didn't　hear　it；　cause　he　was　already　on　his　way。
　　
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　　Nothing　was　the　way　Alvin　Miller　Senior　thought　that　it　would　be。　He'd　imagined　shooting　his　musket　at　the　same　screaming　savages　who　cut　up　and　killed　his　boys。　But　the　city　turned　up　empty；　and　they　found　the　Reds　all　gathered　in　Speaking　Meadow；　just　like　they　was　ready　for　a　sermon　from　the　Prophet。　Miller　never　knowed　there　was　so　many　Reds　in　Prophetstown；　cause　he　never　seen　them　all　in　the　same　place　like　this。　But　they　were　Reds；　weren't　they？　So　he　shot　his　musket　all　the　same；　just　like　the　other　men；　firing　and　reloading；　hardly　looking　at　whether　his　shot　hit　anything。　How　could　he　miss；　them　all　standing　together　so　close？　The　bloodlust　was　on　him　then；　he　was　crazy　with　anger　and　the　power　to　kill。　He　didn't　notice　how　some　of　the　other　men　were　getting　quieter。　Shooting　less　often。　He　just　loaded　and　fired；　loaded　and　fired；　stepping　a　yard　or　two　closer　every　time；　out　from　the　cover　of　the　forest；　out　into　the　open；　only　when　the　cannon　got　moved　into　place　did　he　stop　shooting；　make　way　for　them；　watched　them　mow　great　swaths　through　the　mass　of　Reds。
　　That　was　the　first　time　he　really　noticed　what　all　was　happening　to　the　Reds；　what　they　were　doing；　what　they　weren't　doing。　They　weren't　screaming。　They　weren't　fighting　back。　They　were　just　standing　there；　men　and　women　and　children；　just　looking　out　at　the　White　men　who　were　killing　them。　Not　a　one　even　turned　his　back　to　the　hail　of　shrapnel。　Not　a　parent　tried　to　shield　a　child　from　the　blast。　They　just　stood；　waited；　died。
　　The　grapeshot　carved　gaps　in　the　crowd；　the　only　thing　to　stop　the　spray　of　metal　was　human　bodies。　Miller　saw　them　fall。　Them　as　could；　got　up　again；　or　at　least　knelt；　or　raised　their　heads　above　the　mass　of　corpses　so　that　the　next　blast　would　take　them　and　kill　them。
　　What　is　it；　do　they　want　to　die？
　　Miller　looked　around　him。　He　and　the　men　with　him　were　standing　in　a　sea　of　corpses　　they　had　already　walked　out　to　where　the　outer　edges　of　the　crowd　of　Reds　had　been。　Right　at　his　feet；　the　body　of　a　boy　no　older　than　Alvin　lay　curled；　his　eye　blown　out　by　a　musket　ball。　Maybe　my　own　musket　ball；　thought　Miner。　Maybe　I　killed　this　boy。
　　During　the　lulls　between　cannon　volleys；　Miller　could　hear　men　crying。　Not　the　Reds；　the　ones　still　living；　huddled　in　an　ever…smaller　mass　down　toward　the　river。　No；　the　men　crying　were　his　neighbors；　White　men　standing　beside　him；　or　behind　the　line。　Some　of　them　were　talking；　pleading。　Stop　it；　they　said。　Please；　stop　it。
　　Please　stop。　Were　they　talking　to　the　cannon？　Or　to　the　Red　men　and　women；　who　insisted　on　standing　there；　not　trying　to　escape；　not　crying　out　in　fear？　Or　to　their　children；　who　faced　the　guns　as　bravely　as　their　parents？　Or　did　they　speak　to　the　terrible　gnawing　pain　in　their　own　hearts；　to　see　what　they　had　done；　were　doing；　would　yet　do？
　　Miller　noticed　that　the　blood　didn't　soak　into　the　grass　of　the　meadow。　As　it　poured　out　of　the　wounds　of　those　most　recently　hit；　it　formed　rivulets；　streams；　great　sheets　of　blood　flowing　down　the　slope　of　the　meadow；　toward　the　Tippy…Canoe　Creek。　The　morning　sunlight　on　this　bright　clear　day　shone　vivid　red　from　the　water　of　the　creek。
　　While　he　was　watching；　all　at　once　the　water　of　the　creek　went　smooth　as　glass。　The　sunlight　didn't　dance　on　the　water　now；　it　reflected　like　a　mirror；　near　blinding　him。　But　he　could　still　see　a　solitary　Red　man　walking　on　the　water；　just　like　Jesus　in　the　story；　standing　on　the　water　in　the　middle　of　the　creek。
　　It　wasn't　just　a　whimper　behind　him　anymore。　It　was　a　shout；　from　more　and　more　men。　Stop　shooting！　Stop　it！　Put　down　your　guns！　And　then　others；　talking　about　the　man　standing　on　the　water。
　　A　bugle　sounded。　The　men　fell　silent。　〃Time　to　finish　them；　men！〃　shouted　Harrison。　He　was　on　a　prancing　stallion　at　the　head　of　the　meadow；　leading　the　way　down　the　blood…slick　hill。　None　of　the　farmer　folk　were　with　him；　but　his　uniformed　soldiers　formed　a　line　and　came　along；　bayonets　fixed。　Where　once　ten　thousand　Reds　had　stood；　there　was　just　a　field　of　bodies；　and　maybe　a　thousand；　a　ragged　remnant；　gathered　near　the　water　at　the　bottom　of　the　hill。
　　That　was　the　moment　when　a　tall　young　White　man　ran　from　the　wood　at　the　bottom　of　the　hill；　dressed　in　a　suit　too　small；　his　feet　bare；　his　coat　and　waistcoat　all　unbuttoned；　his　hair　wet　and　tousled；　and　face　grimy　and　wet。　But　Miller　knew　him；　knew　him　before　he　heard　his　voice。
　　〃Measure！〃　he　cried。　〃It's　my　boy　Measure！〃
　　He　threw　down　his　musket　and　ran　out　into　the　field　of　corpses；　down　the　hill　toward　his　son。
　　〃My　boy　Measure！　He's　alive！　You're　alive！〃
　　Then　he　slipped　in　the　blood；　or　maybe　he　tripped　on　a　body；　but　whatever　happened　he　fell；　his　hands　splashing　into　a　river　of　blood；　spattering　his　chest　and　face。
　　He　heard　Measure's　voice；　not　ten　yards　away；　shouting　out　so　every　man　could　hear　him。　〃The　Reds　who　captured　me　were　hired　by　Harrison。　Ta…Kumsaw　and　Tenskwa…Tawa　saved　me。　When　I　came　home　two　days　ago；　Harrison's　soldiers　captured　me　and　wouldn't　let　me　tell　you　the　truth。　He　even　tried　to　kill　me。〃　Measure　spoke　slow　and　clear；　so　every　word　carried；　every　sound　was　understood。　〃He　knew　all　the　time。　This　whole　thing；　Harrison　planned　it　all　along。　The　Reds　are　innocent。　You're　killing　innocent　people。〃