Making things worse, Leadville鈥檚 reputation was as scary as its geography. For decades, it was thewildest city in the Wild West, 鈥渁n absolute death trap,鈥?as one chronicler put it, 鈥渢hat seemed totake pride in its own depravity.鈥?Doc Holliday, the dentist turned gun-slinging gambler, used tohang out in the Leadville saloons with his quick-drawin鈥?O.K. Corral buddy Wyatt Earp. JesseJames used to slink through as well, attracted by the stages loaded with gold and excellent hideoutsjust lick away in the mountains. Even late as the 1940s, the 10th Mountain Divisioncomm(a) andos were forbiddento set footin downt(as) own Leadville; they might be fierce enough for theNazis, but not for the cutthroat gamblers and prostitutes who ruled State Street. Truth be told, discounting attracted mostly promoters in the beginningpeople who had been in thedistribution center business or who were real estate promoters, guys who weren't really even aspiringmerchants but who saw a huge opportunity. You didn't have to be a genius to see discounting as a newtrend that was going to sweep the country, and all kinds of folks came jumping into it with all fourfeetwherever they could arrive firstCedar Rapids, Iowa, or Springfield, Missouri, it didn't matter. Theywould take a carbon copy of somebody's store in Connecticut or Boston, hire some buyers and somesupervisors who were supposed to know the business, and start opening up stores. From about 1958until around 1970, it was phenomenally successful. By the time Bill Bowerman paid his first visit in 1962, Lydiard鈥檚 Sunday morning group run wasthe biggest party in Auckland. Bowerman tried to join them, but was in such lousy shape that hehad to be helped along by a seventy-three-year-old man who鈥檇 survived three coronaries. 鈥淕od,the only thing that kept me alive was the hope that I would die,鈥?Bowerman said afterward. 百度图片-发现多彩世界 In the course of the job I visited Salisbury, and whilst wandering there one mid-summer evening round the purlieus of the cathedral I conceived the story of The Warden 鈥?from whence came that series of novels of which Barchester, with its bishops, deans, and archdeacon, was the central site. I may as well declare at once that no one at their commencement could have had less reason than myself to presume himself to be able to write about clergymen. I have been often asked in what period of my early life I had lived so long in a cathedral city as to have become intimate with the ways of a Close. I never lived in any cathedral city 鈥?except London, never knew anything of any Close, and at that time had enjoyed no peculiar intimacy with any clergyman. My archdeacon, who has been said to be life-like, and for whom I confess that I have all a parent鈥檚 fond affection, was, I think, the simple result of an effort of my moral consciousness. It was such as that, in my opinion, that an archdeacon should be 鈥?or, at any rate, would be with such advantages as an archdeacon might have; and lo! an archdeacon was produced, who has been declared by competent authorities to be a real archdeacon down to the very ground. And yet, as far as I can remember, I had not then even spoken to an archdeacon. I have felt the compliment to be very great. The archdeacon came whole from my brain after this fashion 鈥?but in writing about clergymen generally, I had to pick up as I went whatever I might know or pretend to know about them. But my first idea had no reference to clergymen in general. I had been struck by two opposite evils 鈥?or what seemed to me to be evils 鈥?and with an absence of all art-judgment in such matters, I thought that I might be able to expose them, or rather to describe them, both in one and the same tale. The first evil was the possession by the Church of certain funds and endowments which had been intended for charitable purposes, but which had been allowed to become incomes for idle Church dignitaries. There had been more than one such case brought to public notice at the time, in which there seemed to have been an egregious malversation of charitable purposes. The second evil was its very opposite. Though I had been much struck by the injustice above described, I had also often been angered by the undeserved severity of the newspapers towards the recipients of such incomes, who could hardly be considered to be the chief sinners in the matter. When a man is appointed to a place, it is natural that he should accept the income allotted to that place without much inquiry. It is seldom that he will be the first to find out that his services are overpaid. Though he be called upon only to look beautiful and to be dignified upon State occasions, he will think 锟?000 a year little enough for such beauty and dignity as he brings to the task. I felt that there had been some tearing to pieces which might have been spared. But I was altogether wrong in supposing that the two things could be combined. Any writer in advocating a cause must do so after the fashion of an advocate 鈥?or his writing will be ineffective. He should take up one side and cling to that, and then he may be powerful. There should be no scruples of conscience. Such scruples make a man impotent for such work. It was open to me to have described a bloated parson, with a red nose and all other iniquities, openly neglecting every duty required from him, and living riotously on funds purloined from the poor 鈥?defying as he did do so the moderate remonstrances of a virtuous press. Or I might have painted a man as good, as sweet, and as mild as my warden, who should also have been a hard-working, ill-paid minister of God鈥檚 word, and might have subjected him to the rancorous venom of some daily Jupiter, who, without a leg to stand on, without any true case, might have been induced, by personal spite, to tear to rags the poor clergyman with poisonous, anonymous, and ferocious leading articles. But neither of these programmes recommended itself to my honesty. Satire, though it may exaggerate the vice it lashes, is not justified in creating it in order that it may be lashed. Caricature may too easily become a slander, and satire a libel. I believed in the existence neither of the red-nosed clerical cormorant, nor in that of the venomous assassin of the journals. I did believe that through want of care and the natural tendency of every class to take care of itself, money had slipped into the pockets of certain clergymen which should have gone elsewhere; and I believed also that through the equally natural propensity of men to be as strong as they know how to be, certain writers of the press had allowed themselves to use language which was cruel, though it was in a good cause. But the two objects should not have been combined 鈥?and I now know myself well enough to be aware that I was not the man to have carried out either of them. Manuel Luna had dropped out halfway. Though he鈥檇 done his best to come through for Caballo,the ache of his son鈥檚 death left him too leaden to compete. But while he couldn鈥檛 get his heart intothe racing, he was fully committed to one of the racers. Manuel prowled up and down the road,watching for Barefoot Ted. Soon, he was joined by Arnulfo 鈥?and Scott鈥?and Jenn and Billy.