Some twenty men, Annixter's and Osterman's tenants4, and small ranchers from east of Guadalajara—all members of the League—were going through the manual of arms under Harran Derrick's supervision5. They were all equipped with new Winchester rifles. Harran carried one of these himself and with it he illustrated7 the various commands he gave. As soon as one of the men under his supervision became more than usually proficient8, he was told off to instruct a file of the more backward. After the manual of arms, Harran gave the command to take distance as skirmishers, and when the line had opened out so that some half-dozen feet intervened between each man, an advance was made across the field, the men stooping low and snapping the hammers of their rifles at an imaginary enemy.
The League had its agents in San Francisco, who watched the movements of the Railroad as closely as was possible, and some time before this, Annixter had received word that the Marshal and his deputies were coming down to Bonneville to put the dummy9 buyers of his ranch in possession. The report proved to be but the first of many false alarms, but it had stimulated10 the League to unusual activity, and some three or four hundred men were furnished with arms and from time to time were drilled in secret.
Among themselves, the ranchers said that if the Railroad managers did not believe they were terribly in earnest in the stand they had taken, they were making a fatal mistake.
Harran reasserted this statement to Presley on the way home to the ranch house that same day. Harran had caught up with him by the time he reached the Lower Road, and the two jogged homeward through the miles of standing11 wheat.
“They may jump the ranch, Pres,” he said, “if they try hard enough, but they will never do it while I am alive. By the way,” he added, “you know we served notices yesterday upon S. Behrman and Cy. Ruggles to quit the country. Of course, they won't do it, but they won't be able to say they didn't have warning.”
About an hour later, the two reached the ranch house, but as Harran rode up the driveway, he uttered an exclamation12.
“Hello,” he said, “something is up. That's Genslinger's buckboard.”
In fact, the editor's team was tied underneath14 the shade of a giant eucalyptus15 tree near by. Harran, uneasy under this unexpected visit of the enemy's friend, dismounted without stabling his horse, and went at once to the dining-room, where visitors were invariably received. But the dining-room was empty, and his mother told him that Magnus and the editor were in the “office.” Magnus had said they were not to be disturbed.
Earlier in the afternoon, the editor had driven up to the porch and had asked Mrs. Derrick, whom he found reading a book of poems on the porch, if he could see Magnus. At the time, the Governor had gone with Phelps to inspect the condition of the young wheat on Hooven's holding, but within half an hour he returned, and Genslinger had asked him for a “few moments' talk in private.”
The two went into the “office,” Magnus locking the door behind him. “Very complete you are here, Governor,” observed the editor in his alert, jerky manner, his black, bead-like eyes twinkling around the room from behind his glasses. “Telephone, safe, ticker, account-books—well, that's progress, isn't it? Only way to manage a big ranch these days. But the day of the big ranch is over. As the land appreciates in value, the temptation to sell off small holdings will be too strong. And then the small holding can be cultivated to better advantage. I shall have an editorial on that some day.”
“The cost of maintaining a number of small holdings,” said Magnus, indifferently, “is, of course, greater than if they were all under one management.”
“That may be, that may be,” rejoined the other.
There was a long pause. Genslinger leaned back in his chair and rubbed a knee. Magnus, standing erect16 in front of the safe, waited for him to speak.
“This is an unfortunate business, Governor,” began the editor, “this misunderstanding between the ranchers and the Railroad. I wish it could be adjusted. HERE are two industries that MUST be in harmony with one another, or we all go to pot.”
“I should prefer not to be interviewed on the subject, Mr. Genslinger,” said Magnus.
“Oh, no, oh, no. Lord love you, Governor, I don't want to interview you. We all know how you stand.”
Again there was a long silence. Magnus wondered what this little man, usually so garrulous17, could want of him. At length, Genslinger began again. He did not look at Magnus, except at long intervals18.
“About the present Railroad Commission,” he remarked. “That was an interesting campaign you conducted in Sacramento and San Francisco.”
Magnus held his peace, his hands shut tight. Did Genslinger know of Lyman's disgrace? Was it for this he had come? Would the story of it be the leading article in to-morrow's Mercury?
“An interesting campaign,” repeated Genslinger, slowly; “a very interesting campaign. I watched it with every degree of interest. I saw its every phase, Mr. Derrick.”
“The campaign was not without its interest,” admitted Magnus.
“Yes,” said Genslinger, still more deliberately19, “and some phases of it were—more interesting than others, as, for instance, let us say the way in which you—personally—secured the votes of certain chairmen of delegations—NEED I particularise further? Yes, those men—the way you got their votes. Now, THAT I should say, Mr. Derrick, was the most interesting move in the whole game—to you. Hm, curious,” he murmured, musingly21. “Let's see. You deposited two one-thousand dollar bills and four five-hundred dollar bills in a box—three hundred and eight was the number—in a box in the Safety Deposit Vaults22 in San Francisco, and then—let's see, you gave a key to this box to each of the gentlemen in question, and after the election the box was empty. Now, I call that interesting—curious, because it's a new, safe, and highly ingenious method of bribery23. How did you happen to think of it, Governor?”
“Do you know what you are doing, sir?” Magnus burst forth25. “Do you know what you are insinuating26, here, in my own house?”
“Why, Governor,” returned the editor, blandly27, “I'm not INSINUATING anything. I'm talking about what I KNOW.”
“It's a lie.”
Genslinger rubbed his chin reflectively.
“Well,” he answered, “you can have a chance to prove it before the Grand Jury, if you want to.”
“My character is known all over the State,” blustered29 Magnus. “My politics are pure politics. My——”
“No one needs a better reputation for pure politics than the man who sets out to be a briber24,” interrupted Genslinger, “and I might as well tell you, Governor, that you can't shout me down. I can put my hand on the two chairmen you bought before it's dark to-day. I've had their depositions30 in my safe for the last six weeks. We could make the arrests to-morrow, if we wanted. Governor, you sure did a risky31 thing when you went into that Sacramento fight, an awful risky thing. Some men can afford to have bribery charges preferred against them, and it don't hurt one little bit, but YOU—Lord, it would BUST32 you, Governor, bust you dead. I know all about the whole shananigan business from A to Z, and if you don't believe it—here,” he drew a long strip of paper from his pocket, “here's a galley33 proof of the story.”
Magnus took it in his hands. There, under his eyes, scare-headed, double-leaded, the more important clauses printed in bold type, was the detailed34 account of the “deal” Magnus had made with the two delegates. It was pitiless, remorseless, bald. Every statement was substantiated36, every statistic37 verified with Genslinger's meticulous38 love for exactness. Besides all that, it had the ring of truth. It was exposure, ruin, absolute annihilation.
“That's about correct, isn't it?” commented Genslinger, as Derrick finished reading. Magnus did not reply. “I think it is correct enough,” the editor continued. “But I thought it would only be fair to you to let you see it before it was published.”
The one thought uppermost in Derrick's mind, his one impulse of the moment was, at whatever cost, to preserve his dignity, not to allow this man to exult39 in the sight of one quiver of weakness, one trace of defeat, one suggestion of humiliation40. By an effort that put all his iron rigidity41 to the test, he forced himself to look straight into Genslinger's eyes.
“I congratulate you,” he observed, handing back the proof, “upon your journalistic enterprise. Your paper will sell to-morrow.” “Oh, I don't know as I want to publish this story,” remarked the editor, indifferently, putting away the galley. “I'm just like that. The fun for me is running a good story to earth, but once I've got it, I lose interest. And, then, I wouldn't like to see you—holding the position you do, President of the League and a leading man of the county—I wouldn't like to see a story like this smash you over. It's worth more to you to keep it out of print than for me to put it in. I've got nothing much to gain but a few extra editions, but you—Lord, you would lose everything. Your committee was in the deal right enough. But your League, all the San Joaquin Valley, everybody in the State believes the commissioners44 were fairly elected.”
“Your story,” suddenly exclaimed Magnus, struck with an idea, “will be thoroughly45 discredited46 just so soon as the new grain tariff47 is published. I have means of knowing that the San Joaquin rate—the issue upon which the board was elected—is not to be touched. Is it likely the ranchers would secure the election of a board that plays them false?”
“Oh, we know all about that,” answered Genslinger, smiling. “You thought you were electing Lyman easily. You thought you had got the Railroad to walk right into your trap. You didn't understand how you could pull off your deal so easily. Why, Governor, LYMAN WAS PLEDGED TO THE RAILROAD TWO YEARS AGO. He was THE ONE PARTICULAR man the corporation wanted for commissioner43. And your people elected him—saved the Railroad all the trouble of campaigning for him. And you can't make any counter charge of bribery there. No, sir, the corporation don't use such amateurish49 methods as that. Confidentially50 and between us two, all that the Railroad has done for Lyman, in order to attach him to their interests, is to promise to back him politically in the next campaign for Governor. It's too bad,” he continued, dropping his voice, and changing his position. “It really is too bad to see good men trying to bunt a stone wall over with their bare heads. You couldn't have won at any stage of the game. I wish I could have talked to you and your friends before you went into that Sacramento fight. I could have told you then how little chance you had. When will you people realise that you can't buck13 against the Railroad? Why, Magnus, it's like me going out in a paper boat and shooting peas at a battleship.”
“Is that all you wished to see me about, Mr. Genslinger?” remarked Magnus, bestirring himself. “I am rather occupied to-day.” “Well,” returned the other, “you know what the publication of this article would mean for you.” He paused again, took off his glasses, breathed on them, polished the lenses with his handkerchief and readjusted them on his nose. “I've been thinking, Governor,” he began again, with renewed alertness, and quite irrelevantly52, “of enlarging the scope of the 'Mercury.' You see, I'm midway between the two big centres of the State, San Francisco and Los Angeles, and I want to extend the 'Mercury's' sphere of influence as far up and down the valley as I can. I want to illustrate6 the paper. You see, if I had a photo-engraving plant of my own, I could do a good deal of outside jobbing as well, and the investment would pay ten per cent. But it takes money to make money. I wouldn't want to put in any dinky, one-horse affair. I want a good plant. I've been figuring out the business. Besides the plant, there would be the expense of a high grade paper. Can't print half-tones on anything but coated paper, and that COSTS. Well, what with this and with that and running expenses till the thing began to pay, it would cost me about ten thousand dollars, and I was wondering if, perhaps, you couldn't see your way clear to accommodating me.”
“Ten thousand?”
“Yes. Say five thousand down, and the balance within sixty days.”
Magnus, for the moment blind to what Genslinger had in mind, turned on him in astonishment53.
“Why, man, what security could you give me for such an amount?”
“Well, to tell the truth,” answered the editor, “I hadn't thought much about securities. In fact, I believed you would see how greatly it was to your advantage to talk business with me. You see, I'm not going to print this article about you, Governor, and I'm not going to let it get out so as any one else can print it, and it seems to me that one good turn deserves another. You understand?”
Magnus understood. An overwhelming desire suddenly took possession of him to grip this blackmailer54 by the throat, to strangle him where he stood; or, if not, at least to turn upon him with that old-time terrible anger, before which whole conventions had once cowered55. But in the same moment the Governor realised this was not to be. Only its righteousness had made his wrath56 terrible; only the justice of his anger had made him feared. Now the foundation was gone from under his feet; he had knocked it away himself. Three times feeble was he whose quarrel was unjust. Before this country editor, this paid speaker of the Railroad, he stood, convicted. The man had him at his mercy. The detected briber could not resent an insult. Genslinger rose, smoothing his hat.
“Well,” he said, “of course, you want time to think it over, and you can't raise money like that on short notice. I'll wait till Friday noon of this week. We begin to set Saturday's paper at about four, Friday afternoon, and the forms are locked about two in the morning. I hope,” he added, turning back at the door of the room, “that you won't find anything disagreeable in your Saturday morning 'Mercury,' Mr. Derrick.”
He went out, closing the door behind him, and in a moment, Magnus heard the wheels of his buckboard grating on the driveway.
The following morning brought a letter to Magnus from Gethings, of the San Pueblo57 ranch, which was situated58 very close to Visalia. The letter was to the effect that all around Visalia, upon the ranches59 affected60 by the regrade of the Railroad, men were arming and drilling, and that the strength of the League in that quarter was undoubted. “But to refer,” continued the letter, “to a most painful recollection. You will, no doubt, remember that, at the close of our last committee meeting, specific charges were made as to fraud in the nomination61 and election of one of our commissioners, emanating62, most unfortunately, from the commissioner himself. These charges, my dear Mr. Derrick, were directed at yourself. How the secrets of the committee have been noised about, I cannot understand. You may be, of course, assured of my own unquestioning confidence and loyalty63. However, I regret exceedingly to state not only that the rumour64 of the charges referred to above is spreading in this district, but that also they are made use of by the enemies of the League. It is to be deplored65 that some of the Leaguers themselves—you know, we number in our ranks many small farmers, ignorant Portuguese66 and foreigners—have listened to these stories and have permitted a feeling of uneasiness to develop among them. Even though it were admitted that fraudulent means had been employed in the elections, which, of course, I personally do not admit, I do not think it would make very much difference in the confidence which the vast majority of the Leaguers repose67 in their chiefs. Yet we have so insisted upon the probity68 of our position as opposed to Railroad chicanery69, that I believe it advisable to quell70 this distant suspicion at once; to publish a denial of these rumoured71 charges would only be to give them too much importance. However, can you not write me a letter, stating exactly how the campaign was conducted, and the commission nominated and elected? I could show this to some of the more disaffected72, and it would serve to allay73 all suspicion on the instant. I think it would be well to write as though the initiative came, not from me, but from yourself, ignoring this present letter. I offer this only as a suggestion, and will confidently endorse74 any decision you may arrive at.”
The letter closed with renewed protestations of confidence.
Magnus was alone when he read this. He put it carefully away in the filing cabinet in his office, and wiped the sweat from his forehead and face. He stood for one moment, his hands rigid42 at his sides, his fists clinched75.
“This is piling up,” he muttered, looking blankly at the opposite wall. “My God, this is piling up. What am I to do?”
Ah, the bitterness of unavailing regret, the anguish76 of compromise with conscience, the remorse35 of a bad deed done in a moment of excitement. Ah, the humiliation of detection, the degradation77 of being caught, caught like a schoolboy pilfering78 his fellows' desks, and, worse than all, worse than all, the consciousness of lost self-respect, the knowledge of a prestige vanishing, a dignity impaired79, knowledge that the grip which held a multitude in check was trembling, that control was wavering, that command was being weakened. Then the little tricks to deceive the crowd, the little subterfuges80, the little pretences81 that kept up appearances, the lies, the bluster28, the pose, the strut82, the gasconade, where once was iron authority; the turning of the head so as not to see that which could not be prevented; the suspicion of suspicion, the haunting fear of the Man on the Street, the uneasiness of the direct glance, the questioning as to motives—why had this been said, what was meant by that word, that gesture, that glance?
Wednesday passed, and Thursday. Magnus kept to himself, seeing no visitors, avoiding even his family. How to break through the mesh83 of the net, how to regain84 the old position, how to prevent discovery? If there were only some way, some vast, superhuman effort by which he could rise in his old strength once more, crushing Lyman with one hand, Genslinger with the other, and for one more moment, the last, to stand supreme85 again, indomitable, the leader; then go to his death, triumphant86 at the end, his memory untarnished, his fame undimmed. But the plague-spot was in himself, knitted forever into the fabric87 of his being. Though Genslinger should be silenced, though Lyman should be crushed, though even the League should overcome the Railroad, though he should be the acknowledged leader of a resplendent victory, yet the plague-spot would remain. There was no success for him now. However conspicuous88 the outward achievement, he, he himself, Magnus Derrick, had failed, miserably89 and irredeemably.
Petty, material complications intruded90, sordid91 considerations. Even if Genslinger was to be paid, where was the money to come from? His legal battles with the Railroad, extending now over a period of many years, had cost him dear; his plan of sowing all of Los Muertos to wheat, discharging the tenants, had proved expensive, the campaign resulting in Lyman's election had drawn92 heavily upon his account. All along he had been relying upon a “bonanza93 crop” to reimburse94 him. It was not believable that the Railroad would “jump” Los Muertos, but if this should happen, he would be left without resources. Ten thousand dollars! Could he raise the amount? Possibly. But to pay it out to a blackmailer! To be held up thus in road-agent fashion, without a single means of redress95! Would it not cripple him financially? Genslinger could do his worst. He, Magnus, would brave it out. Was not his character above suspicion?
Was it? This letter of Gethings's. Already the murmur20 of uneasiness made itself heard. Was this not the thin edge of the wedge? How the publication of Genslinger's story would drive it home! How the spark of suspicion would flare96 into the blaze of open accusation97! There would be investigations98. Investigation99! There was terror in the word. He could not stand investigation. Magnus groaned100 aloud, covering his head with his clasped hands. Briber, corrupter101 of government, ballot-box stuffer, descending102 to the level of back-room politicians, of bar-room heelers, he, Magnus Derrick, statesman of the old school, Roman in his iron integrity, abandoning a career rather than enter the “new politics,” had, in one moment of weakness, hazarding all, even honour, on a single stake, taking great chances to achieve great results, swept away the work of a lifetime.
Gambler that he was, he had at last chanced his highest stake, his personal honour, in the greatest game of his life, and had lost.
It was Presley's morbidly103 keen observation that first noticed the evidence of a new trouble in the Governor's face and manner. Presley was sure that Lyman's defection had not so upset him. The morning after the committee meeting, Magnus had called Harran and Annie Derrick into the office, and, after telling his wife of Lyman's betrayal, had forbidden either of them to mention his name again. His attitude towards his prodigal104 son was that of stern, unrelenting resentment105. But now, Presley could not fail to detect traces of a more deep-seated travail106. Something was in the wind, the times were troublous. What next was about to happen? What fresh calamity107 impended108?
One morning, toward the very end of the week, Presley woke early in his small, white-painted iron bed. He hastened to get up and dress. There was much to be done that day. Until late the night before, he had been at work on a collection of some of his verses, gathered from the magazines in which they had first appeared. Presley had received a liberal offer for the publication of these verses in book form. “The Toilers” was to be included in this book, and, indeed, was to give it its name—“The Toilers and Other Poems.” Thus it was that, until the previous midnight, he had been preparing the collection for publication, revising, annotating109, arranging. The book was to be sent off that morning.
But also Presley had received a typewritten note from Annixter, inviting110 him to Quien Sabe that same day. Annixter explained that it was Hilma's birthday, and that he had planned a picnic on the high ground of his ranch, at the headwaters of Broderson Creek111. They were to go in the carry-all, Hilma, Presley, Mrs. Dyke112, Sidney, and himself, and were to make a day of it. They would leave Quien Sabe at ten in the morning. Presley had at once resolved to go. He was immensely fond of Annixter—more so than ever since his marriage with Hilma and the astonishing transformation113 of his character. Hilma, as well, was delightful114 as Mrs. Annixter; and Mrs. Dyke and the little tad had always been his friends. He would have a good time.
But nobody was to go into Bonneville that morning with the mail, and if he wished to send his manuscript, he would have to take it in himself. He had resolved to do this, getting an early start, and going on horseback to Quien Sabe, by way of Bonneville.
It was barely six o'clock when Presley sat down to his coffee and eggs in the dining-room of Los Muertos. The day promised to be hot, and for the first time, Presley had put on a new khaki riding suit, very English-looking, though in place of the regulation top-boots, he wore his laced knee-boots, with a great spur on the left heel. Harran joined him at breakfast, in his working clothes of blue canvas. He was bound for the irrigating115 ditch to see how the work was getting on there.
“How is the wheat looking?” asked Presley.
“Bully,” answered the other, stirring his coffee. “The Governor has had his usual luck. Practically, every acre of the ranch was sown to wheat, and everywhere the stand is good. I was over on Two, day before yesterday, and if nothing happens, I believe it will go thirty sacks to the acre there. Cutter reports that there are spots on Four where we will get forty-two or three. Hooven, too, brought up some wonderful fine ears for me to look at. The grains were just beginning to show. Some of the ears carried twenty grains. That means nearly forty bushels of wheat to every acre. I call it a bonanza year.”
“Have you got any mail?” said Presley, rising. “I'm going into town.”
Harran shook his head, and took himself away, and Presley went down to the stable-corral to get his pony116.
As he rode out of the stable-yard and passed by the ranch house, on the driveway, he was surprised to see Magnus on the lowest step of the porch.
“Good morning, Governor,” called Presley. “Aren't you up pretty early?”
“Good morning, Pres, my boy.” The Governor came forward and, putting his hand on the pony's withers117, walked along by his side.
“Going to town, Pres?” he asked.
“Yes, sir. Can I do anything for you, Governor?”
Magnus drew a sealed envelope from his pocket.
“I wish you would drop in at the office of the Mercury for me,” he said, “and see Mr. Genslinger personally, and give him this envelope. It is a package of papers, but they involve a considerable sum of money, and you must be careful of them. A few years ago, when our enmity was not so strong, Mr. Genslinger and I had some business dealings with each other. I thought it as well just now, considering that we are so openly opposed, to terminate the whole affair, and break off relations. We came to a settlement a few days ago. These are the final papers. They must be given to him in person, Presley. You understand.”
Presley cantered on, turning into the county road and holding northward118 by the mammoth119 watering tank and Broderson's popular windbreak. As he passed Caraher's, he saw the saloon-keeper in the doorway120 of his place, and waved him a salutation which the other returned.
By degrees, Presley had come to consider Caraher in a more favourable121 light. He found, to his immense astonishment, that Caraher knew something of Mill and Bakounin, not, however, from their books, but from extracts and quotations122 from their writings, reprinted in the anarchistic123 journals to which he subscribed124. More than once, the two had held long conversations, and from Caraher's own lips, Presley heard the terrible story of the death of his wife, who had been accidentally killed by Pinkertons during a “demonstration” of strikers. It invested the saloon-keeper, in Presley's imagination, with all the dignity of the tragedy. He could not blame Caraher for being a “red.” He even wondered how it was the saloon-keeper had not put his theories into practice, and adjusted his ancient wrong with his “six inches of plugged gas-pipe.” Presley began to conceive of the man as a “character.”
“You wait, Mr. Presley,” the saloon-keeper had once said, when Presley had protested against his radical125 ideas. “You don't know the Railroad yet. Watch it and its doings long enough, and you'll come over to my way of thinking, too.”
It was about half-past seven when Presley reached Bonneville. The business part of the town was as yet hardly astir; he despatched his manuscript, and then hurried to the office of the “Mercury.” Genslinger, as he feared, had not yet put in appearance, but the janitor126 of the building gave Presley the address of the editor's residence, and it was there he found him in the act of sitting down to breakfast. Presley was hardly courteous127 to the little man, and abruptly129 refused his offer of a drink. He delivered Magnus's envelope to him and departed.
It had occurred to him that it would not do to present himself at Quien Sabe on Hilma's birthday, empty-handed, and, on leaving Genslinger's house, he turned his pony's head toward the business part of the town again pulling up in front of the jeweller's, just as the clerk was taking down the shutters130.
At the jeweller's, he purchased a little brooch for Hilma and at the cigar stand in the lobby of the Yosemite House, a box of superfine cigars, which, when it was too late, he realised that the master of Quien Sabe would never smoke, holding, as he did, with defiant131 inconsistency, to miserable132 weeds, black, bitter, and flagrantly doctored, which he bought, three for a nickel, at Guadalajara.
Presley arrived at Quien Sabe nearly half an hour behind the appointed time; but, as he had expected, the party were in no way ready to start. The carry-all, its horses covered with white fly-nets, stood under a tree near the house, young Vacca dozing133 on the seat. Hilma and Sidney, the latter exuberant134 with a gayety that all but brought the tears to Presley's eyes, were making sandwiches on the back porch. Mrs. Dyke was nowhere to be seen, and Annixter was shaving himself in his bedroom.
This latter put a half-lathered135 face out of the window as Presley cantered through the gate, and waved his razor with a beckoning137 motion.
“Come on in, Pres,” he cried. “Nobody's ready yet. You're hours ahead of time.”
Presley came into the bedroom, his huge spur clinking on the straw matting. Annixter was without coat, vest or collar, his blue silk suspenders hung in loops over either hip51, his hair was disordered, the crown lock stiffer than ever.
“Glad to see you, old boy,” he announced, as Presley came in. “No, don't shake hands, I'm all lather136. Here, find a chair, will you? I won't be long.”
“I thought you said ten o'clock,” observed Presley, sitting down on the edge of the bed.
“Well, I did, but——”
“But, then again, in a way, you didn't, hey?” his friend interrupted.
Annixter grunted138 good-humouredly, and turned to strop his razor. Presley looked with suspicious disfavour at his suspenders.
“Why is it,” he observed, “that as soon as a man is about to get married, he buys himself pale blue suspenders, silk ones? Think of it. You, Buck Annixter, with sky-blue, silk suspenders. It ought to be a strap139 and a nail.”
“Old fool,” observed Annixter, whose repartee140 was the heaving of brick bats. “Say,” he continued, holding the razor from his face, and jerking his head over his shoulder, while he looked at Presley's reflection in his mirror; “say, look around. Isn't this a nifty little room? We refitted the whole house, you know. Notice she's all painted?”
“I have been looking around,” answered Presley, sweeping141 the room with a series of glances. He forebore criticism. Annixter was so boyishly proud of the effect that it would have been unkind to have undeceived him. Presley looked at the marvellous, department-store bed of brass142, with its brave, gay canopy143; the mill-made wash-stand, with its pitcher144 and bowl of blinding red and green china, the straw-framed lithographs145 of symbolic146 female figures against the multi-coloured, new wall-paper; the inadequate147 spindle chairs of white and gold; the sphere of tissue paper hanging from the gas fixture148, and the plumes149 of pampas grass tacked150 to the wall at artistic151 angles, and overhanging two astonishing oil paintings, in dazzling golden frames.
“Say, how about those paintings, Pres?” inquired Annixter a little uneasily. “I don't know whether they're good or not. They were painted by a three-fingered Chinaman in Monterey, and I got the lot for thirty dollars, frames thrown in. Why, I think the frames alone are worth thirty dollars.”
“Well, so do I,” declared Presley. He hastened to change the subject.
“Buck,” he said, “I hear you've brought Mrs. Dyke and Sidney to live with you. You know, I think that's rather white of you.”
“Oh, rot, Pres,” muttered Annixter, turning abruptly to his shaving.
“And you can't fool me, either, old man,” Presley continued. “You're giving this picnic as much for Mrs. Dyke and the little tad as you are for your wife, just to cheer them up a bit.”
“Oh, pshaw, you make me sick.”
“Well, that's the right thing to do, Buck, and I'm as glad for your sake as I am for theirs. There was a time when you would have let them all go to grass, and never so much as thought of them. I don't want to seem to be officious, but you've changed for the better, old man, and I guess I know why. She—” Presley caught his friend's eye, and added gravely, “She's a good woman, Buck.”
Annixter turned around abruptly, his face flushing under its lather.
“Pres,” he exclaimed, “she's made a man of me. I was a machine before, and if another man, or woman, or child got in my way, I rode 'em down, and I never DREAMED of anybody else but myself. But as soon as I woke up to the fact that I really loved her, why, it was glory hallelujah all in a minute, and, in a way, I kind of loved everybody then, and wanted to be everybody's friend. And I began to see that a fellow can't live FOR himself any more than he can live BY himself. He's got to think of others. If he's got brains, he's got to think for the poor ducks that haven't 'em, and not give 'em a boot in the backsides because they happen to be stupid; and if he's got money, he's got to help those that are busted152, and if he's got a house, he's got to think of those that ain't got anywhere to go. I've got a whole lot of ideas since I began to love Hilma, and just as soon as I can, I'm going to get in and HELP people, and I'm going to keep to that idea the rest of my natural life. That ain't much of a religion, but it's the best I've got, and Henry Ward1 Beecher couldn't do any more than that. And it's all come about because of Hilma, and because we cared for each other.”
Presley jumped up, and caught Annixter about the shoulders with one arm, gripping his hand hard. This absurd figure, with dangling153 silk suspenders, lathered chin, and tearful eyes, seemed to be suddenly invested with true nobility. Beside this blundering struggle to do right, to help his fellows, Presley's own vague schemes, glittering systems of reconstruction154, collapsed155 to ruin, and he himself, with all his refinement157, with all his poetry, culture, and education, stood, a bungler158 at the world's workbench.
“You're all RIGHT, old man,” he exclaimed, unable to think of anything adequate. “You're all right. That's the way to talk, and here, by the way, I brought you a box of cigars.”
Annixter stared as Presley laid the box on the edge of the washstand.
“Old fool,” he remarked, “what in hell did you do that for?”
“Oh, just for fun.”
“I suppose they're rotten stinkodoras, or you wouldn't give 'em away.”
“This cringing159 gratitude—” Presley began.
“Shut up,” shouted Annixter, and the incident was closed.
Annixter resumed his shaving, and Presley lit a cigarette.
“Any news from Washington?” he queried160.
“Nothing that's any good,” grunted Annixter. “Hello,” he added, raising his head, “there's somebody in a hurry for sure.”
The noise of a horse galloping162 so fast that the hoof-beats sounded in one uninterrupted rattle163, abruptly made itself heard. The noise was coming from the direction of the road that led from the Mission to Quien Sabe. With incredible swiftness, the hoof-beats drew nearer. There was that in their sound which brought Presley to his feet. Annixter threw open the window.
“Runaway164,” exclaimed Presley.
Annixter, with thoughts of the Railroad, and the “Jumping” of the ranch, flung his hand to his hip pocket.
“What is it, Vacca?” he cried.
Young Vacca, turning in his seat in the carryall, was looking up the road. All at once, he jumped from his place, and dashed towards the window. “Dyke,” he shouted. “Dyke, it's Dyke.”
While the words were yet in his mouth, the sound of the hoof-beats rose to a roar, and a great, bell-toned voice shouted:
“Annixter, Annixter, Annixter!”
It was Dyke's voice, and the next instant he shot into view in the open square in front of the house.
“Oh, my God!” cried Presley.
The ex-engineer threw the horse on its haunches, springing from the saddle; and, as he did so, the beast collapsed, shuddering165, to the ground. Annixter sprang from the window, and ran forward, Presley following.
There was Dyke, hatless, his pistol in his hand, a gaunt terrible figure the beard immeasurably long, the cheeks fallen in, the eyes sunken. His clothes ripped and torn by weeks of flight and hiding in the chaparral, were ragged167 beyond words, the boots were shreds168 of leather, bloody169 to the ankle with furious spurring.
“Annixter,” he shouted, and again, rolling his sunken eyes, “Annixter, Annixter!”
“Here, here,” cried Annixter.
The other turned, levelling his pistol.
“Give me a horse, give me a horse, quick, do you hear? Give me a horse, or I'll shoot.”
“Steady, steady. That won't do. You know me, Dyke. We're friends here.”
The other lowered his weapon.
“I know, I know,” he panted. “I'd forgotten. I'm unstrung, Mr. Annixter, and I'm running for my life. They're not ten minutes behind me.”
“Come on, come on,” shouted Annixter, dashing stablewards, his suspenders flying.
“Here's a horse.”
“Mine?” exclaimed Presley. “He wouldn't carry you a mile.”
Annixter was already far ahead, trumpeting170 orders.
“The buckskin,” he yelled. “Get her out, Billy. Where's the stable-man? Get out that buckskin. Get out that saddle.”
Then followed minutes of furious haste, Presley, Annixter, Billy the stable-man, and Dyke himself, darting171 hither and thither172 about the yellow mare173, buckling174, strapping175, cinching, their lips pale, their fingers trembling with excitement.
“Want anything to eat?” Annixter's head was under the saddle flap as he tore at the cinch. “Want anything to eat? Want any money? Want a gun?”
“Water,” returned Dyke. “They've watched every spring. I'm killed with thirst.”
“There's the hydrant. Quick now.”
“I got as far as the Kern River, but they turned me back,” he said between breaths as he drank.
“Don't stop to talk.”
“My mother, and the little tad——”
“I'm taking care of them. They're stopping with me.”
Here?
“You won't see 'em; by the Lord, you won't. You'll get away. Where's that back cinch strap, BILLY? God damn it, are you going to let him be shot before he can get away? Now, Dyke, up you go. She'll kill herself running before they can catch you.”
“God bless you, Annixter. Where's the little tad? Is she well, Annixter, and the mother? Tell them——”
“Yes, yes, yes. All clear, Pres? Let her have her own gait, Dyke. You're on the best horse in the county now. Let go her head, Billy. Now, Dyke,—shake hands? You bet I will. That's all right. Yes, God bless you. Let her go. You're OFF.”
Answering the goad176 of the spur, and already quivering with the excitement of the men who surrounded her, the buckskin cleared the stable-corral in two leaps; then, gathering177 her legs under her, her head low, her neck stretched out, swung into the road from out the driveway disappearing in a blur178 of dust.
With the agility179 of a monkey, young Vacca swung himself into the framework of the artesian well, clambering aloft to its very top. He swept the country with a glance.
“Well?” demanded Annixter from the ground. The others cocked their heads to listen.
“I see him; I see him!” shouted Vacca. “He's going like the devil. He's headed for Guadalajara.”
“Look back, up the road, toward the Mission. Anything there?”
The answer came down in a shout of apprehension180.
“There's a party of men. Three or four—on horse-back. There's dogs with 'em. They're coming this way. Oh, I can hear the dogs. And, say, oh, say, there's another party coming down the Lower Road, going towards Guadalajara, too. They got guns. I can see the shine of the barrels. And, oh, Lord, say, there's three more men on horses coming down on the jump from the hills on the Los Muertos stock range. They're making towards Guadalajara. And I can hear the courthouse bell in Bonneville ringing. Say, the whole county is up.”
As young Vacca slid down to the ground, two small black-and-tan hounds, with flapping ears and lolling tongues, loped into view on the road in front of the house. They were grey with dust, their noses were to the ground. At the gate where Dyke had turned into the ranch house grounds, they halted in confusion a moment. One started to follow the highwayman's trail towards the stable corral, but the other, quartering over the road with lightning swiftness, suddenly picked up the new scent181 leading on towards Guadalajara. He tossed his head in the air, and Presley abruptly shut his hands over his ears.
Ah, that terrible cry! deep-toned, reverberating182 like the bourdon of a great bell. It was the trackers exulting183 on the trail of the pursued, the prolonged, raucous184 howl, eager, ominous185, vibrating with the alarm of the tocsin, sullen186 with the heavy muffling187 note of death. But close upon the bay of the hounds, came the gallop161 of horses. Five men, their eyes upon the hounds, their rifles across their pommels, their horses reeking188 and black with sweat, swept by in a storm of dust, glinting hoofs189, and streaming manes.
“That was Delaney's gang,” exclaimed Annixter. “I saw him.”
“The other was that chap Christian190,” said Vacca, “S. Behrman's cousin. He had two deputies with him; and the chap in the white slouch hat was the sheriff from Visalia.”
“By the Lord, they aren't far behind,” declared Annixter.
As the men turned towards the house again they saw Hilma and Mrs. Dyke in the doorway of the little house where the latter lived. They were looking out, bewildered, ignorant of what had happened. But on the porch of the Ranch house itself, alone, forgotten in the excitement, Sidney—the little tad—stood, with pale face and serious, wide-open eyes. She had seen everything, and had understood. She said nothing. Her head inclined towards the roadway, she listened to the faint and distant baying of the dogs.
Dyke thundered across the railway tracks by the depot191 at Guadalajara not five minutes ahead of his pursuers. Luck seemed to have deserted192 him. The station, usually so quiet, was now occupied by the crew of a freight train that lay on the down track; while on the up line, near at hand and headed in the same direction, was a detached locomotive, whose engineer and fireman recognized him, he was sure, as the buckskin leaped across the rails.
He had had no time to formulate193 a plan since that morning, when, tortured with thirst, he had ventured near the spring at the headwaters of Broderson Creek, on Quien Sabe, and had all but fallen into the hands of the posse that had been watching for that very move. It was useless now to regret that he had tried to foil pursuit by turning back on his tracks to regain the mountains east of Bonneville. Now Delaney was almost on him. To distance that posse, was the only thing to be thought of now. It was no longer a question of hiding till pursuit should flag; they had driven him out from the shelter of the mountains, down into this populous194 countryside, where an enemy might be met with at every turn of the road. Now it was life or death. He would either escape or be killed. He knew very well that he would never allow himself to be taken alive. But he had no mind to be killed—to turn and fight—till escape was blocked. His one thought was to leave pursuit behind.
Weeks of flight had sharpened Dyke's every sense. As he turned into the Upper Road beyond Guadalajara, he saw the three men galloping down from Derrick's stock range, making for the road ahead of him. They would cut him off there. He swung the buckskin about. He must take the Lower Road across Los Muertos from Guadalajara, and he must reach it before Delaney's dogs and posse. Back he galloped195, the buckskin measuring her length with every leap. Once more the station came in sight. Rising in his stirrups, he looked across the fields in the direction of the Lower Road. There was a cloud of dust there. From a wagon196? No, horses on the run, and their riders were armed! He could catch the flash of gun barrels. They were all closing in on him, converging197 on Guadalajara by every available road. The Upper Road west of Guadalajara led straight to Bonneville. That way was impossible. Was he in a trap? Had the time for fighting come at last?
But as Dyke neared the depot at Guadalajara, his eye fell upon the detached locomotive that lay quietly steaming on the up line, and with a thrill of exultation198, he remembered that he was an engineer born and bred. Delaney's dogs were already to be heard, and the roll of hoofs on the Lower Road was dinning199 in his ears, as he leaped from the buckskin before the depot. The train crew scattered200 like frightened sheep before him, but Dyke ignored them. His pistol was in his hand as, once more on foot, he sprang toward the lone3 engine.
“Out of the cab,” he shouted. “Both of you. Quick, or I'll kill you both.”
The two men tumbled from the iron apron202 of the tender as Dyke swung himself up, dropping his pistol on the floor of the cab and reaching with the old instinct for the familiar levers. The great compound hissed203 and trembled as the steam was released, and the huge drivers stirred, turning slowly on the tracks. But there was a shout. Delaney's posse, dogs and men, swung into view at the turn of the road, their figures leaning over as they took the curve at full speed. Dyke threw everything wide open and caught up his revolver. From behind came the challenge of a Winchester. The party on the Lower Road were even closer than Delaney. They had seen his manoeuvre204, and the first shot of the fight shivered the cab windows above the engineer's head.
But spinning futilely205 at first, the drivers of the engine at last caught the rails. The engine moved, advanced, travelled past the depot and the freight train, and gathering speed, rolled out on the track beyond. Smoke, black and boiling, shot skyward from the stack; not a joint206 that did not shudder166 with the mighty207 strain of the steam; but the great iron brute—one of Baldwin's newest and best—came to call, obedient and docile208 as soon as ever the great pulsing heart of it felt a master hand upon its levers. It gathered its speed, bracing209 its steel muscles, its thews of iron, and roared out upon the open track, filling the air with the rasp of its tempest-breath, blotting210 the sunshine with the belch211 of its hot, thick smoke. Already it was lessening212 in the distance, when Delaney, Christian, and the sheriff of Visalia dashed up to the station.
The posse had seen everything.
“Stuck. Curse the luck!” vociferated the cow-Puncher.
But the sheriff was already out of the saddle and into the telegraph office.
“There's a derailing switch between here and Pixley, isn't there?” he cried.
“Yes.”
“Wire ahead to open it. We'll derail him there. Come on;” he turned to Delaney and the others. They sprang into the cab of the locomotive that was attached to the freight train.
“Name of the State of California,” shouted the sheriff to the bewildered engineer. “Cut off from your train.”
The sheriff was a man to be obeyed without hesitating. Time was not allowed the crew of the freight train for debating as to the right or the wrong of requisitioning the engine, and before anyone thought of the safety or danger of the affair, the freight engine was already flying out upon the down line, hot in pursuit of Dyke, now far ahead upon the up track.
“I remember perfectly213 well there's a derailing switch between here and Pixley,” shouted the sheriff above the roar of the locomotive. “They use it in case they have to derail runaway engines. It runs right off into the country. We'll pile him up there. Ready with your guns, boys.”
“If we should meet another train coming up on this track——” protested the frightened engineer.
“Then we'd jump or be smashed. Hi! look! There he is.” As the freight engine rounded a curve, Dyke's engine came into view, shooting on some quarter of a mile ahead of them, wreathed in whirling smoke.
“The switch ain't much further on,” clamoured the engineer. “You can see Pixley now.”
Dyke, his hand on the grip of the valve that controlled the steam, his head out of the cab window, thundered on. He was back in his old place again; once more he was the engineer; once more he felt the engine quiver under him; the familiar noises were in his ears; the familiar buffeting214 of the wind surged, roaring at his face; the familiar odours of hot steam and smoke reeked215 in his nostrils216, and on either side of him, parallel panoramas217, the two halves of the landscape sliced, as it were, in two by the clashing wheels of his engine, streamed by in green and brown blurs218.
He found himself settling to the old position on the cab seat, leaning on his elbow from the window, one hand on the controller. All at once, the instinct of the pursuit that of late had become so strong within him, prompted him to shoot a glance behind. He saw the other engine on the down line, plunging219 after him, rocking from side to side with the fury of its gallop. Not yet had he shaken the trackers from his heels; not yet was he out of the reach of danger. He set his teeth and, throwing open the fire-door, stoked vigorously for a few moments. The indicator220 of the steam gauge221 rose; his speed increased; a glance at the telegraph poles told him he was doing his fifty miles an hour. The freight engine behind him was never built for that pace. Barring the terrible risk of accident, his chances were good.
But suddenly—the engineer dominating the highway-man—he shut off his steam and threw back his brake to the extreme notch222. Directly ahead of him rose a semaphore, placed at a point where evidently a derailing switch branched from the line. The semaphore's arm was dropped over the track, setting the danger signal that showed the switch was open.
In an instant, Dyke saw the trick. They had meant to smash him here; had been clever enough, quick-witted enough to open the switch, but had forgotten the automatic semaphore that worked simultaneously223 with the movement of the rails. To go forward was certain destruction. Dyke reversed. There was nothing for it but to go back. With a wrench224 and a spasm225 of all its metal fibres, the great compound braced226 itself, sliding with rigid wheels along the rails. Then, as Dyke applied227 the reverse, it drew back from the greater danger, returning towards the less. Inevitably228 now the two engines, one on the up, the other on the down line, must meet and pass each other.
Dyke released the levers, reaching for his revolver. The engineer once more became the highwayman, in peril229 of his life. Now, beyond all doubt, the time for fighting was at hand.
The party in the heavy freight engine, that lumbered230 after in pursuit, their eyes fixed231 on the smudge of smoke on ahead that marked the path of the fugitive232, suddenly raised a shout.
“He's stopped. He's broke down. Watch, now, and see if he jumps off.”
“Broke NOTHING. HE'S COMING BACK. Ready, now, he's got to pass us.”
The engineer applied the brakes, but the heavy freight locomotive, far less mobile than Dyke's flyer, was slow to obey. The smudge on the rails ahead grew swiftly larger.
“He's coming. He's coming—look out, there's a shot. He's shooting already.”
A bright, white sliver233 of wood leaped into the air from the sooty window sill of the cab.
“Fire on him! Fire on him!”
While the engines were yet two hundred yards apart, the duel234 began, shot answering shot, the sharp staccato reports punctuating235 the thunder of wheels and the clamour of steam.
Then the ground trembled and rocked; a roar as of heavy ordnance236 developed with the abruptness237 of an explosion. The two engines passed each other, the men firing the while, emptying their revolvers, shattering wood, shivering glass, the bullets clanging against the metal work as they struck and struck and struck. The men leaned from the cabs towards each other, frantic238 with excitement, shouting curses, the engines rocking, the steam roaring; confusion whirling in the scene like the whirl of a witch's dance, the white clouds of steam, the black eddies239 from the smokestack, the blue wreaths from the hot mouths of revolvers, swirling240 together in a blinding maze241 of vapour, spinning around them, dazing them, dizzying them, while the head rang with hideous242 clamour and the body twitched243 and trembled with the leap and jar of the tumult244 of machinery245.
Roaring, clamouring, reeking with the smell of powder and hot oil, spitting death, resistless, huge, furious, an abrupt128 vision of chaos246, faces, rage-distorted, peering through smoke, hands gripping outward from sudden darkness, prehensile247, malevolent248; terrible as thunder, swift as lightning, the two engines met and passed.
“He's hit,” cried Delaney. “I know I hit him. He can't go far now. After him again. He won't dare go through Bonneville.”
It was true. Dyke had stood between cab and tender throughout all the duel, exposed, reckless, thinking only of attack and not of defence, and a bullet from one of the pistols had grazed his hip. How serious was the wound he did not know, but he had no thought of giving up. He tore back through the depot at Guadalajara in a storm of bullets, and, clinging to the broken window ledge48 of his cab, was carried towards Bonneville, on over the Long Trestle and Broderson Creek and through the open country between the two ranches of Los Muertos and Quien Sabe.
But to go on to Bonneville meant certain death. Before, as well as behind him, the roads were now blocked. Once more he thought of the mountains. He resolved to abandon the engine and make another final attempt to get into the shelter of the hills in the northernmost corner of Quien Sabe. He set his teeth. He would not give in. There was one more fight left in him yet. Now to try the final hope.
He slowed the engine down, and, reloading his revolver, jumped from the platform to the road. He looked about him, listening. All around him widened an ocean of wheat. There was no one in sight.
The released engine, alone, unattended, drew slowly away from him, jolting249 ponderously250 over the rail joints251. As he watched it go, a certain indefinite sense of abandonment, even in that moment, came over Dyke. His last friend, that also had been his first, was leaving him. He remembered that day, long ago, when he had opened the throttle252 of his first machine. To-day, it was leaving him alone, his last friend turning against him. Slowly it was going back towards Bonneville, to the shops of the Railroad, the camp of the enemy, that enemy that had ruined him and wrecked253 him. For the last time in his life, he had been the engineer. Now, once more, he became the highwayman, the outlaw254 against whom all hands were raised, the fugitive skulking255 in the mountains, listening for the cry of dogs.
But he would not give in. They had not broken him yet. Never, while he could fight, would he allow S. Behrman the triumph of his capture.
He found his wound was not bad. He plunged256 into the wheat on Quien Sabe, making northward for a division house that rose with its surrounding trees out of the wheat like an island. He reached it, the blood squelching257 in his shoes. But the sight of two men, Portuguese farm-hands, staring at him from an angle of the barn, abruptly roused him to action. He sprang forward with peremptory258 commands, demanding a horse.
At Guadalajara, Delaney and the sheriff descended259 from the freight engine.
“Horses now,” declared the sheriff. “He won't go into Bonneville, that's certain. He'll leave the engine between here and there, and strike off into the country. We'll follow after him now in the saddle. Soon as he leaves his engine, HE'S on foot. We've as good as got him now.”
Their horses, including even the buckskin mare that Dyke had ridden, were still at the station. The party swung themselves up, Delaney exclaiming, “Here's MY mount,” as he bestrode the buckskin.
At Guadalajara, the two bloodhounds were picked up again. Urging the jaded260 horses to a gallop, the party set off along the Upper Road, keeping a sharp lookout261 to right and left for traces of Dyke's abandonment of the engine.
Three miles beyond the Long Trestle, they found S. Behrman holding his saddle horse by the bridle262, and looking attentively263 at a trail that had been broken through the standing wheat on Quien Sabe. The party drew rein264.
“The engine passed me on the tracks further up, and empty,” said S. Behrman. “Boys, I think he left her here.”
But before anyone could answer, the bloodhounds gave tongue again, as they picked up the scent.
“That's him,” cried S. Behrman. “Get on, boys.”
They dashed forward, following the hounds. S. Behrman laboriously265 climbed to his saddle, panting, perspiring266, mopping the roll of fat over his coat collar, and turned in after them, trotting267 along far in the rear, his great stomach and tremulous jowl shaking with the horse's gait.
“What a day,” he murmured. “What a day.”
Dyke's trail was fresh, and was followed as easily as if made on new-fallen snow. In a short time, the posse swept into the open space around the division house. The two Portuguese were still there, wide-eyed, terribly excited.
Yes, yes, Dyke had been there not half an hour since, had held them up, taken a horse and galloped to the northeast, towards the foothills at the headwaters of Broderson Creek.
On again, at full gallop, through the young wheat, trampling268 it under the flying hoofs; the hounds hot on the scent, baying continually; the men, on fresh mounts, secured at the division house, bending forward in their saddles, spurring relentlessly269. S. Behrman jolted270 along far in the rear.
And even then, harried271 through an open country, where there was no place to hide, it was a matter of amazement272 how long a chase the highwayman led them. Fences were passed; fences whose barbed wire had been slashed273 apart by the fugitive's knife. The ground rose under foot; the hills were at hand; still the pursuit held on. The sun, long past the meridian274, began to turn earthward. Would night come on before they were up with him?
“Look! Look! There he is! Quick, there he goes!”
High on the bare slope of the nearest hill, all the posse, looking in the direction of Delaney's gesture, saw the figure of a horseman emerge from an arroyo275, filled with chaparral, and struggle at a labouring gallop straight up the slope. Suddenly, every member of the party shouted aloud. The horse had fallen, pitching the rider from the saddle. The man rose to his feet, caught at the bridle, missed it and the horse dashed on alone. The man, pausing for a second looked around, saw the chase drawing nearer, then, turning back, disappeared in the chaparral. Delaney raised a great whoop276.
“We've got you now.” Into the slopes and valleys of the hills dashed the band of horsemen, the trail now so fresh that it could be easily discerned by all. On and on it led them, a furious, wild scramble277 straight up the slopes. The minutes went by. The dry bed of a rivulet278 was passed; then another fence; then a tangle279 of manzanita; a meadow of wild oats, full of agitated280 cattle; then an arroyo, thick with chaparral and scrub oaks, and then, without warning, the pistol shots ripped out and ran from rider to rider with the rapidity of a gatling discharge, and one of the deputies bent281 forward in the saddle, both hands to his face, the blood jetting from between his fingers.
Dyke was there, at bay at last, his back against a bank of rock, the roots of a fallen tree serving him as a rampart, his revolver smoking in his hand.
“You're under arrest, Dyke,” cried the sheriff. “It's not the least use to fight. The whole country is up.”
Dyke fired again, the shot splintering the foreleg of the horse the sheriff rode.
The posse, four men all told—the wounded deputy having crawled out of the fight after Dyke's first shot—fell back after the preliminary fusillade, dismounted, and took shelter behind rocks and trees. On that rugged282 ground, fighting from the saddle was impracticable. Dyke, in the meanwhile, held his fire, for he knew that, once his pistol was empty, he would never be allowed time to reload.
“Dyke,” called the sheriff again, “for the last time, I summon you to surrender.”
Dyke did not reply. The sheriff, Delaney, and the man named Christian conferred together in a low voice. Then Delaney and Christian left the others, making a wide detour283 up the sides of the arroyo, to gain a position to the left and somewhat to the rear of Dyke.
But it was at this moment that S. Behrman arrived. It could not be said whether it was courage or carelessness that brought the Railroad's agent within reach of Dyke's revolver. Possibly he was really a brave man; possibly occupied with keeping an uncertain seat upon the back of his labouring, scrambling284 horse, he had not noticed that he was so close upon that scene of battle. He certainly did not observe the posse lying upon the ground behind sheltering rocks and trees, and before anyone could call a warning, he had ridden out into the open, within thirty paces of Dyke's intrenchment.
Dyke saw. There was the arch-enemy; the man of all men whom he most hated; the man who had ruined him, who had exasperated285 him and driven him to crime, and who had instigated286 tireless pursuit through all those past terrible weeks. Suddenly, inviting death, he leaped up and forward; he had forgotten all else, all other considerations, at the sight of this man. He would die, gladly, so only that S. Behrman died before him.
“I've got YOU, anyway,” he shouted, as he ran forward.
The muzzle287 of the weapon was not ten feet from S. Behrman's huge stomach as Dyke drew the trigger. Had the cartridge288 exploded, death, certain and swift, would have followed, but at this, of all moments, the revolver missed fire.
S. Behrman, with an unexpected agility, leaped from the saddle, and, keeping his horse between him and Dyke, ran, dodging289 and ducking, from tree to tree. His first shot a failure, Dyke fired again and again at his enemy, emptying his revolver, reckless of consequences. His every shot went wild, and before he could draw his knife, the whole posse was upon him.
Without concerted plans, obeying no signal but the promptings of the impulse that snatched, unerring, at opportunity—the men, Delaney and Christian from one side, the sheriff and the deputy from the other, rushed in. They did not fire. It was Dyke alive they wanted. One of them had a riata snatched from a saddle-pommel, and with this they tried to bind290 him.
The fight was four to one—four men with law on their side, to one wounded freebooter, half-starved, exhausted291 by days and nights of pursuit, worn down with loss of sleep, thirst, privation, and the grinding, nerve-racking consciousness of an ever-present peril.
They swarmed292 upon him from all sides, gripping at his legs, at his arms, his throat, his head, striking, clutching, kicking, falling to the ground, rolling over and over, now under, now above, now staggering forward, now toppling back. Still Dyke fought. Through that scrambling, struggling group, through that maze of twisting bodies, twining arms, straining legs, S. Behrman saw him from moment to moment, his face flaming, his eyes bloodshot, his hair matted with sweat. Now he was down, pinned under, two men across his legs, and now half-way up again, struggling to one knee. Then upright again, with half his enemies hanging on his back. His colossal293 strength seemed doubled; when his arms were held, he fought bull-like with his head. A score of times, it seemed as if they were about to secure him finally and irrevocably, and then he would free an arm, a leg, a shoulder, and the group that, for the fraction of an instant, had settled, locked and rigid, on its prey294, would break up again as he flung a man from him, reeling and bloody, and he himself twisting, squirming, dodging, his great fists working like pistons295, backed away, dragging and carrying the others with him.
More than once, he loosened almost every grip, and for an instant stood nearly free, panting, rolling his eyes, his clothes torn from his body, bleeding, dripping with sweat, a terrible figure, nearly free. The sheriff, under his breath, uttered an exclamation:
“By God, he'll get away yet.”
S. Behrman watched the fight complacently296.
“That all may show obstinacy,” he commented, “but it don't show common sense.”
Yet, however Dyke might throw off the clutches and fettering297 embraces that encircled him, however he might disintegrate298 and scatter201 the band of foes299 that heaped themselves upon him, however he might gain one instant of comparative liberty, some one of his assailants always hung, doggedly300, blindly to an arm, a leg, or a foot, and the others, drawing a second's breath, closed in again, implacable, unconquerable, ferocious301, like hounds upon a wolf.
At length, two of the men managed to bring Dyke's wrists close enough together to allow the sheriff to snap the handcuffs on. Even then, Dyke, clasping his hands, and using the handcuffs themselves as a weapon, knocked down Delaney by the crushing impact of the steel bracelets302 upon the cow-puncher's forehead. But he could no longer protect himself from attacks from behind, and the riata was finally passed around his body, pinioning303 his arms to his sides. After this it was useless to resist.
The wounded deputy sat with his back to a rock, holding his broken jaw304 in both hands. The sheriff's horse, with its splintered foreleg, would have to be shot. Delaney's head was cut from temple to cheekbone. The right wrist of the sheriff was all but dislocated. The other deputy was so exhausted he had to be helped to his horse. But Dyke was taken.
He himself had suddenly lapsed156 into semi-unconsciousness, unable to walk. They sat him on the buckskin, S. Behrman supporting him, the sheriff, on foot, leading the horse by the bridle. The little procession formed, and descended from the hills, turning in the direction of Bonneville. A special train, one car and an engine, would be made up there, and the highwayman would sleep in the Visalia jail that night.
Delaney and S. Behrman found themselves in the rear of the cavalcade305 as it moved off. The cow-puncher turned to his chief:
“Well, captain,” he said, still panting, as he bound up his forehead; “well—we GOT him.”
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1
ward
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| n.守卫，监护，病房，行政区，由监护人或法院保护的人（尤指儿童）；vt.守护，躲开 | |
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ranch
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| n.大牧场，大农场 | |
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3
lone
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| adj.孤寂的，单独的；唯一的 | |
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4
tenants
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| n.房客( tenant的名词复数 )；佃户；占用者；占有者 | |
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5
supervision
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| n.监督，管理 | |
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6
illustrate
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| v.举例说明，阐明；图解，加插图 | |
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illustrated
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| adj. 有插图的，列举的 动词illustrate的过去式和过去分词 | |
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8
proficient
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| adj.熟练的，精通的；n.能手，专家 | |
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dummy
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| n.假的东西；(哄婴儿的)橡皮奶头 | |
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10
stimulated
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| a.刺激的 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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12
exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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13
buck
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| n.雄鹿，雄兔；v.马离地跳跃 | |
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14
underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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15
eucalyptus
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| n.桉树，桉属植物 | |
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16
erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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garrulous
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| adj.唠叨的，多话的 | |
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18
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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19
deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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20
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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21
musingly
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| adv.沉思地，冥想地 | |
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22
vaults
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| n.拱顶( vault的名词复数 )；地下室；撑物跳高；墓穴 | |
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23
bribery
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| n.贿络行为，行贿，受贿 | |
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24
briber
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| n.行贿者 | |
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25
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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26
insinuating
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| adj.曲意巴结的，暗示的v.暗示( insinuate的现在分词 )；巧妙或迂回地潜入；（使）缓慢进入；慢慢伸入 | |
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27
blandly
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| adv.温和地，殷勤地 | |
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28
bluster
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| v.猛刮；怒冲冲的说；n.吓唬，怒号；狂风声 | |
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29
blustered
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| v.外强中干的威吓( bluster的过去式和过去分词 )；咆哮；（风）呼啸；狂吹 | |
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30
depositions
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| 沉积（物）( deposition的名词复数 )； （在法庭上的）宣誓作证； 处置； 罢免 | |
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31
risky
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| adj.有风险的，冒险的 | |
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32
bust
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| vt.打破；vi.爆裂；n.半身像；胸部 | |
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33
galley
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| n.（飞机或船上的）厨房单层甲板大帆船；军舰舰长用的大划艇； | |
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34
detailed
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| adj.详细的，详尽的，极注意细节的，完全的 | |
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35
remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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36
substantiated
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| v.用事实支持（某主张、说法等），证明，证实( substantiate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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37
statistic
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| n.统计量；adj.统计的，统计学的 | |
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38
meticulous
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| adj.极其仔细的，一丝不苟的 | |
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39
exult
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| v.狂喜，欢腾；欢欣鼓舞 | |
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40
humiliation
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| n.羞辱 | |
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41
rigidity
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| adj.钢性，坚硬 | |
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42
rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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43
commissioner
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| n.（政府厅、局、处等部门）专员，长官，委员 | |
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44
commissioners
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| n.专员( commissioner的名词复数 )；长官；委员；政府部门的长官 | |
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45
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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46
discredited
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| 不足信的，不名誉的 | |
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47
tariff
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| n.关税，税率；(旅馆、饭店等)价目表，收费表 | |
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48
ledge
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| n.壁架，架状突出物；岩架，岩礁 | |
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49
amateurish
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| n.业余爱好的，不熟练的 | |
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50
confidentially
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| ad.秘密地，悄悄地 | |
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51
hip
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| n.臀部，髋；屋脊 | |
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52
irrelevantly
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| adv.不恰当地，不合适地；不相关地 | |
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53
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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54
blackmailer
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| 敲诈者，勒索者 | |
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55
cowered
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| v.畏缩，抖缩( cower的过去式 ) | |
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56
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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57
pueblo
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| n.（美国西南部或墨西哥等）印第安人的村庄 | |
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58
situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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59
ranches
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| 大农场， （兼种果树，养鸡等的）大牧场( ranch的名词复数 ) | |
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60
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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61
nomination
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| n.提名，任命，提名权 | |
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62
emanating
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| v.从…处传出，传出( emanate的现在分词 )；产生，表现，显示 | |
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63
loyalty
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| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
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64
rumour
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| n.谣言，谣传，传闻 | |
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65
deplored
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| v.悲叹，痛惜，强烈反对( deplore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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66
Portuguese
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| n.葡萄牙人；葡萄牙语 | |
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67
repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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68
probity
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| n.刚直；廉洁，正直 | |
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69
chicanery
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| n.欺诈，欺骗 | |
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70
quell
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| v.压制，平息，减轻 | |
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71
rumoured
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| adj.谣传的；传说的；风 | |
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72
disaffected
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| adj.（政治上）不满的，叛离的 | |
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73
allay
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| v.消除，减轻(恐惧、怀疑等) | |
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74
endorse
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| vt.(支票、汇票等)背书，背署；批注；同意 | |
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75
clinched
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| v.（尤指两人）互相紧紧抱[扭]住( clinch的过去式和过去分词 )；解决（争端、交易），达成（协议） | |
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76
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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77
degradation
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| n.降级；低落；退化；陵削；降解；衰变 | |
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78
pilfering
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| v.偷窃（小东西），小偷( pilfer的现在分词 )；偷窃（一般指小偷小摸） | |
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79
impaired
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| adj.受损的；出毛病的；有（身体或智力）缺陷的v.损害，削弱( impair的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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80
subterfuges
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| n.（用说谎或欺骗以逃脱责备、困难等的）花招，遁词( subterfuge的名词复数 ) | |
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81
pretences
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| n.假装( pretence的名词复数 )；作假；自命；自称 | |
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82
strut
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| v.肿胀，鼓起；大摇大摆地走；炫耀；支撑；撑开；n.高视阔步；支柱，撑杆 | |
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83
mesh
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| n.网孔，网丝，陷阱；vt.以网捕捉，啮合，匹配；vi.适合； [计算机]网络 | |
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84
regain
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| vt.重新获得，收复，恢复 | |
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85
supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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86
triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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87
fabric
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| n.织物，织品，布；构造，结构，组织 | |
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88
conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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89
miserably
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| adv.痛苦地；悲惨地；糟糕地；极度地 | |
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90
intruded
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| n.侵入的，推进的v.侵入，侵扰，打扰( intrude的过去式和过去分词 )；把…强加于 | |
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91
sordid
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| adj.肮脏的，不干净的，卑鄙的，暗淡的 | |
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92
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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93
bonanza
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| n.富矿带，幸运，带来好运的事 | |
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94
reimburse
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| v.补偿，付还 | |
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95
redress
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| n.赔偿，救济，矫正；v.纠正，匡正，革除 | |
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96
flare
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| v.闪耀，闪烁；n.潮红；突发 | |
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97
accusation
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| n.控告，指责，谴责 | |
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98
investigations
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| （正式的）调查( investigation的名词复数 )； 侦查； 科学研究； 学术研究 | |
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99
investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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100
groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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101
corrupter
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| 堕落的，道德败坏的； 贪污的，腐败的； 腐烂的； （文献等）错误百出的 | |
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102
descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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103
morbidly
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| adv.病态地 | |
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104
prodigal
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| adj.浪费的，挥霍的，放荡的 | |
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105
resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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106
travail
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| n.阵痛；努力 | |
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107
calamity
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| n.灾害，祸患，不幸事件 | |
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108
impended
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| v.进行威胁，即将发生( impend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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109
annotating
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| v.注解，注释( annotate的现在分词 ) | |
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110
inviting
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| adj.诱人的，引人注目的 | |
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111
creek
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| n.小溪，小河，小湾 | |
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112
dyke
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| n.堤，水坝，排水沟 | |
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113
transformation
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| n.变化；改造；转变 | |
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114
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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115
irrigating
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| 灌溉( irrigate的现在分词 )； 冲洗（伤口） | |
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116
pony
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| adj.小型的；n.小马 | |
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117
withers
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| 马肩隆 | |
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118
northward
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| adv.向北；n.北方的地区 | |
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119
mammoth
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| n.长毛象；adj.长毛象似的，巨大的 | |
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120
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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121
favourable
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| adj.赞成的，称赞的，有利的，良好的，顺利的 | |
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122
quotations
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| n.引用( quotation的名词复数 )；[商业]行情（报告）；（货物或股票的）市价；时价 | |
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123
anarchistic
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| 无政府主义的 | |
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124
subscribed
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| v.捐助( subscribe的过去式和过去分词 )；签署，题词；订阅；同意 | |
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125
radical
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| n.激进份子，原子团，根号；adj.根本的，激进的，彻底的 | |
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126
janitor
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| n.看门人，管门人 | |
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127
courteous
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| adj.彬彬有礼的，客气的 | |
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128
abrupt
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| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
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129
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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130
shutters
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| 百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 )； （照相机的）快门 | |
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131
defiant
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| adj.无礼的，挑战的 | |
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132
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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133
dozing
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| v.打瞌睡,假寐 n.瞌睡 | |
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134
exuberant
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| adj.充满活力的；（植物）繁茂的 | |
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135
lathered
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| v.（指肥皂）形成泡沫( lather的过去式和过去分词 )；用皂沫覆盖；狠狠地打 | |
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136
lather
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| n.(肥皂水的)泡沫，激动 | |
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137
beckoning
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| adj.引诱人的，令人心动的v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的现在分词 ) | |
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138
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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139
strap
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| n.皮带，带子；v.用带扣住，束牢；用绷带包扎 | |
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140
repartee
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| n.机敏的应答 | |
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141
sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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142
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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143
canopy
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| n.天篷，遮篷 | |
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144
pitcher
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| n.(有嘴和柄的)大水罐；(棒球)投手 | |
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145
lithographs
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| n.平版印刷品( lithograph的名词复数 ) | |
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146
symbolic
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| adj.象征性的，符号的，象征主义的 | |
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147
inadequate
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| adj.(for,to)不充足的，不适当的 | |
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148
fixture
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| n.固定设备；预定日期；比赛时间；定期存款 | |
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149
plumes
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| 羽毛( plume的名词复数 )； 羽毛饰； 羽毛状物； 升上空中的羽状物 | |
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150
tacked
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| 用平头钉钉( tack的过去式和过去分词 )； 附加，增补； 帆船抢风行驶，用粗线脚缝 | |
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151
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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152
busted
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| adj. 破产了的，失败了的，被降级的，被逮捕的，被抓到的 动词bust的过去式和过去分词 | |
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153
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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154
reconstruction
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| n.重建，再现，复原 | |
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155
collapsed
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| adj.倒塌的 | |
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156
lapsed
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| adj.流失的，堕落的v.退步( lapse的过去式和过去分词 )；陷入；倒退；丧失 | |
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157
refinement
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| n.文雅；高尚；精美；精制；精炼 | |
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158
Bungler
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| n.笨拙者，经验不够的人 | |
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159
cringing
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| adj.谄媚，奉承 | |
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160
queried
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| v.质疑，对…表示疑问( query的过去式和过去分词 )；询问 | |
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161
gallop
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| v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔；飞速发展 | |
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162
galloping
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| adj. 飞驰的, 急性的 动词gallop的现在分词形式 | |
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163
rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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164
runaway
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| n.逃走的人，逃亡，亡命者；adj.逃亡的，逃走的 | |
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165
shuddering
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| v.战栗( shudder的现在分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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166
shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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167
ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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168
shreds
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| v.撕碎，切碎( shred的第三人称单数 )；用撕毁机撕毁（文件） | |
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169
bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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170
trumpeting
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| 大声说出或宣告（trumpet的现在分词形式） | |
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171
darting
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的现在分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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172
thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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173
mare
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| n.母马，母驴 | |
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174
buckling
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| 扣住 | |
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175
strapping
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| adj. 魁伟的, 身材高大健壮的 n. 皮绳或皮带的材料, 裹伤胶带, 皮鞭 动词strap的现在分词形式 | |
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176
goad
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| n.刺棒，刺痛物；激励；vt.激励，刺激 | |
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177
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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178
blur
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| n.模糊不清的事物；vt.使模糊，使看不清楚 | |
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179
agility
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| n.敏捷，活泼 | |
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180
apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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181
scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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182
reverberating
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| 回响，回荡( reverberate的现在分词 )； 使反响，使回荡，使反射 | |
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183
exulting
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| vi. 欢欣鼓舞，狂喜 | |
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184
raucous
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| adj.(声音)沙哑的，粗糙的 | |
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185
ominous
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| adj.不祥的，不吉的，预兆的，预示的 | |
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186
sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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187
muffling
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| v.压抑，捂住( muffle的现在分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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188
reeking
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| v.发出浓烈的臭气( reek的现在分词 )；散发臭气；发出难闻的气味 (of sth)；明显带有（令人不快或生疑的跡象） | |
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189
hoofs
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| n.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的名词复数 )v.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的第三人称单数 ) | |
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190
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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191
depot
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| n.仓库，储藏处；公共汽车站；火车站 | |
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192
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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193
formulate
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| v.用公式表示；规划；设计；系统地阐述 | |
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194
populous
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| adj.人口稠密的，人口众多的 | |
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195
galloped
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| （使马）飞奔，奔驰( gallop的过去式和过去分词 )； 快速做[说]某事 | |
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196
wagon
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| n.四轮马车，手推车，面包车；无盖运货列车 | |
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197
converging
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| adj.收敛[缩]的，会聚的，趋同的v.（线条、运动的物体等）会于一点( converge的现在分词 )；（趋于）相似或相同；人或车辆汇集；聚集 | |
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198
exultation
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| n.狂喜，得意 | |
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199
dinning
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| vt.喧闹（din的现在分词形式） | |
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200
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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201
scatter
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| vt.撒，驱散，散开；散布/播；vi.分散，消散 | |
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202
apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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203
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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204
manoeuvre
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| n.策略，调动；v.用策略，调动 | |
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205
futilely
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| futile（无用的）的变形； 干 | |
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206
joint
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| adj.联合的，共同的；n.关节，接合处；v.连接，贴合 | |
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207
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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208
docile
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| adj.驯服的，易控制的，容易教的 | |
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209
bracing
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| adj.令人振奋的 | |
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210
blotting
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| 吸墨水纸 | |
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211
belch
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| v.打嗝，喷出 | |
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212
lessening
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| 减轻，减少，变小 | |
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213
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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214
buffeting
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| 振动 | |
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215
reeked
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| v.发出浓烈的臭气( reek的过去式和过去分词 )；散发臭气；发出难闻的气味 (of sth)；明显带有（令人不快或生疑的跡象） | |
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216
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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217
panoramas
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| 全景画( panorama的名词复数 )； 全景照片； 一连串景象或事 | |
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218
blurs
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| n.模糊( blur的名词复数 )；模糊之物；（移动的）模糊形状；模糊的记忆v.（使）变模糊( blur的第三人称单数 )；（使）难以区分 | |
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219
plunging
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| adj.跳进的，突进的v.颠簸( plunge的现在分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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220
indicator
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| n.指标；指示物，指示者；指示器 | |
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221
gauge
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| v.精确计量；估计；n.标准度量；计量器 | |
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222
notch
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| n.(V字形)槽口，缺口，等级 | |
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223
simultaneously
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| adv.同时发生地，同时进行地 | |
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224
wrench
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| v.猛拧；挣脱；使扭伤；n.扳手；痛苦，难受 | |
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225
spasm
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| n.痉挛，抽搐；一阵发作 | |
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226
braced
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| adj.拉牢的v.支住( brace的过去式和过去分词 )；撑牢；使自己站稳；振作起来 | |
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227
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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228
inevitably
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| adv.不可避免地；必然发生地 | |
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229
peril
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| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
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230
lumbered
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| 砍伐（lumber的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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231
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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232
fugitive
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| adj.逃亡的，易逝的；n.逃犯，逃亡者 | |
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233
sliver
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| n.裂片，细片，梳毛；v.纵切，切成长片，剖开 | |
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234
duel
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| n./v.决斗；(双方的)斗争 | |
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235
punctuating
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| v.（在文字中）加标点符号，加标点( punctuate的现在分词 )；不时打断某事物 | |
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236
ordnance
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| n.大炮，军械 | |
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237
abruptness
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| n. 突然，唐突 | |
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238
frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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239
eddies
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| （水、烟等的）漩涡，涡流( eddy的名词复数 ) | |
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240
swirling
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| v.旋转，打旋( swirl的现在分词 ) | |
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241
maze
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| n.迷宫，八阵图，混乱，迷惑 | |
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242
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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243
twitched
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| vt.& vi.（使）抽动，（使）颤动（twitch的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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244
tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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245
machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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246
chaos
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| n.混乱，无秩序 | |
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247
prehensile
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| adj.（足等）适于抓握的 | |
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248
malevolent
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| adj.有恶意的，恶毒的 | |
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249
jolting
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| adj.令人震惊的 | |
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250
ponderously
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251
joints
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| 接头( joint的名词复数 )； 关节； 公共场所（尤指价格低廉的饮食和娱乐场所） （非正式）； 一块烤肉 （英式英语） | |
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252
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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253
wrecked
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| adj.失事的，遇难的 | |
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254
outlaw
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| n.歹徒，亡命之徒；vt.宣布…为不合法 | |
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255
skulking
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| v.潜伏，偷偷摸摸地走动，鬼鬼祟祟地活动( skulk的现在分词 ) | |
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256
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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257
squelching
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| v.发吧唧声，发扑哧声( squelch的现在分词 )；制止；压制；遏制 | |
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258
peremptory
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| adj.紧急的，专横的，断然的 | |
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259
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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260
jaded
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| adj.精疲力竭的；厌倦的；（因过饱或过多而）腻烦的；迟钝的 | |
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261
lookout
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| n.注意，前途，瞭望台 | |
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262
bridle
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| n.笼头，束缚；vt.抑制，约束；动怒 | |
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263
attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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264
rein
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| n.疆绳，统治，支配；vt.以僵绳控制，统治 | |
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265
laboriously
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| adv.艰苦地；费力地；辛勤地；（文体等）佶屈聱牙地 | |
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266
perspiring
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| v.出汗，流汗( perspire的现在分词 ) | |
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267
trotting
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| 小跑，急走( trot的现在分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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268
trampling
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| 踩( trample的现在分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
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269
relentlessly
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| adv.不屈不挠地；残酷地；不间断 | |
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270
jolted
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| （使）摇动， （使）震惊( jolt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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271
harried
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| v.使苦恼( harry的过去式和过去分词 )；不断烦扰；一再袭击；侵扰 | |
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272
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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273
slashed
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| v.挥砍( slash的过去式和过去分词 )；鞭打；割破；削减 | |
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274
meridian
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| adj.子午线的；全盛期的 | |
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275
arroyo
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| n.干涸的河床，小河 | |
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276
whoop
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| n.大叫，呐喊，喘息声；v.叫喊，喘息 | |
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277
scramble
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| v.爬行，攀爬，杂乱蔓延，碎片，片段，废料 | |
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278
rivulet
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| n.小溪，小河 | |
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279
tangle
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| n.纠缠；缠结；混乱；v.(使)缠绕；变乱 | |
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280
agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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281
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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282
rugged
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| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
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283
detour
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| n.绕行的路，迂回路；v.迂回，绕道 | |
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284
scrambling
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的现在分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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285
exasperated
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| adj.恼怒的 | |
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286
instigated
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| v.使（某事物）开始或发生，鼓动( instigate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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287
muzzle
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| n.鼻口部；口套；枪(炮)口；vt.使缄默 | |
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288
cartridge
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| n.弹壳，弹药筒；(装磁带等的)盒子 | |
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289
dodging
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| n.避开，闪过，音调改变v.闪躲( dodge的现在分词 )；回避 | |
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290
bind
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| vt.捆，包扎；装订；约束；使凝固；vi.变硬 | |
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291
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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292
swarmed
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| 密集( swarm的过去式和过去分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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293
colossal
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| adj.异常的，庞大的 | |
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294
prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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295
pistons
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| 活塞( piston的名词复数 ) | |
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296
complacently
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| adv. 满足地, 自满地, 沾沾自喜地 | |
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297
fettering
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| v.给…上脚镣，束缚( fetter的现在分词 ) | |
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298
disintegrate
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| v.瓦解，解体，（使）碎裂，（使）粉碎 | |
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299
foes
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| 敌人，仇敌( foe的名词复数 ) | |
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300
doggedly
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| adv.顽强地，固执地 | |
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301
ferocious
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| adj.凶猛的，残暴的，极度的，十分强烈的 | |
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302
bracelets
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| n.手镯，臂镯( bracelet的名词复数 ) | |
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303
pinioning
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| v.抓住[捆住]（双臂）( pinion的现在分词 ) | |
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304
jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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305
cavalcade
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| n.车队等的行列 | |
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