我的安东尼亚

Once when he sat down to chat， he told us that in the immigrant car ahead there was a family from‘across the water’ whose destination was the same as ours.
　　‘They can’t any of them speak English， except one little girl， and all she can say is “We go Black Hawk，Nebraska，” She‘s not much older than you， twelve or thirteen， maybe， and she’s as bright as a new dollar.Don‘t you want to go ahead and see her， Jimmy? She’s got the pretty brown eyes， toor‘
　　This last remark made me bashful， and I shook my head and settled down to’Jesse James.‘Jake nodded at me approvingly and said you were likely to get diseases from foreigners.
　　I do not remember crossing the Missouri River，or anything about the long day’s journey through Nebraska. Probably by that time I had crossed so many rivers that I was dull to them. The only thing very noticeable about Nebraska was that it was still，all day long， Nebraska.
　　I had been sleeping， curled up in a red plush seat，for a long while when we reached Black Hawk. Jake roused me and took me by the hand. We stumbled down from the train to a wooden siding， where men were running about with lanterns. I couldn‘t see any town， or even distant lights； we were surrounded by utter darkness. The engine was panting heavily after its long run. In the red glow from the fire-box， a group of people stood huddled together on the platform，encumbered by bundles and boxes. I knew this must be the immigrant family the conductor had told us about. The woman wore a fringed shawl tied over her head， and she carried a little tin trunk in her arms，hugging it as ifit were a baby. There was an old man，tall and stooped. Two half-grown boys and a girlstood holding oilcloth bundles， and a little girl clungto her mother’s skirts. Presently a man with a lantemapproached them and began to talk， shouting andexclaiming. I pricked up my ears， for it was positivelythe first time I had ever heard a foreign tongue.
　　Another lantern came along. A bantering voice called out：’Hello， are you Mr. Burden’s folks? If you are， it’s me you’re looking for. I’m Otto Fuchs.I’m Mr.Burden‘s hired man， and I’m to drive you out. Hello，Jimmy， ain’t you scared to come so far west?
　　I looked up with interest at the new face in the lantern-light. He might have stepped out of the pages of‘Jesse James.’ He wore a sombrero hat， with a wide leather band and a bright buckle， and the ends of his moustache were twisted up stiffiy， like little homs. He looked lively and ferocious， I thought， and as if he had a history. A long scar ran across one cheek and drew the comer of his mouth up in a sinister curl. The top ofhis left ear was gone， and his skin was brown as an Indian‘s. Surely this was the face of a desperado. As he walked about the platform in his high-heeled boots，
　　looking for our trunks， I saw that he was a rather slight
　　man， quick and wiry， and light on his feet. He told us
　　we had a long night drive ahead of us， and had better be on the hike. He led us to a hitching-bar where two farm-wagons were tied， and I saw the foreign family
　　crowding into one of them. The other was for us. Jake got on the front seat with Otto Fuchs， and I rode on the straw in the bottom of the wagon-box， covered up with a buffalo hide. The immigrants rumbled offinto the empty darkness， and we followed them.
　　……