In the years that followed came the pruning9 and the changes, the smoothing and the toning down—tunnels bored through the mountain-sides lessened11 the grades and lopped off winding12 miles around projecting spurs; trestles with long embankment approaches added their quota14 to this much-to-be-desired result; while in the foothills, instead of circling around and around, to the right and the left and the left and the right of an endless procession of buttes, the buttes themselves came to be bisected with mathematical precision. All told, many miles, very many miles, have been wiped out in this fashion—the elusive part of it is that, measured in the dollars and cents paid by the tourists for transportation and the shippers and consignees for freight hauls, the line is just as long as ever it was! And it would appear that a good deal of money had been spent with nothing to show for it; but then against this is the fact that the directors down East were never rated as imminent15 or near-imminent subjects for a lunacy commission. The mileage is elusive—let it go at that.
For the rest, the right of way from Big Cloud, the divisional point, just East of the mighty16 blue-blurred, snow-capped range that towers to the skyline North and South—from there to the rolling, undulating country that reaches West from the base of the Sierras, the Hill Division is, without question, the most marvelous piece of track ever conceived by man, and it stands a perpetual and enduring monument to the brains and the genius, ay, and the manhood, too, of those who built it.
Such is the Hill Division. You who know the Rockies know it for the grandeur17 of its scenery, know it for the glory of its conquest over obstacles seemingly insurmountable; but there is another side that you may not know, a side that the maps and plans and blueprints18 and the railroad folders19 and the windows of the observation cars, big as they are, do not show—and that side is the human side. It is full of tears and laughter, full of sorrow and joy, of dangers and death and mistakes and triumph—its history would fill many pages, but it is a history that will never be written, for the generals and the rank and file of its army have fought their battles without the blare of trumpets20, have done their work and their duty as they saw it, simply and with few words, without thought of personal profit and, much less, of fame. They tell their own stories amongst themselves, and they hold in honor those entitled thereto—which is a meed beyond any recognition of governments or kings or principalities, because it is the tribute of man to man, without glamor21 and without pretense22. If you are a man as they measure men, they will tell you the stories, too; and, if you care to smoke, they will offer you their black plugs with the heart-shaped tin tags that their favorite manufacturer imbeds therein and, further, they will hand you their clasp knives with which to slice it. If you are wise you will understand that you are honored above most men, and you will be becomingly humble23 and will listen. But if this, through circumstance and misfortune, has never been your lot, then, here and there, inadequately24 and meagerly, you may run across, in print, a stray breath from the Hill Division—this is a case in print—the story of “King” Gilleen.
Gilleen was a man you would never pass in a crowd without turning your head to look at him a second time, not even in a big crowd, for nature had dealt with Gilleen generously—or otherwise—whichever way it pleases you best to consider it. He had red hair of a shade that might be classified as brilliant, but which Regan, the master mechanic, described in metaphor25. Said Regan: “You could see that head a mile away on the other side of a curve in a blizzard26 at night when he pokes27 it out of the cab window. You’ll never get Gilleen on the carpet because his headlight’s out, what?” Certainly, at any rate, Gilleen’s hair was undeniably red. He had blue eyes, and a very small nose which, for all that, was, next to his hair, the most prominent feature he possessed28—small noses with a slight up-cant to the tip are pronounced, mere29 size to the contrary. His face was freckled30 and so were his hands; also, he was no small chunk31 of a man, not so very tall, but the shoulders on him were something to envy if you were friendly with him, or to respect if you were not. That was Gilleen, all except the fact that he admitted with emphasis to the blood of some wild Irish race of kings coursing through his veins32. This last point was never established—every one took Gilleen’s word for it, that is every one but Regan, who was Irish himself and, more pertinent33 still, Gilleen’s direct superior. On this point Regan, who was never averse34 to doing it, could get a rise out of Gilleen quicker than the bite of a hungry trout36.
“By Christmas,” Gilleen would sputter37 on such occasions, “I’ll have you know I’m no liar38, an’ if ‘twere not for the missus an’ the six kids”—here Gilleen would always stop to count, owing to a possible arrival since the last clash, realizing that any slip would be instantly and mercilessly turned against him by the grinning master mechanic—“if’twere not for them, Regan, you listen to me, I’d bash your face an’ then ram39 the measly job you give me down your throat, I would that!”
“Well,” Regan would return, “when you get to sitting on a dinky, gilded40 throne, sunk to the crown-sheet in the bogs41 though it will be, I’d ask no more nor as much from your hands as you get from mine—which is more than your deserts. Who but me would do as much for you? You ought to be back wiping. I’ve thought some seriously of it, h’m? Six, is it now?—well, it’s a grand race!”
Whereupon Gilleen would say hot words and say them fervently42, while he shook his fist at the master mechanic.
“I’ll show you some day, Regan,” was his final word. “I’ll show you what kind of a race it is, an’ don’t you forget it!”
All of which is neither very interesting nor in any degree witty—it simply shows where Gilleen’s nickname came from. Everybody on the division called him “King”—not to his face, they do now, but they didn’t then. Queer the way a little thing like that acts on a man sometimes. Gilleen was well enough liked in a way, but no one ever really took him seriously in anything. Associate a man with a joke and henceforward and forever after, usually, the two are inseparable. He may have aspirations43, ambitions, what you will, but he is given no credit for having them—with Gilleen it was that way. Just Gilleen, “King” Gilleen—and a grin.
The Lord only knows what possessed Gilleen to adhere with such stout-hearted loyalty44 to his ancestors—you may put an interrogation mark after that last word, if you like—it began with perhaps no more than a boyish boast when his official connection with the system was no further advanced than to the degree of holding down the job of assistant boiler-washer in the roundhouse. The more they guyed him the more stubbornly he stuck—it was a matter worth fighting for, and Gilleen fought. He threw pounds, reach, and other advantages to the winds and took on anybody and everybody. By the time he had moved up to firing he had fought all who cared to fight, who were not a few; and when, following that in the due course of promotion45, he got his engine, he had by blows, not argument, established his assertion outwardly at least. At a safe distance the division, remembering broken noses and missing teeth and no longer denying him his royal blood, gave him his way, smiled tolerantly in self-solace and called him “nutty.”
Regan, of course, still guyed—but Regan was master mechanic. Not that he did it by virtue46 of the immunity47 his official position afforded him, he never gave that a thought. He did it because he was Regan, and Regan was built that way. He could no more forego the chance of a laugh or an inward chuckle48 than he could forego the act of breathing—and live. A joke was a joke, just fun with him, that was all.
But with Gilleen it was different. Being unable to use his fists as was his wont49, and being possessed of no other safety-valve, the pressure mounted steadily50 until it registered a point on his mental gauge51 that spoke52 eloquently53 of trouble to come.
And so matters stood when, following a rather dull summer, the fall business opened with a rush and a roar. Things moved with a jump, and the rails hummed under a constant stream of traffic east and west. Here, at least, was no joke—a rush on the Hill Division, single-track, through the mountains, never was. A month of it, and every one from car-tink to superintendent54 began to show the effects of the strain. It was double up everywhere, extra duty, extra tricks. The dispatchers caught their share of it and their eyes grew red and heavy under the lamps at night, and the heads of the day-men ached as they figured a series of meeting points that had no beginning and no end; but, bad as it was for the men on the keys, it was worse for some of those in the cabs. Schedulers went to smash. Perishables55 and flyers were given the best of it—the rights of the rest were the sidings. It was a case of crawl along, sneak56 from one to the other, with layout after layout, until the ordinary length of a day’s duty lapped over into fifteen-hour stretches and sometimes to twenty-four. Sleep, what they could get of it, the engine crews snatched bolt upright in their seats while they waited for Number One’s headlight to shoot streaming out of the East, or nodded until roused by the roar and thunder of a flying freight, cars and cars of it crammed57 with first-class ratings, streaking58 East, as it hurtled by with insolent59 disregard for every mortal thing on earth.
Maybe Gilleen got a little more of it than any one else on the throttles61, maybe he did—or maybe he didn’t. Gilleen thought he did anyhow, and naturally he put it down to Regan’s account. Regan was head of the motive62 power department of the Hill Division—there was no one else to put it down to. It was Regan or imagination. Gilleen, not being strong on imagination, did not debate the question—he let it go at Regan.
In from one run, shot out on another—that was Gilleen’s schedule. The little woman in the little house uptown off Main street got to be mostly a memory to Gilleen, and as for the six brick-headed scions63 of his kingly race he came to wonder if they really existed at all.
Things boomed and hummed on the Hill Division, and while everybody on it snarled64 and swore and nagged65 at each other, as weary, worn-out, dropping-with-fatigue men will do, the smiles broadened on the lips and spread over the faces of the directors down East, as they rubbed their palms beneficently, expectantly, scenting67 extra dividends68 and soaring stock.
It was noon one day when Gilleen, with a trailing string of slewing69 freights behind him, pulled into the Big Cloud yards, uncoupled, backed down the spur, crossed the’table, and ran into the roundhouse. As he swung from the gangway, Regan came hurrying in through the engine doors of Gilleen’s pit from the direction of headquarters, and walked up to the engineer.
“Gilleen,” said he briskly, “you’ll have to take out Special Eighty-three. 1603’s ready with a full head on pit two.”
“What’s that?” snapped Gilleen. “Take out a special now? You know damn well I’m just in from a run. I’m tired. You’ll rub it in once too often, Regan.”
“We’re all tired, aren’t we?” returned the master mechanic tartly70. “Do you think you’re the only one? As for rubbing it in, you’d better draw your fire, my bucko. There’s no rubbing in being done except in your eye! Anyhow, that’s enough talk. Special Eighty-three’s carded on rush orders from down East, and she’s been in here an hour now.”
“Well, why didn’t you let the crew that brought her in keep goin’ then?” snarled Gilleen. It was a fool question and he knew it; but, as he had said, he was tired, and his temper, never angelic, was now pretty well on edge.
Regan glared at him a moment angrily. Regan, too, was tired and irritable71, harassed72 beyond the limit that most men are harassed. The demand upon the motive power department for men and engines had kept him up more than one night trying to figure out a problem that was well-nigh impossible.
“Let ‘em go on!” he snorted. “You know well enough I haven’t anything on the Prairie Division men. You know that—what d’ye say it for, h’m? You’re the first man in—and you go out first.”
“It strikes me I’m generally the first man in these days,” retorted Gilleen angrily; “an’ I’m sick of gettin’ the short end of it. I guess I won’t go out this time.”
It took a breathing spell before the master mechanic could explode adequately.
“You call yourself a railroad man!” he flung out furiously. “What are you whining73 about? Every man’s got his shoulder to the wheel and pushing without talk. We haven’t got any room here for quitters. I guess that blood of yours you’re so pinhead-brained proud——”
Regan did not finish. With a bellow74 of rage the red-haired engineer went at the other like a charging bull, and the master mechanic promptly75 measured his length on the roundhouse floor from a wallop on the head that made him see stars.
Regan scrambled76 to his feet. His heart was the heart of a fighter, even if his build was not. Straight at Gilleen he flew, and the passes and lunges and jabs he made—while the engineer played on the master mechanic’s paunch like a kettle-drum and delivered a second wallop on the head as a plaster for the first—are historic only for their infinitesimal coefficient of effectiveness. It is unquestionably certain that the master mechanic then and there would have proceeded to make up for some of his lost sleep, at least, if Gilleen’s fireman and a wiper or two hadn’t got in between the two men just when they did.
Gilleen was boiling mad.
“Well,” he bawled77, “got anything more to say about quittin’ or that other thing? I guess I won’t go out this time, what?”
Regan was equally mad. And as he felt tenderly of his forehead, where a lump was rapidly approximating the formation of a goose egg, he grew madder still.
“You won’t go out, won’t you?” he roared. “Well I guess you will; and, what’s more, you’ll go out now—and get your time! I fire you, understand?”
“You bet!’” said “King” Gilleen—and that’s all he said. He looked at the master mechanic for a minute, but didn’t say anything more—just laughed and walked out of the roundhouse.
Naturally enough, the story got up and down the division, and everybody talked about it. With their rough and impartial78 justice they put both men in the wrong, but mostly Gilleen for insubordination. The affront79 Gilleen had suffered was not so big and momentous80, a long way from being the vital thing in their eyes that it was in his. Gilleen was just nutty on that point, that was all there was to that. Regan’s judgment81 had been bad and the moment he had seized for his thrust and fling was by no manner of means a psychological one; but, for all that, Gilleen had no business to strike the master mechanic. He had got what was coming to him—that was the verdict. He was out and out for good. It was pretty generally conceded that it would be a long while before he pulled a throttle60 on the Hill Division again.
What sympathy the engineer got, for he got some, wasn’t on his own account. It was on account of his family—not the ancestral end of it, however. Six kids and a wife do not leave much change out of a paycheck even when it’s padded by overtime82; six kids and a wife with no pay-check is pretty stiff running.
Gilleen was too hot under the collar to give a thought to that when he marched out of the roundhouse that noon; but it wasn’t many hours, after he had put in a few to make up for the sleep he hadn’t had during the preceding weeks, that the problem was up to him for consideration with a vote for adjournment83 for once ruled out as not in order.
Mrs. Gilleen may or may not have shared her spouse’s opinions on the subject of his illustrious descent—if she did she never put on any “airs” about it. Washing and dressing84 and cooking was about all one woman could manage for a household as big as hers. That’s what she said anyway, whenever any one asked her about it. And one glance at the red-headed brood that filled the front yard and swung on the front gate, whose hinges creaked in loud and bitter protest, was enough to preclude85 any dispute on that score. Just a little bit of a woman she was physically86; but bigger practically than the whole corps87 of leading lights in social and domestic economy—which, come to think of it, is damning Mrs. Gilleen with faint praise, whereas too much couldn’t be said for her. However, let that go. Mrs. Gilleen was practical, and she had the matter up to the engineer almost before he had the sleep washed out of his eyes. No nagging88, no reproach, nothing of that kind—Mrs. Gilleen wasn’t that sort of a woman. “King,” or not, Gilleen might have been, Katie Gilleen was a queen, not in looks perhaps, but a queen—that’s flat. A fine woman is the finest thing in the world, and if that were said a little more often than it is maybe things generally wouldn’t be any the worse for it—which is not a plank89 in the platform of the Suffragettes, though it may sound like it.
“Michael,” said she, “you rowed with Mr. Regan, and he fired you. Will he take you back?”
Gilleen lowered the towel to his chin to catch the dripping water from his hair—he had just buried his head in the washbowl the minute before—and looked at his wife.
“I wouldn’t ask him, Kate,” he said shortly.
Mrs. Gilleen was proud, too—but for all that she sighed.
“What will you do, then, Michael?” she asked.
“I dunno yet, little woman. Some of the others will give me a job, I guess. Mabbe I’ll try the train crews. I’ll hit ‘em up for something, anyway.”
“But there’s ever so much less money in that”—Mrs. Gilleen’s tones were judicial90, not plaintive91.
“I know it,” returned Gilleen; “but it’ll tide us over an’ keep the steam up till we get a chance to pull out for somewheres where a man can get an engine without a grinning fool of a master mechanic to doublecross him with the worst of it every chance he gets.”
“I hope it will all come out right,” said Mrs. Gilleen, a little wistfully.
“It will,” Gilleen assured her. “Don’t you worry. I’ll get after a job right away as soon as I’ve had a bite.”
It came easier even than Gilleen had figured it would—such as it was—and it was about the last job Gilleen had thought of as a possibility. Things have a peculiar92 way of working themselves out sometimes, and, curiously93 enough, by means which, on the surface, are, more often than not, apparently94 trivial and inconsequent. Certainly, if Gilleen, on his way to the station that morning, had not run into Gleason, the yard-master, why then—but he did.
“Call-boys kind of scarce around your diggin’s since yesterday, ain’t they, Gilleen?” was Gleason’s greeting.
“Yes,” said Gilleen. “I’m out.”
“See you’re headin’ for the station,” remarked Gleason tentatively. “Goin’ down to patch it up?”
“No!” answered Gilleen with a hard ring in his voice—the “no” was emphatic95.
Gleason stared at the engineer for a minute, then took a bite from his plug, and the motion of his head might have been a nod of understanding or merely a wrench96 or two to free his teeth from the black-strap in which they were imbedded.
“No,” said Gilleen again; “I’m not. I’m goin’ down for another job.”
“What kind of a job?” inquired Gleason.
“Any kind from any one that will put me on—except Regan.”
Gleason thought of his choked yards—the rush had in no way overlooked him. Men, men that knew a draw-bar and a switch-handle from a hunk of cheese, were as scarce in his department as they were in any of the others.
“Yards?” he queried—and blinked.
“D’ye mean it?” demanded Gilleen, taking him up short.
“Sure, I mean it.”
“You’re on,” said Gilleen. “Night switchman,” amplified97 the yard-master. “You can begin to-night.”
“All right, I’ll be on deck,” agreed Gilleen; “an’ thanks, Gleason. I’m much obliged to you.”
“Humph!” grunted99 Gleason. “‘Tain’t much of a stake compared with an engine, but it’s yours, an’ welcome.”
It was quite true. Comparatively, it wasn’t much of a stake, and even the first night of it was enough to throw the comparison into strong and bitter relief. If anything would have put a finishing touch on Gilleen’s feelings anent the master mechanic it was that first night on yard switching, that and, of course, the nights that followed. It wasn’t so much the work, though that was hard enough, and, being green, the engineer made about twice as much for himself as there was any need of, it was a not-to-be-denied tendency of his eyes to stray toward the roundhouse every time a gleaming headlight showed on the turn-table. If Gilleen had never known before how much he loved an engine he knew it in those dark hours while he swung a lantern from the roofs of a freight string, or hopped100 the foot-board of the switcher. Up and down the yards from dusk till dawn, to the accompaniment of the wheezing101, grunting102, coughing, foreshortened apology for a shunter, the clash of brake-beams, the bump and rattle103, staccato, diminuendo, as a line of box-cars grumbled104 into motion, didn’t take on any roseate hues105 from the angle Gilleen looked at it; nor did an occasional ten-wheeler, out or in, sailing grandly past him with impudent106 airs help any, either. Gilleen’s language became as freckled as his face and hands and as fiery107 as his head. Even that grand old Irish race from which he sprang, that wild and untamed breed of kingly sires paled into insignificance—Gilleen was more occupied with Regan. What he thought he said, and said it aloud without making any bones about it—said it through his teeth, with his fists clenched108.
Perhaps it was just as well Gilleen was on nights, for, ordinarily, the master mechanic had nothing to bring him around the yards, shops or roundhouse after sundown—Regan’s evenings being spent with Carle-ton, the super, a pipe and a game of pedro upstairs over the station in the superintendent’s office next door to the dispatcher’s room—just as well for both their sakes; for Regan’s physically; for Gilleen’s because, little fond of his job as he was, there, were certain necessities that even little Mrs. Gilleen with all her practicability and economy could not supply without money. Anyway, the days went by and the two men did not meet, though Gilleen’s orations109 got around to Regan’s ears fast enough. The master mechanic only laughed when he heard them.
“Gilleen,” said he, “is like the parrot that said ‘sic ‘em!’ and said it once too often. He talks too much. If he’d kept his mouth shut I’d have given him his run back, after a lay off to teach him manners. As it is, if he likes switching let him keep at it. Mabbe by the time he’s tired the throne of his ancestors ‘ll be ready for him, what?”
All this was enough to spell ructions in the air, and, ordinarily, the division to a man would have hung mildly expectant on the result of the final showdown. But the Hill Division just then wasn’t hankering for anything more to liven it up—it was getting all of that sort of thing it wanted and a little besides. Attending strictly110 to business was about all it could do, a trifle beyond what it could do, and everything else was apart—the boom showed more signs of increasing than it did of being on the wane111. There wasn’t any let-up anywhere—things sizzled.
It never rains but it pours, they say; and that’s one adage112, at least, that the railroad men of Big Cloud, and the town itself for that matter, will swear by to this day. There are a few things that Big Cloud remembers vividly113 and with astounding114 minuteness for detail, but the night the shops went up tops them all.
When it was all over they decided115 that a slumbering116 forge-fire in the blacksmith shop was at the bottom of it—not that any one really knew, or knows now, but they put it down to that because it sounded reasonable and because there wasn’t anything else to put it down to. However, whether that was the cause or whether it wasn’t, on one point there was no possible opening for an argument—and that was the effect and the result.
If you knew Big Cloud in the old days, you know where the shops were and what they looked like; if you didn’t, it won’t take a minute to tell you. You could see them from the station platform across the tracks far up at the west end of the yards; and they looked more like a succession of barns nailed on to each other than anything else, except for the roofs which were low and flat—the buildings being all one-storied. What with the quarters of the boiler-makers, the carpenters, the machinists and the fitters, the old shops straggled out over a goodly length of ground, and a grimy, ramshackle, dirty, blackened, Godforsaken looking structure it was. To-day, thanks to that fire and the Big Strike when it came along, there’s a modern affair of structural117 steel—and the rest is but a memory. However——
Night in the mountains in the Fall comes early, and by nine o’clock on the night the fire broke out it had shut down pitch dark. Nothing showed in the yards but the twinkling switch lights, the waving lamps of the men, and an occasional gleam from the shunter’s headlight when it shot away from the end of a boxcar. Across the tracks the station lights were like fireflies, and there was a glimmer118 or two showing from the roundhouse. Apart from the fact that a pretty strong west wind was brushing the yards, if you could count that as anything apart, there was nothing out of the ordinary, everything was going on as usual, when, suddenly without warning, a wicked fang119 of flame shot skyward, then another higher than the first. It was answered by a yell from the yardmen, caught up in the roundhouse, and then the switcher’s whistle shrieked120 the alarm. A minute more, and everything with steam enough to lift a valve joined in. Dark forms began to run in the direction of the shops, and then the bell in the little English chapel121 uptown took a hand in the clamor. The alarm was unanimous enough and general enough when it came, there was never any doubt about that, but the fire must have got a pretty stiff start before it broke through the windows to fling its first challenge at the railroad men.
Gilleen and the rest of the yard crew were on the run for the scene when Gleason’s voice, bawling122 over the din13, halted them.
“Clean out three, four an’ five, an’ get ‘em down to the bottom of the yards, an’ look lively!” he yelled. “Leave that string of gondolas123 on six till the last. Jump now, boys! Eat ‘em up!”
Oil-spattered floors and oil-smeared walls are a feeding ground for a fire than which there is no better. The flame tongues leaped higher and higher throwing a lurid124 glare down the yards, and throwing, too, as the wind caught them up and whirled them in gusts125, a driving rain of sparks that threatened the long, dark lines of rolling stock, for the most part choked to the doors with freight—freight enough to total a sum in claim-checks that would blanch126 the cheeks of the most florid director on the board of the Transcontinental.
With Gleason in command, Gilleen and his mates went at their work heads down. There wasn’t anything fancy or artistic127 about the way they banged those cars to safety—there wasn’t time to be fussy128. Behind them the south end of the shops was already a blazing mass. The little switcher took hold of first one string then another, shook it angrily for a minute as her exhaust roared into a quick crackle of reports and the drivers spun129 around like pin-wheels making the steel fly fire, then with a cough and a grunt98 and a final push she would snap the cars away from her, and the string would go sailing down the yard to bump and pound to a stop, with an echoing crash, into whatever might be at the other end. There was a car or two the next morning with front-ends and rear-ends and both ends at once, that looked as though they had been in a cyclone130; and there was a claim-voucher or two put through for a consignment131 of nursing bottles and a sewing machine—not that the two necessarily go together, but no matter, they did then. Anyway, the record the yardmen made that night is the record today, and in no more than ten minutes there wasn’t a car within three hundred yards of the shops.
But while the yard crew worked others were not idle. Regan and Carleton, both of them, had caught the first flash from the windows of the super’s room, and they were down the stairs, across the yards and into the game from the start. Joined by the nightmen and the hostlers and the wide-eyed call-boys they tackled the blaze. By the time they had dragged and coupled the fifty-foot hose lengths, it took five lengths, along the tracks from the roundhouse, the needle on the stationary’s gauge, luckily not yet quite dead from the day’s work and whose fire-box Clarihue, the turner, now crammed with oil-soaked packing, began to climb, and they got an uncertain, weakly stream playing—uncertain, but a stream. After that, things went with a rush—both ways—the fire and the fight.
From the gambling132 hells and the saloons, from the streets and their homes came the population of Big Cloud, the Polacks, the Russians, the railroad men, the good and the bad whites, the half-breeds—and the local fire brigade. Two more streams they ran from the roundhouse and that was the limit—the rest of the hose was liquid rubber somewhere under the blaze.
Regan, with a bitter, hard look on his face for the shops were Regan’s, was everywhere at once, and what man could do he did; but, inch by inch, the flames were getting the better of him. The yards were as bright as day now, and the heat was driving the circle of fighters back, stubbornly as they fought to hold their ground. It looked like a grand slam for the fire with the four aces66 in one hand. Twice Regan had been on the point of ordering the men to the roof, and twice he held back—once he had even ordered a ladder planted, only to order it away again. The building was only wood, and old, and the roof was none too strong at best; but now, under and supported by the roof of the fitting-shop, put in a month before in lieu of the old system of jacking and blocking by hand, making the risk a hundredfold greater, were the heavy steel girders and hydraulic133 traveling cranes that whipped the big moguls like jack-straws from their wheels preparatory to stripping them to their bare boiler-shells. Regan shook his head—it was asking a man to take his life in his hands. For the moment he stood a little apart in front of the crowd and just behind the nozzle end of one of the streams. Again he measured the chances, and again he shook his head.
“I can’t ask a man to do it,” he muttered; “but we ought to have a stream up there, it’s——”
“Why don’t you take it there yourself, then?”—the words came sharp and quick from his elbow, stinging hot like the cut of a whip-lash. It was “King” Gilleen, red-haired, blue-blooded, freckled-skinned Gilleen.
The master mechanic whirled like a shot, and for a minute the two men stared into each other’s eyes, stared as the leaping flames sent flickering134 shadows across the grim, set features of them both, stared at each other face to face for the first time since that noon in the roundhouse days before.
“Why don’t you take it there yourself, then?” said Gilleen again, and his laugh rang hard and cold. “You ain’t a quitter, are you? There’s nothin’ wrong with your blood, is there? If you’re not afraid—come on!”—as he spoke he stepped forward, pushed the men from the nozzle—and looked back at the master mechanic.
Regan’s lips were like a thin, white line.
Gilleen laughed out again, and it carried over the roar and the crackle of the flames, the snapping timbers, the hiss135 and spit of the water, the voices of the crowd.
“Put up the ladder!”—it was Regan’s voice, deadly cold. “Lash a short end around that nozzle, an’ stand by to pass it up”—he was at the foot of the ladder almost before they got it in position, and the next instant began to climb.
Like a flash, Gilleen, surrendering the fire-hose temporarily, sprang after him—and up.
It wasn’t far—the shops were low, just one story high—and both men were on the roof in a minute. Gilleen caught the coiled rope they slung136 him from below, and together he and the master mechanic hauled up the writhing137, spluttering hose.
A shower of sparks and a swirling138 cloud of smoke enveloped139 them as they stood upright and began to advance. It cleared away leaving them silhouetted140 against the leaping wall of flame a few yards in front of them—and a cheer went up from the throats of the crowd below.
Not a word passed between the two men. Foot by foot they moved forward, laying the hose in a line behind them to lessen10 the weight and the side-pull, that at first had called forth141 all their strength to direct the play of the stream; foot by foot they went forward, closer and closer, perilously142 close, to the blistering143, scorching144, seething145 mass—for neither of them would be the first to hold back.
High into the heavens streamed the great yellow-red forks of angry flame, and over all, like a gigantic canopy146, rolled dense147 volumes of gray-black smoke. Came at the two men spurting148, fiery tongues, stabbing at them, robbing them of their breath, mocking at their puny149 might.
Another step forward and Regan reeled back, one hand went to his face—and the nozzle almost wrenched150 itself from the engineer’s grasp.
“It’s a grand race!” laughed Gilleen, but the laugh was more of a gasping151 cough, and the cough came from cracked and swollen152 lips. “It’s a grand race, Regan; an’ the blood——”
With a choking sob153, Regan steadied himself and seized hold of the nozzle again.
They held where they were now—it was the fire, not they, that was creeping forward, pitilessly, inevitably154, licking greedily at the tarred roof until it grew soft beneath their feet and the bubbles puffed155 up and formed and broke.
A cry of warning came from below, and with it came the ominous156 rending157 groan158 of yielding timbers. It came again, the cry, and rang in Gilleen’s ears almost without sense. He could scarcely see, his eyes were scorched159 and blinded, his lungs were full of the stinging smoke, choking full. Beside him Regan hung, dropping weak. “Get back, for God’s sake, get back! “—it was Carleton’s voice. “Do you hear!” shouted the super frantically160. “Get back! The roof is sagging161! Run for——”
Like the roar of a giant blast, as a park of artillery162 belches163 forth in deafening164 thunder, there came a terrific crash and, fearful in its echo, a cry of horror rose from those below. Where there had been roof a foot in front of the men was now—nothingness.
Gilleen, with a shout, as he felt the edge crumple165 under him, flung himself backward and as he leaped he snatched at Regan. His fingers brushed the master mechanic’s sleeve, hooked, slipped—and he struck on his back a full yard away. He reeled to his feet like a drunken man, and dug at his eyes with his fists. Over the broken edge of the shattered roof, hanging into the black below, was the dangling166 hose—but Regan was gone. Weak, spent, exhausted167, the master mechanic, unequal to the exertion168 of Gilleen’s leap, had pitched downward, clutching desperately169, feebly, vainly, as he went. Regan was gone, and twenty feet, somewhere, below—he lay.
Gilleen staggered forward. It was the far end of the beams that had given away and the six or seven yards of the roof that had fallen still separated him from the heart of the blaze. The advancing flames lighted up a scene of wreck170 and ruin below in the fitting-shop—girders and steel Ts and cranes and tackles, splotches of roofing, shattered timbers, lay aver35 the black looming171 shapes of the monster engine-shells blocked on the pit.
“Regan!” he called; and again: “Regan! Regan!”
Above the roaring crackle of the fire, above the surging, pounding noises that beat mercilessly at his eardrums, faint, so faint it seemed like fancy, a low moan answered him. Once more it came and upon Gilleen surged new-born strength and life. He began to drag at the hose with all his might, dropping it foot by fool over the jagged edge of the roof until it reached well down to the snarled and tangled172 wreckage173 below. And then a mighty yell went up from a hundred throats—and again and again:
“Gilleen! King Gilleen! King! King!”
There was no gibe174 now—just a bursting cheer from the full hearts of men. “King!” they roared, and the shout swelled175, but Gilleen never heard them as they crowned him. King he was at last in the eyes of all men, a king that knows no blood nor race nor throne nor retinue—Gilleen was lowering himself down the hose.
It was a question of minutes. The fire was sweeping176 in a mad wave across the intervening space. The engineer’s feet touched something solid and he let go his hold of the hose—and stumbled, lost his balance, and pitched forward striking on his head with a blow that dazed and stunned177 him. Mechanically he understood that what he had taken for flooring was a workbench. He got to his feet again, the blood streaming from his forehead, and shouted. This time there was no answer. Staggering, falling, tripping, stumbling, he began to search frantically amid the debris178. The air was thick with the smothering179 smoke, hot, stifling180, drying up his lungs. He began to moan, crying the name of the master mechanic over and over again, crying it as a man cries out in delirium181. Bits of oil-soaked waste and wads of packing, catching182 from the glowing cinders183, were blazing around his feet, the onrush of the flames swept a blighting184 wave upon him that sent him reeling back, scorching, blistering the naked skin of his face and hands. Again he fell. A great sheet of fire leapt high behind him, held for an instant, and then the dull red glow settled around him again—but in that instant, just a little to the right, pinned under a scanling, half hidden by a snarled knot of roof and girders, was the master mechanic’s form.
On his knees, groping with his hands, Gilleen reached him, and began to tear furiously, savagely185, madly, at the timber that lay across Regan’s chest. He moved it little by little, every inch tasking his weakening muscles to the utmost. Blackness was before him, he could no longer see, he could no longer breathe, hot, nauseating186 fumes187 strangled him and sent the blood bursting from his nostrils188. He tried to lift Regan’s shoulders—and sank down beside the master mechanic instead. Feebly he raised his head—there came the splintering crash of glass, a rushing stream tore through a window, hissed189 against the boiler-shell above him, and, glancing off, lashed190 a cold spray of water into his face.
The window! Three yards to the window! He was up again, and pulling at the dead weight of the master mechanic. Just three yards! He cried like a child as he struggled, and the tears ran down his cheeks in streams. A foot, two feet, three—two more yards to go. Axes were swinging now in front of him, shouts reached him. Half the distance was covered—but he had gone to his knees. Everything around was hot, it was all fire and hell and madness. A yard and a half—only a yard and a half. Alone he could make it easily enough and maybe Regan was dead anyhow, alone and there was safety and life, alone—then he laughed. “It’s a grand race, Regan, a grand race,” he sobbed191 hysterically192, and his grip tightened193 on the master mechanic, and he won another foot and another and another. A black form wavered before him, he felt an arm reach out and grasp him—then he tottered194, swayed, and dropped inert195, unconscious.
They got him out, and they got Regan out, and they got the fire out by the time there wasn’t much left to burn; and, after a week or two, both men got out of the hospital. That’s about all there is to it, except that Gilleen’s red head now decorates the swellest cab on the division, and that he never fought for his title after that night—he never had to; though, if you feel like questioning it, you can still get plenty of fight, for all that—any of the boys will accommodate you any time.
Regan isn’t an artist as a pugilist, but even so it is unwise to take risks—unscientific men by lucky flukes have handed knockouts to their betters.
“If Gilleen says so that’s enough, whether it’s so or not, what?” Regan will fling at you. “It’s pretty good blood, ain’t it, no matter what kind it is? Well then—h’m?”
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收听单词发音
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1
elusive
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| adj.难以表达(捉摸)的；令人困惑的；逃避的 | |
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2
mileage
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| n.里程，英里数；好处，利润 | |
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3
maturity
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| n.成熟；完成；(支票、债券等)到期 | |
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4
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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5
spiked
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| adj.有穗的；成锥形的；有尖顶的 | |
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6
eclat
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| n.显赫之成功，荣誉 | |
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7
toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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8
orators
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| n.演说者，演讲家( orator的名词复数 ) | |
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9
pruning
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| n.修枝，剪枝，修剪v.修剪（树木等）( prune的现在分词 )；精简某事物，除去某事物多余的部分 | |
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10
lessen
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| vt.减少，减轻；缩小 | |
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11
lessened
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| 减少的，减弱的 | |
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winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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13
din
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| n.喧闹声，嘈杂声 | |
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14
quota
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| n.（生产、进出口等的）配额，（移民的）限额 | |
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15
imminent
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| adj.即将发生的，临近的，逼近的 | |
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16
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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17
grandeur
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| n.伟大，崇高，宏伟，庄严，豪华 | |
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18
blueprints
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| n.蓝图，设计图( blueprint的名词复数 ) | |
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19
folders
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| n.文件夹( folder的名词复数 )；纸夹；（某些计算机系统中的）文件夹；页面叠 | |
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20
trumpets
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| 喇叭( trumpet的名词复数 )； 小号； 喇叭形物； （尤指）绽开的水仙花 | |
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21
glamor
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| n.魅力，吸引力 | |
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22
pretense
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| n.矫饰，做作，借口 | |
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23
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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24
inadequately
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| ad.不够地；不够好地 | |
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25
metaphor
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| n.隐喻，暗喻 | |
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26
blizzard
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| n.暴风雪 | |
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27
pokes
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| v.伸出( poke的第三人称单数 )；戳出；拨弄；与（某人）性交 | |
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28
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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29
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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30
freckled
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| adj.雀斑；斑点；晒斑；（使）生雀斑v.雀斑，斑点( freckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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31
chunk
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| n.厚片，大块，相当大的部分（数量） | |
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32
veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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33
pertinent
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| adj.恰当的；贴切的；中肯的；有关的；相干的 | |
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34
averse
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| adj.厌恶的；反对的，不乐意的 | |
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35
aver
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| v.极力声明；断言；确证 | |
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36
trout
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| n.鳟鱼；鲑鱼(属) | |
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37
sputter
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| n.喷溅声；v.喷溅 | |
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38
liar
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| n.说谎的人 | |
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39
ram
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| (random access memory)随机存取存储器 | |
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40
gilded
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| a.镀金的，富有的 | |
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41
bogs
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| n.沼泽，泥塘( bog的名词复数 )；厕所v.（使）陷入泥沼， （使）陷入困境( bog的第三人称单数 )；妨碍，阻碍 | |
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42
fervently
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| adv.热烈地，热情地，强烈地 | |
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43
aspirations
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| 强烈的愿望( aspiration的名词复数 )； 志向； 发送气音； 发 h 音 | |
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44
loyalty
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| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
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45
promotion
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| n.提升，晋级；促销，宣传 | |
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46
virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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47
immunity
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| n.优惠；免除；豁免，豁免权 | |
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48
chuckle
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| vi.／n.轻声笑，咯咯笑 | |
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49
wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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50
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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51
gauge
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| v.精确计量；估计；n.标准度量；计量器 | |
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52
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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53
eloquently
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| adv. 雄辩地(有口才地, 富于表情地) | |
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54
superintendent
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| n.监督人，主管，总监；(英国)警务长 | |
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55
perishables
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| n.容易腐坏的东西（尤指食品）( perishable的名词复数 ) | |
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56
sneak
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| vt.潜行(隐藏,填石缝)；偷偷摸摸做；n.潜行；adj.暗中进行 | |
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57
crammed
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| adj.塞满的，挤满的；大口地吃；快速贪婪地吃v.把…塞满；填入；临时抱佛脚( cram的过去式) | |
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58
streaking
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| n.裸奔（指在公共场所裸体飞跑）v.快速移动( streak的现在分词 )；使布满条纹 | |
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59
insolent
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| adj.傲慢的，无理的 | |
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60
throttle
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| n.节流阀，节气阀，喉咙；v.扼喉咙，使窒息，压 | |
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61
throttles
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| n.控制油、气流的阀门( throttle的名词复数 )；喉咙，气管v.扼杀( throttle的第三人称单数 )；勒死；使窒息；压制 | |
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62
motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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63
scions
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| n.接穗，幼枝( scion的名词复数 )；（尤指富家）子孙 | |
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64
snarled
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| v.（指狗）吠，嗥叫， （人）咆哮( snarl的过去式和过去分词 )；咆哮着说，厉声地说 | |
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65
nagged
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| adj.经常遭责怪的；被压制的；感到厌烦的；被激怒的v.不断地挑剔或批评（某人）( nag的过去式和过去分词 )；不断地烦扰或伤害（某人）；无休止地抱怨；不断指责 | |
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66
aces
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| abbr.adjustable convertible-rate equity security (units) 可调节的股本证券兑换率；aircraft ejection seat 飞机弹射座椅；automatic control evaluation simulator 自动控制评估模拟器n.擅长…的人( ace的名词复数 )；精于…的人；（ 网球 ）（对手接不到发球的）发球得分；爱司球 | |
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67
scenting
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| vt.闻到（scent的现在分词形式） | |
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68
dividends
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| 红利( dividend的名词复数 )； 股息； 被除数； （足球彩票的）彩金 | |
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69
slewing
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| n.快速定向，快速瞄准v.（尤指在协议或建议中）规定，约定，讲明（条件等）( stipulate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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70
tartly
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| adv.辛辣地，刻薄地 | |
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71
irritable
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| adj.急躁的；过敏的；易怒的 | |
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72
harassed
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| adj. 疲倦的，厌烦的 动词harass的过去式和过去分词 | |
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73
whining
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| n. 抱怨，牢骚 v. 哭诉，发牢骚 | |
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74
bellow
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| v.吼叫，怒吼；大声发出，大声喝道 | |
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75
promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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76
scrambled
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的过去式和过去分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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77
bawled
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| v.大叫，大喊( bawl的过去式和过去分词 )；放声大哭；大声叫出；叫卖（货物） | |
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78
impartial
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| adj.(in,to)公正的，无偏见的 | |
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79
affront
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| n./v.侮辱，触怒 | |
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80
momentous
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| adj.重要的，重大的 | |
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81
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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82
overtime
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| adj.超时的，加班的；adv.加班地 | |
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83
adjournment
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| 休会； 延期； 休会期； 休庭期 | |
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84
dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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85
preclude
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| vt.阻止，排除，防止；妨碍 | |
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86
physically
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| adj.物质上，体格上，身体上，按自然规律 | |
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87
corps
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| n.(通信等兵种的)部队；(同类作的)一组 | |
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88
nagging
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| adj.唠叨的，挑剔的；使人不得安宁的v.不断地挑剔或批评（某人）( nag的现在分词 )；不断地烦扰或伤害（某人）；无休止地抱怨；不断指责 | |
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89
plank
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| n.板条，木板，政策要点，政纲条目 | |
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90
judicial
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| adj.司法的，法庭的，审判的，明断的，公正的 | |
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91
plaintive
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| adj.可怜的，伤心的 | |
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92
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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93
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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94
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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95
emphatic
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| adj.强调的，着重的；无可置疑的，明显的 | |
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96
wrench
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| v.猛拧；挣脱；使扭伤；n.扳手；痛苦，难受 | |
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97
amplified
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| 放大，扩大( amplify的过去式和过去分词 )； 增强； 详述 | |
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98
grunt
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| v.嘟哝；作呼噜声；n.呼噜声，嘟哝 | |
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99
grunted
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| （猪等）作呼噜声( grunt的过去式和过去分词 )； （指人）发出类似的哼声； 咕哝着说 | |
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100
hopped
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| 跳上[下]( hop的过去式和过去分词 )； 单足蹦跳； 齐足（或双足）跳行； 摘葎草花 | |
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101
wheezing
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| v.喘息，发出呼哧呼哧的喘息声( wheeze的现在分词 )；哮鸣 | |
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102
grunting
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| 咕哝的，呼噜的 | |
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103
rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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104
grumbled
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| 抱怨( grumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 发牢骚； 咕哝； 发哼声 | |
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105
hues
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| 色彩( hue的名词复数 )； 色调； 信仰； 观点 | |
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106
impudent
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| adj.鲁莽的，卑鄙的，厚颜无耻的 | |
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107
fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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108
clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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109
orations
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| n.（正式仪式中的）演说，演讲( oration的名词复数 ) | |
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110
strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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111
wane
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| n.衰微，亏缺，变弱；v.变小，亏缺，呈下弦 | |
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112
adage
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| n.格言，古训 | |
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113
vividly
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| adv.清楚地，鲜明地，生动地 | |
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114
astounding
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| adj.使人震惊的vt.使震惊，使大吃一惊astound的现在分词) | |
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115
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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116
slumbering
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| 微睡，睡眠（slumber的现在分词形式） | |
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117
structural
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| adj.构造的，组织的，建筑（用）的 | |
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118
glimmer
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| v.发出闪烁的微光；n.微光，微弱的闪光 | |
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119
fang
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| n.尖牙，犬牙 | |
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120
shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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121
chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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122
bawling
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| v.大叫，大喊( bawl的现在分词 )；放声大哭；大声叫出；叫卖（货物） | |
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123
gondolas
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| n.狭长小船( gondola的名词复数 )；货架（一般指商店，例如化妆品店）；吊船工作台 | |
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124
lurid
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| adj.可怕的；血红的；苍白的 | |
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125
gusts
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| 一阵强风( gust的名词复数 )； （怒、笑等的）爆发； （感情的）迸发； 发作 | |
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126
blanch
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| v.漂白；使变白；使(植物)不见日光而变白 | |
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127
artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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128
fussy
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| adj.为琐事担忧的，过分装饰的，爱挑剔的 | |
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129
spun
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| v.纺，杜撰，急转身 | |
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130
cyclone
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| n.旋风，龙卷风 | |
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131
consignment
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| n.寄售；发货；委托；交运货物 | |
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132
gambling
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| n.赌博；投机 | |
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133
hydraulic
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| adj.水力的；水压的，液压的；水力学的 | |
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134
flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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135
hiss
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| v.发出嘶嘶声；发嘘声表示不满 | |
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136
slung
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| 抛( sling的过去式和过去分词 )； 吊挂； 遣送； 押往 | |
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137
writhing
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| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的现在分词 ) | |
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138
swirling
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| v.旋转，打旋( swirl的现在分词 ) | |
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139
enveloped
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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140
silhouetted
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| 显出轮廓的，显示影像的 | |
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141
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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142
perilously
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| adv.充满危险地，危机四伏地 | |
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143
blistering
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| adj.酷热的；猛烈的；使起疱的；可恶的v.起水疱；起气泡；使受暴晒n.[涂料] 起泡 | |
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144
scorching
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| adj. 灼热的 | |
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145
seething
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| 沸腾的，火热的 | |
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146
canopy
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| n.天篷，遮篷 | |
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147
dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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148
spurting
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| （液体，火焰等）喷出，（使）涌出( spurt的现在分词 )； （短暂地）加速前进，冲刺； 溅射 | |
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149
puny
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| adj.微不足道的，弱小的 | |
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150
wrenched
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| v.（猛力地）扭( wrench的过去式和过去分词 )；扭伤；使感到痛苦；使悲痛 | |
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151
gasping
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| adj. 气喘的, 痉挛的 动词gasp的现在分词 | |
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152
swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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153
sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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154
inevitably
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| adv.不可避免地；必然发生地 | |
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155
puffed
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| adj.疏松的v.使喷出( puff的过去式和过去分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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156
ominous
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| adj.不祥的，不吉的，预兆的，预示的 | |
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157
rending
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| v.撕碎( rend的现在分词 )；分裂；（因愤怒、痛苦等而）揪扯（衣服或头发等）；（声音等）刺破 | |
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158
groan
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| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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159
scorched
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| 烧焦，烤焦( scorch的过去式和过去分词 )； 使（植物）枯萎，把…晒枯； 高速行驶； 枯焦 | |
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160
frantically
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| ad.发狂地, 发疯地 | |
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161
sagging
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| 下垂[沉，陷]，松垂，垂度 | |
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162
artillery
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| n.(军)火炮，大炮；炮兵(部队) | |
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163
belches
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| n.嗳气( belch的名词复数 )；喷吐；喷出物v.打嗝( belch的第三人称单数 )；喷出，吐出；打（嗝）；嗳（气） | |
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164
deafening
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| adj. 振耳欲聋的, 极喧闹的 动词deafen的现在分词形式 | |
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165
crumple
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| v.把...弄皱，满是皱痕，压碎，崩溃 | |
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166
dangling
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| 悬吊着( dangle的现在分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
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167
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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168
exertion
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| n.尽力，努力 | |
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169
desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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170
wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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171
looming
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| n.上现蜃景（光通过低层大气发生异常折射形成的一种海市蜃楼）v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的现在分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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172
tangled
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| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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173
wreckage
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| n.（失事飞机等的）残骸，破坏，毁坏 | |
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174
gibe
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| n.讥笑；嘲弄 | |
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175
swelled
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| 增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
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176
sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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177
stunned
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| adj. 震惊的，惊讶的 动词stun的过去式和过去分词 | |
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178
debris
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| n.瓦砾堆，废墟，碎片 | |
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179
smothering
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| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的现在分词 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
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180
stifling
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| a.令人窒息的 | |
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181
delirium
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| n. 神智昏迷,说胡话;极度兴奋 | |
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182
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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183
cinders
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| n.煤渣( cinder的名词复数 )；炭渣；煤渣路；煤渣跑道 | |
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184
blighting
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| 使凋萎( blight的现在分词 )； 使颓丧； 损害； 妨害 | |
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185
savagely
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| adv. 野蛮地，残酷地 | |
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186
nauseating
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| adj.令人恶心的，使人厌恶的v.使恶心，作呕( nauseate的现在分词 ) | |
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187
fumes
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| n.(强烈而刺激的)气味，气体 | |
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188
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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189
hissed
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| 发嘶嘶声( hiss的过去式和过去分词 )； 发嘘声表示反对 | |
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190
lashed
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| adj.具睫毛的v.鞭打( lash的过去式和过去分词 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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191
sobbed
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| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
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192
hysterically
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| ad. 歇斯底里地 | |
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193
tightened
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| 收紧( tighten的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）变紧； （使）绷紧； 加紧 | |
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194
tottered
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| v.走得或动得不稳( totter的过去式和过去分词 )；踉跄；蹒跚；摇摇欲坠 | |
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195
inert
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| adj.无活动能力的，惰性的；迟钝的 | |
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