When I told her she exhibited one flash of gladness, such as any woman might have shown for a noble deed and then she became thoughtful, almost gloomy, sad. I could not understand her complex emotions. Perhaps she contrasted Steele with her father; perhaps she wanted to believe in Steele and dared not; perhaps she had all at once seen the Ranger2 in his true light, and to her undoing3.
She bade me take Sally for a ride and sought her room. I had my misgivings4 when I saw Sally come out in that trim cowgirl suit and look at me as if to say this day would be my Waterloo.
But she rode hard and long ahead of me before she put any machinations into effect. The first one found me with a respectful demeanor5 but an internal conflict.
"Russ, tighten6 my cinch," she said when I caught up with her.
Dismounting, I drew the cinch up another hole and fastened it.
"My boot's unlaced, too," she added, slipping a shapely foot out of the stirrup.
To be sure, it was very much unlaced. I had to take off my gloves to lace it up, and I did it heroically, with bent7 head and outward calm, when all the time I was mad to snatch the girl out of the saddle and hold her tight or run off with her or do some other fool thing.
"Russ, I believe Diane's in love with Steele," she said soberly, with the sweet confidence she sometimes manifested in me.
"Small wonder. It's in the air," I replied.
She regarded me doubtfully.
"It was," she retorted demurely8.
"The fickleness9 of women is no new thing to me. I didn't expect Waters to last long."
"Certainly not when there are nicer fellows around. One, anyway, when he cares."
A little brown hand slid out of its glove and dropped to my shoulder.
"Make up. You've been hateful lately. Make up with me."
It was not so much what she said as the sweet tone of her voice and the nearness of her that made a tumult10 within me. I felt the blood tingle11 to my face.
"Why should I make up with you?" I queried12 in self defense13. "You are only flirting14. You won't—you can't ever be anything to me, really."
Sally bent over me and I had not the nerve to look up.
"Never mind things—really," she replied. "The future's far off. Let it alone. We're together. I—I like you, Russ. And I've got to be—to be loved. There. I never confessed that to any other man. You've been hateful when we might have had such fun. The rides in the sun, in the open with the wind in our faces. The walks at night in the moonlight. Russ, haven't you missed something?"
The sweetness and seductiveness of her, the little luring15 devil of her, irresistible16 as they were, were no more irresistible than the naturalness, the truth of her.
I trembled even before I looked up into her flushed face and arch eyes; and after that I knew if I could not frighten her out of this daring mood I would have to yield despite my conviction that she only trifled. As my manhood, as well as duty to Steele, forced me to be unyielding, all that was left seemed to be to frighten her.
The instant this was decided17 a wave of emotion—love, regret, bitterness, anger—surged over me, making me shake. I felt the skin on my face tighten and chill. I grasped her with strength that might have need to hold a plunging18, unruly horse. I hurt her. I held her as in a vise.
And the action, the feel of her, her suddenly uttered cry wrought19 against all pretense20, hurt me as my brutality21 hurt her, and then I spoke23 what was hard, passionate24 truth.
"Girl, you're playing with fire!" I cried out hoarsely25. "I love you—love you as I'd want my sister loved. I asked you to marry me. That was proof, if it was foolish. Even if you were on the square, which you're not, we couldn't ever be anything to each other. Understand? There's a reason, besides your being above me. I can't stand it. Stop playing with me or I'll—I'll..."
Whatever I meant to say was not spoken, for Sally turned deathly white, probably from my grasp and my looks as well as my threat.
I let go of her, and stepping back to my horse choked down my emotion.
"Russ!" she faltered27, and there was womanliness and regret trembling with the fear in her voice. "I—I am on the square."
That had touched the real heart of the girl.
"If you are, then play the game square," I replied darkly.
"I will, Russ, I promise. I'll never tease or coax28 you again. If I do, then I'll deserve what you—what I get. But, Russ, don't think me a—a four-flush."
All the long ride home we did not exchange another word. The traveling gait of Sally's horse was a lope, that of mine a trot29; and therefore, to my relief, she was always out in front.
As we neared the ranch30, however, Sally slowed down until I caught up with her; and side by side we rode the remainder of the way. At the corrals, while I unsaddled, she lingered.
"Russ, you didn't tell me if you agreed with me about Diane," she said finally.
"Maybe you're right. I hope she's fallen in love with Steele. Lord knows I hope so," I blurted31 out.
I bit my tongue. There was no use in trying to be as shrewd with women as I was with men. I made no reply.
"Misery32 loves company. Maybe that's why," she added. "You told me Steele lost his head over Diane at first sight. Well, we all have company. Good night, Russ."
That night I told Steele about the singular effect the story of his treatment of Vey had upon Miss Sampson. He could not conceal33 his feelings. I read him like an open book.
If she was unhappy because he did something really good, then she was unhappy because she was realizing she had wronged him.
Steele never asked questions, but the hungry look in his eyes was enough to make even a truthful34 fellow exaggerate things.
I told him how Diane was dressed, how her face changed with each emotion, how her eyes burned and softened35 and shadowed, how her voice had been deep and full when she admitted her father hated him, how much she must have meant when she said she was between two fires. I divined how he felt and I tried to satisfy in some little measure his craving36 for news of her.
When I had exhausted37 my fund and stretched my imagination I was rewarded by being told that I was a regular old woman for gossip.
Much taken back by this remarkable38 statement I could but gape39 at my comrade. Irritation40 had followed shortly upon his curiosity and pleasure, and then the old sane41 mind reasserted itself, the old stern look, a little sad now, replaced the glow, the strange eagerness of youth on his face.
"Son, I beg your pardon," he said, with his hand on my shoulder. "We're Rangers42, but we can't help being human. To speak right out, it seems two sweet and lovable girls have come, unfortunately for us all, across the dark trail we're on. Let us find what solace43 we can in the hope that somehow, God only knows how, in doing our duty as Rangers we may yet be doing right by these two innocent girls. I ask you, as my friend, please do not speak again to me of—Miss Sampson."
I left him and went up the quiet trail with the thick shadows all around me and the cold stars overhead; and I was sober in thought, sick at heart for him as much as for myself, and I tortured my mind in fruitless conjecture44 as to what the end of this strange and fateful adventure would be.
I discovered that less and less the old wild spirit abided with me and I become conscious of a dull, deep-seated ache in my breast, a pang45 in the bone.
From that day there was a change in Diane Sampson. She became feverishly46 active. She wanted to ride, to see for herself what was going on in Linrock, to learn of that wild Pecos county life at first hand.
She made such demands on my time now that I scarcely ever found an hour to be with or near Steele until after dark. However, as he was playing a waiting game on the rustlers, keeping out of the resorts for the present, I had not great cause for worry. Hoden was slowly gathering48 men together, a band of trustworthy ones, and until this organization was complete and ready, Steele thought better to go slow.
It was of little use for me to remonstrate49 with Miss Sampson when she refused to obey a distracted and angry father. I began to feel sorry for Sampson. He was an unscrupulous man, but he loved this daughter who belonged to another and better and past side of his life.
I heard him appeal to her to go back to Louisiana; to let him take her home, giving as urgent reason the probability of trouble for him. She could not help, could only handicap him.
She agreed to go, provided he sold his property, took the best of his horses and went with her back to the old home to live there the rest of their lives. He replied with considerable feeling that he wished he could go, but it was impossible. Then that settled the matter for her, she averred50.
Failing to persuade her to leave Linrock, he told her to keep to the ranch. Naturally, in spite of his anger, Miss Sampson refused to obey; and she frankly51 told him that it was the free, unfettered life of the country, the riding here and there that appealed so much to her.
Sampson came to me a little later and his worn face showed traces of internal storm.
"Russ, for a while there I wanted to get rid of you," he said. "I've changed. Diane always was a spoiled kid. Now she's a woman. Something's fired her blood. Maybe it's this damned wild country. Anyway, she's got the bit between her teeth. She'll run till she's run herself out.
"Now, it seems the safety of Diane, and Sally, too, has fallen into your hands. The girls won't have one of my cowboys near them. Lately they've got shy of George, too. Between you and me I want to tell you that conditions here in Pecos are worse than they've seemed since you-all reached the ranch. But bad work will break out again—it's coming soon.
"I can't stop it. The town will be full of the hardest gang in western Texas. My daughter and Sally would not be safe if left alone to go anywhere. With you, perhaps, they'll be safe. Can I rely on you?"
"Yes, Sampson, you sure can," I replied. "I'm on pretty good terms with most everybody in town. I think I can say none of the tough set who hang out down there would ever made any move while I'm with the girls. But I'll be pretty careful to avoid them, and particularly strange fellows who may come riding in.
"And if any of them do meet us and start trouble, I'm going for my gun, that's all. There won't be any talk."
"Good! I'll back you," Sampson replied. "Understand, Russ, I didn't want you here, but I always had you sized up as a pretty hard nut, a man not to be trifled with. You've got a bad name. Diane insists the name's not deserved. She'd trust you with herself under any circumstances. And the kid, Sally, she'd be fond of you if it wasn't for the drink. Have you been drunk a good deal? Straight now, between you and me."
"Not once," I replied.
"George's a liar52 then. He's had it in for you since that day at Sanderson. Look out you two don't clash. He's got a temper, and when he's drinking he's a devil. Keep out of his way."
"I've stood a good deal from Wright, and guess I can stand more."
"All right, Russ," he continued, as if relieved. "Chuck the drink and cards for a while and keep an eye on the girls. When my affairs straighten out maybe I'll make you a proposition."
Sampson left me material for thought. Perhaps it was not only the presence of a Ranger in town that gave him concern, nor the wilfulness53 of his daughter. There must be internal strife54 in the rustler47 gang with which we had associated him.
Perhaps a menace of publicity55, rather than risk, was the cause of the wearing strain on him. I began to get a closer insight into Sampson, and in the absence of any conclusive56 evidence of his personal baseness I felt pity for him.
In the beginning he had opposed me just because I did not happen to be a cowboy he had selected. This latest interview with me, amounting in some instances to confidence, proved absolutely that he had not the slightest suspicion that I was otherwise than the cowboy I pretended to be.
Another interesting deduction57 was that he appeared to be out of patience with Wright. In fact, I imagined I sensed something of fear and distrust in this spoken attitude toward his relative. Not improbably here was the internal strife between Sampson and Wright, and there flashed into my mind, absolutely without reason, an idea that the clash was over Diane Sampson.
I scouted58 this intuitive idea as absurd; but, just the same, it refused to be dismissed.
As I turned my back on the coarse and exciting life in the saloons and gambling59 hells, and spent all my time except when sleeping, out in the windy open under blue sky and starry60 heaven, my spirit had an uplift.
I was glad to be free of that job. It was bad enough to have to go into these dens61 to arrest men, let alone living with them, almost being one.
Diane Sampson noted62 a change in me, attributed it to the absence of the influence of drink, and she was glad. Sally made no attempt to conceal her happiness; and to my dismay, she utterly64 failed to keep her promise not to tease or tempt63 me further.
She was adorable, distracting.
We rode every day and almost all day. We took our dinner and went clear to the foothills to return as the sun set. We visited outlying ranches65, water-holes, old adobe66 houses famous in one way or another as scenes of past fights of rustlers and ranchers.
We rode to the little village of Sampson, and half-way to Sanderson, and all over the country.
There was no satisfying Miss Sampson with rides, new places, new faces, new adventures. And every time we rode out she insisted on first riding through Linrock; and every time we rode home she insisted on going back that way.
We visited all the stores, the blacksmith, the wagon67 shop, the feed and grain houses—everywhere that she could find excuse for visiting. I had to point out to her all the infamous68 dens in town, and all the lawless and lounging men we met.
She insisted upon being shown the inside of the Hope So, to the extreme confusion of that bewildered resort.
I pretended to be blind to this restless curiosity. Sally understood the cause, too, and it divided her between a sweet gravity and a naughty humor.
The last, however, she never evinced in sight or hearing of Diane.
It seemed that we were indeed fated to cross the path of Vaughn Steele. We saw him working round his adobe house; then we saw him on horseback. Once we met him face to face in a store.
He gazed steadily69 into Diane Sampson's eyes and went his way without any sign of recognition. There was red in her face when he passed and white when he had gone.
That day she rode as I had never seen her, risking her life, unmindful of her horse.
Another day we met Steele down in the valley, where, inquiry70 discovered to us, he had gone to the home of an old cattleman who lived alone and was ill.
Last and perhaps most significant of all these meetings was the one when we were walking tired horses home through the main street of Linrock and came upon Steele just in time to see him in action.
It happened at a corner where the usual slouchy, shirt-sleeved loungers were congregated71. They were in high glee over the predicament of one ruffian who had purchased or been given a poor, emaciated72 little burro that was on his last legs. The burro evidently did not want to go with its new owner, who pulled on a halter and then viciously swung the end of the rope to make welts on the worn and scarred back.
If there was one thing that Diane Sampson could not bear it was to see an animal in pain. She passionately73 loved horses, and hated the sight of a spur or whip.
When we saw the man beating the little burro she cried out to me:
"Make the brute74 stop!"
I might have made a move had I not on the instant seen Steele heaving into sight round the corner.
Just then the fellow, whom I now recognized to be a despicable character named Andrews, began to bestow75 heavy and brutal22 kicks upon the body of the little burro. These kicks sounded deep, hollow, almost like the boom of a drum.
The burro uttered the strangest sound I ever heard issue from any beast and it dropped in its tracks with jerking legs that told any horseman what had happened. Steele saw the last swings of Andrews' heavy boot. He yelled. It was a sharp yell that would have made anyone start. But it came too late, for the burro had dropped.
Steele knocked over several of the jeering76 men to get to Andrews. He kicked the fellow's feet from under him, sending him hard to the ground.
Then Steele picked up the end of the halter and began to swing it powerfully. Resounding77 smacks78 mingled79 with hoarse26 bellows80 of fury and pain. Andrews flopped81 here and there, trying to arise, but every time the heavy knotted halter beat him down.
Presently Steele stopped. Andrews rose right in front of the Ranger, and there, like the madman he was, he went for his gun.
But it scarcely leaped from its holster when Steele's swift hand intercepted82 it. Steele clutched Andrews' arm.
Then came a wrench83, a cracking of bones, a scream of agony.
The gun dropped into the dust; and in a moment of wrestling fury Andrews, broken, beaten down, just able to moan, lay beside it.
Steele, so cool and dark for a man who had acted with such passionate swiftness, faced the others as if to dare them to move. They neither moved nor spoke, and then he strode away.
Miss Sampson did not speak a word while we were riding the rest of the way home, but she was strangely white of face and dark of eye. Sally could not speak fast enough to say all she felt.
And I, of course, had my measure of feelings. One of them was that as sure as the sun rose and set it was written that Diane Sampson was to love Vaughn Steele.
I could not read her mind, but I had a mind of my own.
How could any woman, seeing this maligned84 and menaced Ranger, whose life was in danger every moment he spent on the streets, in the light of his action on behalf of a poor little beast, help but wonder and brood over the magnificent height he might reach if he had love—passion—a woman for his inspiration?
It was the day after this incident that, as Sally, Diane, and I were riding homeward on the road from Sampson, I caught sight of a group of dark horses and riders swiftly catching85 up with us.
We were on the main road, in plain sight of town and passing by ranches; nevertheless, I did not like the looks of the horsemen and grew uneasy. Still, I scarcely thought it needful to race our horses just to reach town a little ahead of these strangers.
Accordingly, they soon caught up with us.
They were five in number, all dark-faced except one, dark-clad and superbly mounted on dark bays and blacks. They had no pack animals and, for that matter, carried no packs at all.
Four of them, at a swinging canter, passed us, and the fifth pulled his horse to suit our pace and fell in between Sally and me.
"Good day," he said pleasantly to me. "Don't mind my ridin' in with you-all, I hope?"
Considering his pleasant approach, I could not but be civil.
He was a singularly handsome fellow, at a quick glance, under forty years, with curly, blond hair, almost gold, a skin very fair for that country, and the keenest, clearest, boldest blue eyes I had ever seen in a man.
"You're Russ, I reckon," he said. "Some of my men have seen you ridin' round with Sampson's girls. I'm Jack86 Blome."
He did not speak that name with any flaunt87 or flourish. He merely stated it.
Blome, the rustler! I grew tight all over.
Still, manifestly there was nothing for me to do but return his pleasantry. I really felt less uneasiness after he had made himself known to me. And without any awkwardness, I introduced him to the girls.
He took off his sombrero and made gallant89 bows to both.
Miss Sampson had heard of him and his record, and she could not help a paleness, a shrinking, which, however, he did not appear to notice. Sally had been dying to meet a real rustler, and here he was, a very prince of rascals90.
But I gathered that she would require a little time before she could be natural. Blome seemed to have more of an eye for Sally than for Diane. "Do you like Pecos?" he asked Sally.
"Out here? Oh, yes, indeed!" she replied.
"Like ridin'?"
"I love horses."
Like almost every man who made Sally's acquaintance, he hit upon the subject best calculated to make her interesting to free-riding, outdoor Western men.
That he loved a thoroughbred horse himself was plain. He spoke naturally to Sally with interest, just as I had upon first meeting her, and he might not have been Jack Blome, for all the indication he gave of the fact in his talk.
But the look of the man was different. He was a desperado, one of the dashing, reckless kind—more famous along the Pecos and Rio Grande than more really desperate men. His attire91 proclaimed a vanity seldom seen in any Westerner except of that unusual brand, yet it was neither gaudy92 or showy.
One had to be close to Blome to see the silk, the velvet93, the gold, the fine leather. When I envied a man's spurs then they were indeed worth coveting94.
Blome had a short rifle and a gun in saddle-sheaths. My sharp eye, running over him, caught a row of notches96 on the bone handle of the big Colt he packed.
It was then that the marshal, the Ranger in me, went hot under the collar. The custom that desperadoes and gun-fighters had of cutting a notch95 on their guns for every man killed was one of which the mere88 mention made my gorge97 rise.
At the edge of town Blome doffed98 his sombrero again, said "Adios," and rode on ahead of us. And it was then I was hard put to it to keep track of the queries99, exclamations100, and other wild talk of two very much excited young ladies. I wanted to think; I needed to think.
"Wasn't he lovely? Oh, I could adore him!" rapturously uttered Miss Sally Langdon several times, to my ultimate disgust.
Also, after Blome had ridden out of sight, Miss Sampson lost the evident effect of his sinister101 presence, and she joined Miss Langdon in paying the rustler compliments, too. Perhaps my irritation was an indication of the quick and subtle shifting of my mind to harsher thought.
"Jack Blome!" I broke in upon their adulations. "Rustler and gunman. Did you see the notches on his gun? Every notch for a man he's killed! For weeks reports have come to Linrock that soon as he could get round to it he'd ride down and rid the community of that bothersome fellow, that Texas Ranger! He's come to kill Vaughn Steele!"
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narrating
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| v.故事( narrate的现在分词 ) | |
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ranger
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| n.国家公园管理员，护林员；骑兵巡逻队员 | |
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undoing
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| n.毁灭的原因，祸根；破坏，毁灭 | |
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misgivings
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| n.疑虑，担忧，害怕；疑虑，担心，恐惧( misgiving的名词复数 )；疑惧 | |
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demeanor
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| n.行为；风度 | |
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tighten
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| v.(使)变紧；(使)绷紧 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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demurely
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| adv.装成端庄地，认真地 | |
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fickleness
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| n.易变；无常；浮躁；变化无常 | |
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tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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tingle
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| vi.感到刺痛，感到激动；n.刺痛，激动 | |
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queried
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defense
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| n.防御，保卫；[pl.]防务工事；辩护，答辩 | |
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flirting
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| v.调情，打情骂俏( flirt的现在分词 ) | |
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luring
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| 吸引，引诱（lure的现在分词形式） | |
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irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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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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wrought
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pretense
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brutality
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| n.野蛮的行为，残忍，野蛮 | |
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brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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hoarsely
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hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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coax
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trot
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| n.疾走，慢跑；n.老太婆；现成译本；(复数）trots:腹泻（与the 连用）；v.小跑，快步走，赶紧 | |
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ranch
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blurted
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misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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conceal
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truthful
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softened
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craving
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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38
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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39
gape
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| v.张口，打呵欠，目瞪口呆地凝视 | |
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40
irritation
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| n.激怒，恼怒，生气 | |
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sane
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| adj.心智健全的，神志清醒的，明智的，稳健的 | |
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rangers
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| 护林者( ranger的名词复数 )； 突击队员 | |
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43
solace
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| n.安慰；v.使快乐；vt.安慰(物)，缓和 | |
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44
conjecture
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| n./v.推测，猜测 | |
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45
pang
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| n.剧痛，悲痛，苦闷 | |
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46
feverishly
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| adv. 兴奋地 | |
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rustler
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| n.[美口]偷牛贼 | |
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48
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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49
remonstrate
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| v.抗议，规劝 | |
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averred
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| v.断言( aver的过去式和过去分词 )；证实；证明…属实；作为事实提出 | |
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frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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52
liar
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| n.说谎的人 | |
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wilfulness
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| 任性；倔强 | |
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54
strife
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| n.争吵，冲突，倾轧，竞争 | |
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publicity
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| n.众所周知，闻名；宣传，广告 | |
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conclusive
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| adj.最后的，结论的；确凿的，消除怀疑的 | |
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deduction
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| n.减除，扣除，减除额；推论，推理，演绎 | |
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58
scouted
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| 寻找，侦察( scout的过去式和过去分词 )； 物色（优秀运动员、演员、音乐家等） | |
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59
gambling
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| n.赌博；投机 | |
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starry
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| adj.星光照耀的, 闪亮的 | |
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dens
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| n.牙齿，齿状部分；兽窝( den的名词复数 )；窝点；休息室；书斋 | |
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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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tempt
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| vt.引诱，勾引，吸引，引起…的兴趣 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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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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adobe
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| n.泥砖，土坯，美国Adobe公司 | |
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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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infamous
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| adj.声名狼藉的，臭名昭著的，邪恶的 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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congregated
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| （使）集合，聚集( congregate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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emaciated
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| adj.衰弱的，消瘦的 | |
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passionately
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| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
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brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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bestow
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| v.把…赠与，把…授予；花费 | |
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jeering
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| adj.嘲弄的，揶揄的v.嘲笑( jeer的现在分词 ) | |
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resounding
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| adj. 响亮的 | |
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smacks
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| 掌掴（声）( smack的名词复数 )； 海洛因； （打的）一拳； 打巴掌 | |
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mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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bellows
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| n.风箱；发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的名词复数 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫v.发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的第三人称单数 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫 | |
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flopped
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| v.（指书、戏剧等）彻底失败( flop的过去式和过去分词 )；（因疲惫而）猛然坐下；（笨拙地、不由自主地或松弛地）移动或落下；砸锅 | |
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intercepted
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| 拦截( intercept的过去式和过去分词 )； 截住； 截击； 拦阻 | |
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83
wrench
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| v.猛拧；挣脱；使扭伤；n.扳手；痛苦，难受 | |
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maligned
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| vt.污蔑，诽谤（malign的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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85
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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86
jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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87
flaunt
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| vt.夸耀，夸饰 | |
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88
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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rascals
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| 流氓( rascal的名词复数 )； 无赖； （开玩笑说法）淘气的人（尤指小孩）； 恶作剧的人 | |
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attire
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| v.穿衣，装扮[同]array；n.衣着；盛装 | |
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92
gaudy
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| adj.华而不实的；俗丽的 | |
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93
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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coveting
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| v.贪求，觊觎( covet的现在分词 ) | |
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95
notch
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| n.(V字形)槽口，缺口，等级 | |
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96
notches
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| n.（边缘或表面上的）V型痕迹( notch的名词复数 )；刻痕；水平；等级 | |
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97
gorge
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| n.咽喉，胃，暴食，山峡；v.塞饱，狼吞虎咽地吃 | |
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doffed
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| v.脱去，（尤指）脱帽( doff的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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99
queries
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| n.问题( query的名词复数 )；疑问；询问；问号v.质疑，对…表示疑问( query的第三人称单数 )；询问 | |
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100
exclamations
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| n.呼喊( exclamation的名词复数 )；感叹；感叹语；感叹词 | |
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101
sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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