“We have been ten miles from here,” said Shaw. “We climbed the highest butte we could find, and could not see a buffalo6 or Indian; nothing but prairie for twenty miles around us.”
Henry’s horse was quite disabled by clambering up and down the sides of ravines, and Shaw’s was severely7 fatigued8.
After supper that evening, as we sat around the fire, I proposed to Shaw to wait one day longer in hopes of Bisonette’s arrival, and if he should not come to send Delorier with the cart and baggage back to Fort Laramie, while we ourselves followed The Whirlwind’s village and attempted to overtake it as it passed the mountains. Shaw, not having the same motive9 for hunting Indians that I had, was averse10 to the plan; I therefore resolved to go alone. This design I adopted very unwillingly11, for I knew that in the present state of my health the attempt would be extremely unpleasant, and, as I considered, hazardous12. I hoped that Bisonette would appear in the course of the following day, and bring us some information by which to direct our course, and enable me to accomplish my purpose by means less objectionable.
The rifle of Henry Chatillon was necessary for the subsistence of the party in my absence; so I called Raymond, and ordered him to prepare to set out with me. Raymond rolled his eyes vacantly about, but at length, having succeeded in grappling with the idea, he withdrew to his bed under the cart. He was a heavy-molded fellow, with a broad face exactly like an owl’s, expressing the most impenetrable stupidity and entire self-confidence. As for his good qualities, he had a sort of stubborn fidelity13, an insensibility to danger, and a kind of instinct or sagacity, which sometimes led him right, where better heads than his were at a loss. Besides this, he knew very well how to handle a rifle and picket14 a horse.
Through the following day the sun glared down upon us with a pitiless, penetrating15 heat. The distant blue prairie seemed quivering under it. The lodge16 of our Indian associates was baking in the rays, and our rifles, as they leaned against the tree, were too hot for the touch. There was a dead silence through our camp and all around it, unbroken except by the hum of gnats17 and mosquitoes. The men, resting their foreheads on their arms, were sleeping under the cart. The Indians kept close within their lodge except the newly married pair, who were seated together under an awning18 of buffalo robes, and the old conjurer, who, with his hard, emaciated19 face and gaunt ribs20, was perched aloft like a turkey-buzzard among the dead branches of an old tree, constantly on the lookout21 for enemies. He would have made a capital shot. A rifle bullet, skillfully planted, would have brought him tumbling to the ground. Surely, I thought, there could be no more harm in shooting such a hideous22 old villain23, to see how ugly he would look when he was dead, than in shooting the detestable vulture which he resembled. We dined, and then Shaw saddled his horse.
“I would go with you,” I answered, “but I must reserve all the strength I have.”
The afternoon dragged away at last. I occupied myself in cleaning my rifle and pistols, and making other preparations for the journey. After supper, Henry Chatillon and I lay by the fire, discussing the properties of that admirable weapon, the rifle, in the use of which he could fairly outrival Leatherstocking himself.
It was late before I wrapped myself in my blanket and lay down for the night, with my head on my saddle. Shaw had not returned, but this gave no uneasiness, for we presumed that he had fallen in with Bisonette, and was spending the night with him. For a day or two past I had gained in strength and health, but about midnight an attack of pain awoke me, and for some hours I felt no inclination26 to sleep. The moon was quivering on the broad breast of the Platte; nothing could be heard except those low inexplicable27 sounds, like whisperings and footsteps, which no one who has spent the night alone amid deserts and forests will be at a loss to understand. As I was falling asleep, a familiar voice, shouting from the distance, awoke me again. A rapid step approached the camp, and Shaw on foot, with his gun in his hand, hastily entered.
“Where’s your horse?” said I, raising myself on my elbow.
“Lost!” said Shaw. “Where’s Delorier?”
“There,” I replied, pointing to a confused mass of blankets and buffalo robes.
“Come, Delorier; stir up the fire, and get me something to eat.”
“Where’s Bisonette?” asked I.
“The Lord knows; there’s nobody at Horseshoe Creek.”
Shaw had gone back to the spot where we had encamped two days before, and finding nothing there but the ashes of our fires, he had tied his horse to the tree while he bathed in the stream. Something startled his horse, who broke loose, and for two hours Shaw tried in vain to catch him. Sunset approached, and it was twelve miles to camp. So he abandoned the attempt, and set out on foot to join us. The greater part of his perilous29 and solitary30 work was performed in darkness. His moccasins were worn to tatters and his feet severely lacerated. He sat down to eat, however, with the usual equanimity31 of his temper not at all disturbed by his misfortune, and my last recollection before falling asleep was of Shaw, seated cross-legged before the fire, smoking his pipe. The horse, I may as well mention here, was found the next morning by Henry Chatillon.
When I awoke again there was a fresh damp smell in the air, a gray twilight32 involved the prairie, and above its eastern verge33 was a streak34 of cold red sky. I called to the men, and in a moment a fire was blazing brightly in the dim morning light, and breakfast was getting ready. We sat down together on the grass, to the last civilized35 meal which Raymond and I were destined36 to enjoy for some time.
“Now, bring in the horses.”
My little mare37 Pauline was soon standing38 by the fire. She was a fleet, hardy39, and gentle animal, christened after Paul Dorion, from whom I had procured40 her in exchange for Pontiac. She did not look as if equipped for a morning pleasure ride. In front of the black, high-bowed mountain saddle, holsters, with heavy pistols, were fastened. A pair of saddle bags, a blanket tightly rolled, a small parcel of Indian presents tied up in a buffalo skin, a leather bag of flour, and a smaller one of tea were all secured behind, and a long trail-rope was wound round her neck. Raymond had a strong black mule41, equipped in a similar manner. We crammed42 our powder-horns to the throat, and mounted.
“I will meet you at Fort Laramie on the 1st of August,” said I to Shaw.
“That is,” replied he, “if we don’t meet before that. I think I shall follow after you in a day or two.”
This in fact he attempted, and he would have succeeded if he had not encountered obstacles against which his resolute43 spirit was of no avail. Two days after I left him he sent Delorier to the fort with the cart and baggage, and set out for the mountains with Henry Chatillon; but a tremendous thunderstorm had deluged44 the prairie, and nearly obliterated46 not only our trail but that of the Indians themselves. They followed along the base of the mountains, at a loss in which direction to go. They encamped there, and in the morning Shaw found himself poisoned by ivy47 in such a manner that it was impossible for him to travel. So they turned back reluctantly toward Fort Laramie. Shaw’s limbs were swollen48 to double their usual size, and he rode in great pain. They encamped again within twenty miles of the fort, and reached it early on the following morning. Shaw lay seriously ill for a week, and remained at the fort till I rejoined him some time after.
To return to my own story. We shook hands with our friends, rode out upon the prairie, and clambering the sandy hollows that were channeled in the sides of the hills gained the high plains above. If a curse had been pronounced upon the land it could not have worn an aspect of more dreary49 and forlorn barrenness. There were abrupt50 broken hills, deep hollows, and wide plains; but all alike glared with an insupportable whiteness under the burning sun. The country, as if parched51 by the heat, had cracked into innumerable fissures53 and ravines, that not a little impeded54 our progress. Their steep sides were white and raw, and along the bottom we several times discovered the broad tracks of the terrific grizzly55 bear, nowhere more abundant than in this region. The ridges56 of the hills were hard as rock, and strewn with pebbles58 of flint and coarse red jasper; looking from them, there was nothing to relieve the desert uniformity of the prospect59, save here and there a pine-tree clinging at the edge of a ravine, and stretching out its rough, shaggy arms. Under the scorching60 heat these melancholy61 trees diffused62 their peculiar63 resinous64 odor through the sultry air. There was something in it, as I approached them, that recalled old associations; the pine-clad mountains of New England, traversed in days of health and buoyancy, rose like a reality before my fancy. In passing that arid65 waste I was goaded66 with a morbid67 thirst produced by my disorder68, and I thought with a longing69 desire on the crystal treasure poured in such wasteful70 profusion71 from our thousand hills. Shutting my eyes, I more than half believed that I heard the deep plunging72 and gurgling of waters in the bowels73 of the shaded rocks. I could see their dark ice glittering far down amid the crevices75, and the cold drops trickling76 from the long green mosses77.
When noon came, we found a little stream, with a few trees and bushes; and here we rested for an hour. Then we traveled on, guided by the sun, until, just before sunset, we reached another stream, called Bitter Cotton-wood Creek. A thick growth of bushes and old storm-beaten trees grew at intervals78 along its bank. Near the foot of one of the trees we flung down our saddles, and hobbling our horses turned them loose to feed. The little stream was clear and swift, and ran musically on its white sands. Small water birds were splashing in the shallows, and filling the air with their cries and flutterings. The sun was just sinking among gold and crimson80 clouds behind Mount Laramie. I well remember how I lay upon a log by the margin81 of the water, and watched the restless motions of the little fish in a deep still nook below. Strange to say, I seemed to have gained strength since the morning, and almost felt a sense of returning health.
We built our fire. Night came, and the wolves began to howl. One deep voice commenced, and it was answered in awful responses from the hills, the plains, and the woods along the stream above and below us. Such sounds need not and do not disturb one’s sleep upon the prairie. We picketed82 the mare and the mule close at our feet, and did not wake until daylight. Then we turned them loose, still hobbled, to feed for an hour before starting. We were getting ready our morning’s meal, when Raymond saw an antelope83 at half a mile’s distance, and said he would go and shoot it.
“Your business,” said. I, “is to look after the animals. I am too weak to do much, if anything happens to them, and you must keep within sight of the camp.”
Raymond promised, and set out with his rifle in his hand. The animals had passed across the stream, and were feeding among the long grass on the other side, much tormented84 by the attacks of the numerous large green-headed flies. As I watched them, I saw them go down into a hollow, and as several minutes elapsed without their reappearing, I waded85 through the stream to look after them. To my vexation and alarm I discovered them at a great distance, galloping86 away at full speed, Pauline in advance, with her hobbles broken, and the mule, still fettered88, following with awkward leaps. I fired my rifle and shouted to recall Raymond. In a moment he came running through the stream, with a red handkerchief bound round his head. I pointed89 to the fugitives90, and ordered him to pursue them. Muttering a “Sacre!” between his teeth, he set out at full speed, still swinging his rifle in his hand. I walked up to the top of a hill, and looking away over the prairie, could just distinguish the runaways91, still at full gallop87. Returning to the fire, I sat down at the foot of a tree. Wearily and anxiously hour after hour passed away. The old loose bark dangling92 from the trunk behind me flapped to and fro in the wind, and the mosquitoes kept up their incessant93 drowsy94 humming; but other than this, there was no sight nor sound of life throughout the burning landscape. The sun rose higher and higher, until the shadows fell almost perpendicularly95, and I knew that it must be noon. It seemed scarcely possible that the animals could be recovered. If they were not, my situation was one of serious difficulty. Shaw, when I left him had decided96 to move that morning, but whither he had not determined97. To look for him would be a vain attempt. Fort Laramie was forty miles distant, and I could not walk a mile without great effort. Not then having learned the sound philosophy of yielding to disproportionate obstacles, I resolved to continue in any event the pursuit of the Indians. Only one plan occurred to me; this was to send Raymond to the fort with an order for more horses, while I remained on the spot, awaiting his return, which might take place within three days. But the adoption98 of this resolution did not wholly allay99 my anxiety, for it involved both uncertainty100 and danger. To remain stationary101 and alone for three days, in a country full of dangerous Indians, was not the most flattering of prospects102; and protracted103 as my Indian hunt must be by such delay, it was not easy to foretell105 its ultimate result. Revolving106 these matters, I grew hungry; and as our stock of provisions, except four or five pounds of flour, was by this time exhausted107, I left the camp to see what game I could find. Nothing could be seen except four or five large curlew, which, with their loud screaming, were wheeling over my head, and now and then alighting upon the prairie. I shot two of them, and was about returning, when a startling sight caught my eye. A small, dark object, like a human head, suddenly appeared, and vanished among the thick hushes109 along the stream below. In that country every stranger is a suspected enemy. Instinctively110 I threw forward the muzzle111 of my rifle. In a moment the bushes were violently shaken, two heads, but not human heads, protruded112, and to my great joy I recognized the downcast, disconsolate113 countenance114 of the black mule and the yellow visage of Pauline. Raymond came upon the mule, pale and haggard, complaining of a fiery116 pain in his chest. I took charge of the animals while he kneeled down by the side of the stream to drink. He had kept the runaways in sight as far as the Side Fork of Laramie Creek, a distance of more than ten miles; and here with great difficulty he had succeeded in catching117 them. I saw that he was unarmed, and asked him what he had done with his rifle. It had encumbered118 him in his pursuit, and he had dropped it on the prairie, thinking that he could find it on his return; but in this he had failed. The loss might prove a very formidable one. I was too much rejoiced however at the recovery of the animals to think much about it; and having made some tea for Raymond in a tin vessel119 which we had brought with us, I told him that I would give him two hours for resting before we set out again. He had eaten nothing that day; but having no appetite, he lay down immediately to sleep. I picketed the animals among the richest grass that I could find, and made fires of green wood to protect them from the flies; then sitting down again by the tree, I watched the slow movements of the sun, begrudging120 every moment that passed.
The time I had mentioned expired, and I awoke Raymond. We saddled and set out again, but first we went in search of the lost rifle, and in the course of an hour Raymond was fortunate enough to find it. Then we turned westward121, and moved over the hills and hollows at a slow pace toward the Black Hills. The heat no longer tormented us, for a cloud was before the sun. Yet that day shall never be marked with white in my calendar. The air began to grow fresh and cool, the distant mountains frowned more gloomily, there was a low muttering of thunder, and dense122 black masses of cloud rose heavily behind the broken peaks. At first they were gayly fringed with silver by the afternoon sun, but soon the thick blackness overspread the whole sky, and the desert around us was wrapped in deep gloom. I scarcely heeded123 it at the time, but now I cannot but feel that there was an awful sublimity124 in the hoarse125 murmuring of the thunder, in the somber126 shadows that involved the mountains and the plain. The storm broke. It came upon us with a zigzag127 blinding flash, with a terrific crash of thunder, and with a hurricane that howled over the prairie, dashing floods of water against us. Raymond looked round, and cursed the merciless elements. There seemed no shelter near, but we discerned at length a deep ravine gashed128 in the level prairie, and saw half way down its side an old pine tree, whose rough horizontal boughs129 formed a sort of penthouse against the tempest. We found a practicable passage, and hastily descending130, fastened our animals to some large loose stones at the bottom; then climbing up, we drew our blankets over our heads, and seated ourselves close beneath the old tree. Perhaps I was no competent judge of time, but it seemed to me that we were sitting there a full hour, while around us poured a deluge45 of rain, through which the rocks on the opposite side of the gulf131 were barely visible. The first burst of the tempest soon subsided132, but the rain poured steadily133. At length Raymond grew impatient, and scrambling134 out of the ravine, he gained the level prairie above.
“What does the weather look like?” asked I, from my seat under the tree.
“It looks bad,” he answered; “dark all around,” and again he descended135 and sat down by my side. Some ten minutes elapsed.
“Go up again,” said I, “and take another look;” and he clambered up the precipice136. “Well, how is it?”
“Just the same, only I see one little bright spot over the top of the mountain.”
The rain by this time had begun to abate137; and going down to the bottom of the ravine, we loosened the animals, who were standing up to their knees in water. Leading them up the rocky throat of the ravine, we reached the plain above. “Am I,” I thought to myself, “the same man who a few months since, was seated, a quiet student of BELLES-LETTRES, in a cushioned arm-chair by a sea-coal fire?”
All around us was obscurity; but the bright spot above the mountaintops grew wider and ruddier, until at length the clouds drew apart, and a flood of sunbeams poured down from heaven, streaming along the precipices139, and involving them in a thin blue haze140, as soft and lovely as that which wraps the Apennines on an evening in spring. Rapidly the clouds were broken and scattered141, like routed legions of evil spirits. The plain lay basking142 in sunbeams around us; a rainbow arched the desert from north to south, and far in front a line of woods seemed inviting143 us to refreshment144 and repose145. When we reached them, they were glistening146 with prismatic dewdrops, and enlivened by the song and flutterings of a hundred birds. Strange winged insects, benumbed by the rain, were clinging to the leaves and the bark of the trees.
Raymond kindled147 a fire with great difficulty. The animals turned eagerly to feed on the soft rich grass, while I, wrapping myself in my blanket, lay down and gazed on the evening landscape. The mountains, whose stern features had lowered upon us with so gloomy and awful a frown, now seemed lighted up with a serene148, benignant smile, and the green waving undulations of the plain were gladdened with the rich sunshine. Wet, ill, and wearied as I was, my spirit grew lighter149 at the view, and I drew from it an augury150 of good for my future prospects.
When morning came, Raymond awoke, coughing violently, though I had apparently151 received no injury. We mounted, crossed the little stream, pushed through the trees, and began our journey over the plain beyond. And now, as we rode slowly along, we looked anxiously on every hand for traces of the Indians, not doubting that the village had passed somewhere in that vicinity; but the scanty152 shriveled grass was not more than three or four inches high, and the ground was of such unyielding hardness that a host might have marched over it and left scarcely a trace of its passage. Up hill and down hill, and clambering through ravines, we continued our journey. As we were skirting the foot of a hill I saw Raymond, who was some rods in advance, suddenly jerking the reins153 of his mule. Sliding from his seat, and running in a crouching154 posture155 up a hollow, he disappeared; and then in an instant I heard the sharp quick crack of his rifle. A wounded antelope came running on three legs over the hill. I lashed156 Pauline and made after him. My fleet little mare soon brought me by his side, and after leaping and bounding for a few moments in vain, he stood still, as if despairing of escape. His glistening eyes turned up toward my face with so piteous a look that it was with feelings of infinite compunction that I shot him through the head with a pistol. Raymond skinned and cut him up, and we hung the forequarters to our saddles, much rejoiced that our exhausted stock of provisions was renewed in such good time.
Gaining the top of a hill, we could see along the cloudy verge of the prairie before us lines of trees and shadowy groves157 that marked the course of Laramie Creek. Some time before noon we reached its banks and began anxiously to search them for footprints of the Indians. We followed the stream for several miles, now on the shore and now wading158 in the water, scrutinizing159 every sand-bar and every muddy bank. So long was the search that we began to fear that we had left the trail undiscovered behind us. At length I heard Raymond shouting, and saw him jump from his mule to examine some object under the shelving bank. I rode up to his side. It was the clear and palpable impression of an Indian moccasin. Encouraged by this we continued our search, and at last some appearances on a soft surface of earth not far from the shore attracted my eye; and going to examine them I found half a dozen tracks, some made by men and some by children. Just then Raymond observed across the stream the mouth of a small branch entering it from the south. He forded the water, rode in at the opening, and in a moment I heard him shouting again, so I passed over and joined him. The little branch had a broad sandy bed, along which the water trickled161 in a scanty stream; and on either bank the bushes were so close that the view was completely intercepted162. I found Raymond stooping over the footprints of three or four horses. Proceeding163 we found those of a man, then those of a child, then those of more horses; and at last the bushes on each bank were beaten down and broken, and the sand plowed164 up with a multitude of footsteps, and scored across with the furrows165 made by the lodge-poles that had been dragged through. It was now certain that we had found the trail. I pushed through the bushes, and at a little distance on the prairie beyond found the ashes of a hundred and fifty lodge fires, with bones and pieces of buffalo robes scattered around them, and in some instances the pickets166 to which horses had been secured still standing in the ground. Elated by our success we selected a convenient tree, and turning the animals loose, prepared to make a meal from the fat haunch of our victim.
Hardship and exposure had thriven with me wonderfully. I had gained both health and strength since leaving La Bonte’s Camp. Raymond and I made a hearty167 meal together in high spirits, for we rashly presumed that having found one end of the trail we should have little difficulty in reaching the other. But when the animals were led in we found that our old ill luck had not ceased to follow us close. As I was saddling Pauline I saw that her eye was as dull as lead, and the hue168 of her yellow coat visibly darkened. I placed my foot in the stirrup to mount, when instantly she staggered and fell flat on her side. Gaining her feet with an effort she stood by the fire with a drooping169 head. Whether she had been bitten by a snake or poisoned by some noxious170 plant or attacked by a sudden disorder, it was hard to say; but at all events her sickness was sufficiently171 ill-timed and unfortunate. I succeeded in a second attempt to mount her, and with a slow pace we moved forward on the trail of the Indians. It led us up a hill and over a dreary plain; and here, to our great mortification172, the traces almost disappeared, for the ground was hard as adamant173; and if its flinty surface had ever retained the print of a hoof174, the marks had been washed away by the deluge of yesterday. An Indian village, in its disorderly march, is scattered over the prairie, often to the width of full half a mile; so that its trail is nowhere clearly marked, and the task of following it is made doubly wearisome and difficult. By good fortune plenty of large ant-hills, a yard or more in diameter, were scattered over the plain, and these were frequently broken by the footprints of men and horses, and marked by traces of the lodge-poles. The succulent leaves of the prickly-pear, also bruised175 from the same causes, helped a little to guide us; so inch by inch we moved along. Often we lost the trail altogether, and then would recover it again, but late in the afternoon we found ourselves totally at fault. We stood alone without clew to guide us. The broken plain expanded for league after league around us, and in front the long dark ridge57 of mountains was stretching from north to south. Mount Laramie, a little on our right, towered high above the rest and from a dark valley just beyond one of its lower declivities, we discerned volumes of white smoke slowly rolling up into the clear air.
“I think,” said Raymond, “some Indians must be there. Perhaps we had better go.” But this plan was not rashly to be adopted, and we determined still to continue our search after the lost trail. Our good stars prompted us to this decision, for we afterward176 had reason to believe, from information given us by the Indians, that the smoke was raised as a decoy by a Crow war party.
Evening was coming on, and there was no wood or water nearer than the foot of the mountains. So thither177 we turned, directing our course toward the point where Laramie Creek issues forth178 upon the prairie. When we reached it the bare tops of the mountains were still brightened with sunshine. The little river was breaking with a vehement179 and angry current from its dark prison. There was something in the near vicinity of the mountains, in the loud surging of the rapids, wonderfully cheering and exhilarating; for although once as familiar as home itself, they had been for months strangers to my experience. There was a rich grass-plot by the river’s bank, surrounded by low ridges, which would effectually screen ourselves and our fire from the sight of wandering Indians. Here among the grass I observed numerous circles of large stones, which, as Raymond said, were traces of a Dakota winter encampment. We lay down and did not awake till the sun was up. A large rock projected from the shore, and behind it the deep water was slowly eddying180 round and round. The temptation was irresistible181. I threw off my clothes, leaped in, suffered myself to be borne once round with the current, and then, seizing the strong root of a water plant, drew myself to the shore. The effect was so invigorating and refreshing182 that I mistook it for returning health. “Pauline,” thought I, as I led the little mare up to be saddled, “only thrive as I do, and you and I will have sport yet among the buffalo beyond these mountains.” But scarcely were we mounted and on our way before the momentary183 glow passed. Again I hung as usual in my seat, scarcely able to hold myself erect184.
“Look yonder,” said Raymond; “you see that big hollow there; the Indians must have gone that way, if they went anywhere about here.”
We reached the gap, which was like a deep notch185 cut into the mountain ridge, and here we soon discerned an ant-hill furrowed186 with the mark of a lodge-pole. This was quite enough; there could be no doubt now. As we rode on, the opening growing narrower, the Indians had been compelled to march in closer order, and the traces became numerous and distinct. The gap terminated in a rocky gateway187, leading into a rough passage upward, between two precipitous mountains. Here grass and weeds were bruised to fragments by the throng188 that had passed through. We moved slowly over the rocks, up the passage; and in this toilsome manner we advanced for an hour or two, bare precipices, hundreds of feet high, shooting up on either hand. Raymond, with his hardy mule, was a few rods before me, when we came to the foot of an ascent189 steeper than the rest, and which I trusted might prove the highest point of the defile190. Pauline strained upward for a few yards, moaning and stumbling, and then came to a dead stop, unable to proceed further. I dismounted, and attempted to lead her; but my own exhausted strength soon gave out; so I loosened the trail-rope from her neck, and tying it round my arm, crawled up on my hands and knees. I gained the top, totally exhausted, the sweat drops trickling from my forehead. Pauline stood like a statue by my side, her shadow falling upon the scorching rock; and in this shade, for there was no other, I lay for some time, scarcely able to move a limb. All around the black crags, sharp as needles at the top, stood glowing in the sun, without a tree, or a bush, or a blade of grass, to cover their precipitous sides. The whole scene seemed parched with a pitiless, insufferable heat.
After a while I could mount again, and we moved on, descending the rocky defile on its western side. Thinking of that morning’s journey, it has sometimes seemed to me that there was something ridiculous in my position; a man, armed to the teeth, but wholly unable to fight, and equally so to run away, traversing a dangerous wilderness191, on a sick horse. But these thoughts were retrospective, for at the time I was in too grave a mood to entertain a very lively sense of the ludicrous.
Raymond’s saddle-girth slipped; and while I proceeded he was stopping behind to repair the mischief192. I came to the top of a little declivity193, where a most welcome sight greeted my eye; a nook of fresh green grass nestled among the cliffs, sunny clumps194 of bushes on one side, and shaggy old pine trees leaning forward from the rocks on the other. A shrill195, familiar voice saluted196 me, and recalled me to days of boyhood; that of the insect called the “locust” by New England schoolboys, which was fast clinging among the heated boughs of the old pine trees. Then, too, as I passed the bushes, the low sound of falling water reached my ear. Pauline turned of her own accord, and pushing through the boughs we found a black rock, over-arched by the cool green canopy197. An icy stream was pouring from its side into a wide basin of white sand, from whence it had no visible outlet198, but filtered through into the soil below. While I filled a tin cup at the spring, Pauline was eagerly plunging her head deep in the pool. Other visitors had been there before us. All around in the soft soil were the footprints of elk199, deer, and the Rocky Mountain sheep; and the grizzly bear too had left the recent prints of his broad foot, with its frightful200 array of claws. Among these mountains was his home.
Soon after leaving the spring we found a little grassy201 plain, encircled by the mountains, and marked, to our great joy, with all the traces of an Indian camp. Raymond’s practiced eye detected certain signs by which he recognized the spot where Reynal’s lodge had been pitched and his horses picketed. I approached, and stood looking at the place. Reynal and I had, I believe, hardly a feeling in common. I disliked the fellow, and it perplexed202 me a good deal to understand why I should look with so much interest on the ashes of his fire, when between him and me there seemed no other bond of sympathy than the slender and precarious203 one of a kindred race.
In half an hour from this we were clear of the mountains. There was a plain before us, totally barren and thickly peopled in many parts with the little prairie dogs, who sat at the mouths of their burrows204 and yelped205 at us as we passed. The plain, as we thought, was about six miles wide; but it cost us two hours to cross it. Then another mountain range rose before us, grander and more wild than the last had been. Far out of the dense shrubbery that clothed the steeps for a thousand feet shot up black crags, all leaning one way, and shattered by storms and thunder into grim and threatening shapes. As we entered a narrow passage on the trail of the Indians, they impended206 frightfully on one side, above our heads.
Our course was through dense woods, in the shade and twinkling sunlight of overhanging boughs. I would I could recall to mind all the startling combinations that presented themselves, as winding207 from side to side of the passage, to avoid its obstructions208, we could see, glancing at intervals through the foliage209, the awful forms of the gigantic cliffs, that seemed at times to hem28 us in on the right and on the left, before us and behind! Another scene in a few moments greeted us; a tract104 of gray and sunny woods, broken into knolls210 and hollows, enlivened by birds and interspersed211 with flowers. Among the rest I recognized the mellow212 whistle of the robin213, an old familiar friend whom I had scarce expected to meet in such a place. Humble-bees too were buzzing heavily about the flowers; and of these a species of larkspur caught my eye, more appropriate, it should seem, to cultivated gardens than to a remote wilderness. Instantly it recalled a multitude of dormant214 and delightful215 recollections.
Leaving behind us this spot and its associations, a sight soon presented itself, characteristic of that warlike region. In an open space, fenced in by high rocks, stood two Indian forts, of a square form, rudely built of sticks and logs. They were somewhat ruinous, having probably been constructed the year before. Each might have contained about twenty men. Perhaps in this gloomy spot some party had been beset216 by their enemies, and those scowling217 rocks and blasted trees might not long since have looked down on a conflict unchronicled and unknown. Yet if any traces of bloodshed remained they were completely hidden by the bushes and tall rank weeds.
Gradually the mountains drew apart, and the passage expanded into a plain, where again we found traces of an Indian encampment. There were trees and bushes just before us, and we stopped here for an hour’s rest and refreshment. When we had finished our meal Raymond struck fire, and lighting108 his pipe, sat down at the foot of a tree to smoke. For some time I observed him puffing218 away with a face of unusual solemnity. Then slowly taking the pipe from his lips, he looked up and remarked that we had better not go any farther.
“Why not?” asked I.
He said that the country was becoming very dangerous, that we were entering the range of the Snakes, Arapahoes and Grosventre Blackfeet, and that if any of their wandering parties should meet us, it would cost us our lives; but he added, with a blunt fidelity that nearly reconciled me to his stupidity, that he would go anywhere I wished. I told him to bring up the animals, and mounting them we proceeded again. I confess that, as we moved forward, the prospect seemed but a dreary and doubtful one. I would have given the world for my ordinary elasticity219 of body and mind, and for a horse of such strength and spirit as the journey required.
Closer and closer the rocks gathered round us, growing taller and steeper, and pressing more and more upon our path. We entered at length a defile which I never had seen rivaled. The mountain was cracked from top to bottom, and we were creeping along the bottom of the fissure52, in dampness and gloom, with the clink of hoofs220 on the loose shingly221 rocks, and the hoarse murmuring of a petulant222 brook223 which kept us company. Sometimes the water, foaming224 among the stones, overspread the whole narrow passage; sometimes, withdrawing to one side, it gave us room to pass dry-shod. Looking up, we could see a narrow ribbon of bright blue sky between the dark edges of the opposing cliffs. This did not last long. The passage soon widened, and sunbeams found their way down, flashing upon the black waters. The defile would spread out to many rods in width; bushes, trees, and flowers would spring by the side of the brook; the cliffs would be feathered with shrubbery, that clung in every crevice74, and fringed with trees, that grew along their sunny edges. Then we would be moving again in the darkness. The passage seemed about four miles long, and before we reached the end of it, the unshod hoofs of our animals were lamentably225 broken, and their legs cut by the sharp stones. Issuing from the mountain we found another plain. All around it stood a circle of lofty precipices, that seemed the impersonation of silence and solitude226. Here again the Indians had encamped, as well they might, after passing with their women, children and horses through the gulf behind us. In one day we had made a journey which had cost them three to accomplish.
The only outlet to this amphitheater lay over a hill some two hundred feet high, up which we moved with difficulty. Looking from the top, we saw that at last we were free of the mountains. The prairie spread before us, but so wild and broken that the view was everywhere obstructed227. Far on our left one tall hill swelled228 up against the sky, on the smooth, pale green surface of which four slowly moving black specks229 were discernible. They were evidently buffalo, and we hailed the sight as a good augury; for where the buffalo were, there too the Indians would probably be found. We hoped on that very night to reach the village. We were anxious to do so for a double reason, wishing to bring our wearisome journey to an end, and knowing, moreover, that though to enter the village in broad daylight would be a perfectly230 safe experiment, yet to encamp in its vicinity would be dangerous. But as we rode on, the sun was sinking, and soon was within half an hour of the horizon. We ascended231 a hill and looked round us for a spot for our encampment. The prairie was like a turbulent ocean, suddenly congealed233 when its waves were at the highest, and it lay half in light and half in shadow, as the rich sunshine, yellow as gold, was pouring over it. The rough bushes of the wild sage115 were growing everywhere, its dull pale green overspreading hill and hollow. Yet a little way before us, a bright verdant234 line of grass was winding along the plain, and here and there throughout its course water was glistening darkly. We went down to it, kindled a fire, and turned our horses loose to feed. It was a little trickling brook, that for some yards on either bank turned the barren prairie into fertility, and here and there it spread into deep pools, where the beaver235 had dammed it up.
We placed our last remaining piece of the antelope before a scanty fire, mournfully reflecting on our exhausted stock of provisions. Just then an enormous gray hare, peculiar to these prairies, came jumping along, and seated himself within fifty yards to look at us. I thoughtlessly raised my rifle to shoot him, but Raymond called out to me not to fire for fear the report should reach the ears of the Indians. That night for the first time we considered that the danger to which we were exposed was of a somewhat serious character; and to those who are unacquainted with Indians, it may seem strange that our chief apprehensions236 arose from the supposed proximity237 of the people whom we intended to visit. Had any straggling party of these faithful friends caught sight of us from the hill-top, they would probably have returned in the night to plunder238 us of our horses and perhaps of our scalps. But we were on the prairie, where the GENIUS LOCI is at war with all nervous apprehensions; and I presume that neither Raymond nor I thought twice of the matter that evening.
While he was looking after the animals, I sat by the fire engaged in the novel task of baking bread. The utensils239 were of the most simple and primitive240 kind, consisting of two sticks inclining over the bed of coals, one end thrust into the ground while the dough241 was twisted in a spiral form round the other. Under such circumstances all the epicurean in a man’s nature is apt to awaken242 within him. I revisited in fancy the far distant abodes243 of good fare, not indeed Frascati’s, or the Trois Freres Provencaux, for that were too extreme a flight; but no other than the homely244 table of my old friend and host, Tom Crawford, of the White Mountains. By a singular revulsion, Tom himself, whom I well remember to have looked upon as the impersonation of all that is wild and backwoodsman-like, now appeared before me as the ministering angel of comfort and good living. Being fatigued and drowsy I began to doze160, and my thoughts, following the same train of association, assumed another form. Half-dreaming, I saw myself surrounded with the mountains of New England, alive with water-falls, their black crags tinctured with milk-white mists. For this reverie I paid a speedy penalty; for the bread was black on one side and soft on the other.
For eight hours Raymond and I, pillowed on our saddles, lay insensible as logs. Pauline’s yellow head was stretched over me when I awoke. I got up and examined her. Her feet indeed were bruised and swollen by the accidents of yesterday, but her eye was brighter, her motions livelier, and her mysterious malady245 had visibly abated246. We moved on, hoping within an hour to come in sight of the Indian village; but again disappointment awaited us. The trail disappeared, melting away upon a hard and stony247 plain. Raymond and I separating, rode from side to side, scrutinizing every yard of ground, until at length I discerned traces of the lodge-poles passing by the side of a ridge of rocks. We began again to follow them.
“What is that black spot out there on the prairie?”
“It looks like a dead buffalo,” answered Raymond.
We rode out to it, and found it to be the huge carcass of a bull killed by the Indians as they had passed. Tangled248 hair and scraps249 of hide were scattered all around, for the wolves had been making merry over it, and had hollowed out the entire carcass. It was covered with myriads250 of large black crickets, and from its appearance must certainly have lain there for four or five days. The sight was a most disheartening one, and I observed to Raymond that the Indians might still be fifty or sixty miles before us. But he shook his head, and replied that they dared not go so far for fear of their enemies, the Snakes.
Soon after this we lost the trail again, and ascended a neighboring ridge, totally at a loss. Before us lay a plain perfectly flat, spreading on the right and left, without apparent limit, and bounded in front by a long broken line of hills, ten or twelve miles distant. All was open and exposed to view, yet not a buffalo nor an Indian was visible.
“Do you see that?” said Raymond; “Now we had better turn round.”
But as Raymond’s bourgeois251 thought otherwise, we descended the hill and began to cross the plain. We had come so far that I knew perfectly well neither Pauline’s limbs nor my own could carry me back to Fort Laramie. I considered that the lines of expediency252 and inclination tallied253 exactly, and that the most prudent254 course was to keep forward. The ground immediately around us was thickly strewn with the skulls255 and bones of buffalo, for here a year or two before the Indians had made a “surround”; yet no living game presented itself. At length, however, an antelope sprang up and gazed at us. We fired together, and by a singular fatality256 we both missed, although the animal stood, a fair mark, within eighty yards. This ill success might perhaps be charged to our own eagerness, for by this time we had no provision left except a little flour. We could discern several small lakes, or rather extensive pools of water, glistening in the distance. As we approached them, wolves and antelopes257 bounded away through the tall grass that grew in their vicinity, and flocks of large white plover258 flew screaming over their surface. Having failed of the antelope, Raymond tried his hand at the birds with the same ill success. The water also disappointed us. Its muddy margin was so beaten up by the crowd of buffalo that our timorous259 animals were afraid to approach. So we turned away and moved toward the hills. The rank grass, where it was not trampled260 down by the buffalo, fairly swept our horses’ necks.
Again we found the same execrable barren prairie offering no clew by which to guide our way. As we drew near the hills an opening appeared, through which the Indians must have gone if they had passed that way at all. Slowly we began to ascend232 it. I felt the most dreary forebodings of ill success, when on looking round I could discover neither dent138 of hoof, nor footprint, nor trace of lodge-pole, though the passage was encumbered by the ghastly skulls of buffalo. We heard thunder muttering; a storm was coming on.
As we gained the top of the gap, the prospect beyond began to disclose itself. First, we saw a long dark line of ragged25 clouds upon the horizon, while above them rose the peak of the Medicine-Bow, the vanguard of the Rocky Mountains; then little by little the plain came into view, a vast green uniformity, forlorn and tenantless261, though Laramie Creek glistened262 in a waving line over its surface, without a bush or a tree upon its banks. As yet, the round projecting shoulder of a hill intercepted a part of the view. I rode in advance, when suddenly I could distinguish a few dark spots on the prairie, along the bank of the stream.
“Buffalo!” said I. Then a sudden hope flashed upon me, and eagerly and anxiously I looked again.
“Horses!” exclaimed Raymond, with a tremendous oath, lashing79 his mule forward as he spoke263. More and more of the plain disclosed itself, and in rapid succession more and more horses appeared, scattered along the river bank, or feeding in bands over the prairie. Then, suddenly, standing in a circle by the stream, swarming264 with their savage265 inhabitants, we saw rising before us the tall lodges266 of the Ogallalla. Never did the heart of wanderer more gladden at the sight of home than did mine at the sight of those wild habitations!
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1 exquisite | |
adj.精美的;敏锐的;剧烈的,感觉强烈的 | |
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2 discomfort | |
n.不舒服,不安,难过,困难,不方便 | |
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3 fixed | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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4 scouting | |
守候活动,童子军的活动 | |
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5 butt | |
n.笑柄;烟蒂;枪托;臀部;v.用头撞或顶 | |
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6 buffalo | |
n.(北美)野牛;(亚洲)水牛 | |
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7 severely | |
adv.严格地;严厉地;非常恶劣地 | |
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8 fatigued | |
adj. 疲乏的 | |
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9 motive | |
n.动机,目的;adv.发动的,运动的 | |
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10 averse | |
adj.厌恶的;反对的,不乐意的 | |
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11 unwillingly | |
adv.不情愿地 | |
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12 hazardous | |
adj.(有)危险的,冒险的;碰运气的 | |
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13 fidelity | |
n.忠诚,忠实;精确 | |
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14 picket | |
n.纠察队;警戒哨;v.设置纠察线;布置警卫 | |
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15 penetrating | |
adj.(声音)响亮的,尖锐的adj.(气味)刺激的adj.(思想)敏锐的,有洞察力的 | |
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16 lodge | |
v.临时住宿,寄宿,寄存,容纳;n.传达室,小旅馆 | |
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17 gnats | |
n.叮人小虫( gnat的名词复数 ) | |
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18 awning | |
n.遮阳篷;雨篷 | |
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19 emaciated | |
adj.衰弱的,消瘦的 | |
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20 ribs | |
n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 );(船或屋顶等的)肋拱;肋骨状的东西;(织物的)凸条花纹 | |
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21 lookout | |
n.注意,前途,瞭望台 | |
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22 hideous | |
adj.丑陋的,可憎的,可怕的,恐怖的 | |
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23 villain | |
n.反派演员,反面人物;恶棍;问题的起因 | |
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24 creek | |
n.小溪,小河,小湾 | |
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25 ragged | |
adj.衣衫褴褛的,粗糙的,刺耳的 | |
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26 inclination | |
n.倾斜;点头;弯腰;斜坡;倾度;倾向;爱好 | |
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27 inexplicable | |
adj.无法解释的,难理解的 | |
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28 hem | |
n.贴边,镶边;vt.缝贴边;(in)包围,限制 | |
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29 perilous | |
adj.危险的,冒险的 | |
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30 solitary | |
adj.孤独的,独立的,荒凉的;n.隐士 | |
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31 equanimity | |
n.沉着,镇定 | |
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32 twilight | |
n.暮光,黄昏;暮年,晚期,衰落时期 | |
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33 verge | |
n.边,边缘;v.接近,濒临 | |
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34 streak | |
n.条理,斑纹,倾向,少许,痕迹;v.加条纹,变成条纹,奔驰,快速移动 | |
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35 civilized | |
a.有教养的,文雅的 | |
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36 destined | |
adj.命中注定的;(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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37 mare | |
n.母马,母驴 | |
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38 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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39 hardy | |
adj.勇敢的,果断的,吃苦的;耐寒的 | |
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40 procured | |
v.(努力)取得, (设法)获得( procure的过去式和过去分词 );拉皮条 | |
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41 mule | |
n.骡子,杂种,执拗的人 | |
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42 crammed | |
adj.塞满的,挤满的;大口地吃;快速贪婪地吃v.把…塞满;填入;临时抱佛脚( cram的过去式) | |
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43 resolute | |
adj.坚决的,果敢的 | |
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44 deluged | |
v.使淹没( deluge的过去式和过去分词 );淹没;被洪水般涌来的事物所淹没;穷于应付 | |
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45 deluge | |
n./vt.洪水,暴雨,使泛滥 | |
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46 obliterated | |
v.除去( obliterate的过去式和过去分词 );涂去;擦掉;彻底破坏或毁灭 | |
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47 ivy | |
n.常青藤,常春藤 | |
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48 swollen | |
adj.肿大的,水涨的;v.使变大,肿胀 | |
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49 dreary | |
adj.令人沮丧的,沉闷的,单调乏味的 | |
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50 abrupt | |
adj.突然的,意外的;唐突的,鲁莽的 | |
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51 parched | |
adj.焦干的;极渴的;v.(使)焦干 | |
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52 fissure | |
n.裂缝;裂伤 | |
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53 fissures | |
n.狭长裂缝或裂隙( fissure的名词复数 );裂伤;分歧;分裂v.裂开( fissure的第三人称单数 ) | |
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54 impeded | |
阻碍,妨碍,阻止( impede的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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55 grizzly | |
adj.略为灰色的,呈灰色的;n.灰色大熊 | |
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56 ridges | |
n.脊( ridge的名词复数 );山脊;脊状突起;大气层的)高压脊 | |
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57 ridge | |
n.山脊;鼻梁;分水岭 | |
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58 pebbles | |
[复数]鹅卵石; 沙砾; 卵石,小圆石( pebble的名词复数 ) | |
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59 prospect | |
n.前景,前途;景色,视野 | |
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60 scorching | |
adj. 灼热的 | |
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61 melancholy | |
n.忧郁,愁思;adj.令人感伤(沮丧)的,忧郁的 | |
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62 diffused | |
散布的,普及的,扩散的 | |
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63 peculiar | |
adj.古怪的,异常的;特殊的,特有的 | |
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64 resinous | |
adj.树脂的,树脂质的,树脂制的 | |
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65 arid | |
adj.干旱的;(土地)贫瘠的 | |
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66 goaded | |
v.刺激( goad的过去式和过去分词 );激励;(用尖棒)驱赶;驱使(或怂恿、刺激)某人 | |
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67 morbid | |
adj.病的;致病的;病态的;可怕的 | |
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68 disorder | |
n.紊乱,混乱;骚动,骚乱;疾病,失调 | |
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69 longing | |
n.(for)渴望 | |
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70 wasteful | |
adj.(造成)浪费的,挥霍的 | |
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71 profusion | |
n.挥霍;丰富 | |
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72 plunging | |
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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73 bowels | |
n.肠,内脏,内部;肠( bowel的名词复数 );内部,最深处 | |
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74 crevice | |
n.(岩石、墙等)裂缝;缺口 | |
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75 crevices | |
n.(尤指岩石的)裂缝,缺口( crevice的名词复数 ) | |
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76 trickling | |
n.油画底色含油太多而成泡沫状突起v.滴( trickle的现在分词 );淌;使)慢慢走;缓慢移动 | |
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77 mosses | |
n. 藓类, 苔藓植物 名词moss的复数形式 | |
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78 intervals | |
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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79 lashing | |
n.鞭打;痛斥;大量;许多v.鞭打( lash的现在分词 );煽动;紧系;怒斥 | |
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80 crimson | |
n./adj.深(绯)红色(的);vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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81 margin | |
n.页边空白;差额;余地,余裕;边,边缘 | |
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82 picketed | |
用尖桩围住(picket的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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83 antelope | |
n.羚羊;羚羊皮 | |
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84 tormented | |
饱受折磨的 | |
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85 waded | |
(从水、泥等)蹚,走过,跋( wade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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86 galloping | |
adj. 飞驰的, 急性的 动词gallop的现在分词形式 | |
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87 gallop | |
v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔;飞速发展 | |
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88 fettered | |
v.给…上脚镣,束缚( fetter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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89 pointed | |
adj.尖的,直截了当的 | |
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90 fugitives | |
n.亡命者,逃命者( fugitive的名词复数 ) | |
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91 runaways | |
(轻而易举的)胜利( runaway的名词复数 ) | |
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92 dangling | |
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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93 incessant | |
adj.不停的,连续的 | |
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94 drowsy | |
adj.昏昏欲睡的,令人发困的 | |
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95 perpendicularly | |
adv. 垂直地, 笔直地, 纵向地 | |
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96 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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97 determined | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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98 adoption | |
n.采用,采纳,通过;收养 | |
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99 allay | |
v.消除,减轻(恐惧、怀疑等) | |
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100 uncertainty | |
n.易变,靠不住,不确知,不确定的事物 | |
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101 stationary | |
adj.固定的,静止不动的 | |
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102 prospects | |
n.希望,前途(恒为复数) | |
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103 protracted | |
adj.拖延的;延长的v.拖延“protract”的过去式和过去分词 | |
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104 tract | |
n.传单,小册子,大片(土地或森林) | |
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105 foretell | |
v.预言,预告,预示 | |
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106 revolving | |
adj.旋转的,轮转式的;循环的v.(使)旋转( revolve的现在分词 );细想 | |
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107 exhausted | |
adj.极其疲惫的,精疲力尽的 | |
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108 lighting | |
n.照明,光线的明暗,舞台灯光 | |
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109 hushes | |
n.安静,寂静( hush的名词复数 ) | |
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110 instinctively | |
adv.本能地 | |
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111 muzzle | |
n.鼻口部;口套;枪(炮)口;vt.使缄默 | |
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112 protruded | |
v.(使某物)伸出,(使某物)突出( protrude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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113 disconsolate | |
adj.忧郁的,不快的 | |
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114 countenance | |
n.脸色,面容;面部表情;vt.支持,赞同 | |
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115 sage | |
n.圣人,哲人;adj.贤明的,明智的 | |
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116 fiery | |
adj.燃烧着的,火红的;暴躁的;激烈的 | |
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117 catching | |
adj.易传染的,有魅力的,迷人的,接住 | |
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118 encumbered | |
v.妨碍,阻碍,拖累( encumber的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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119 vessel | |
n.船舶;容器,器皿;管,导管,血管 | |
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120 begrudging | |
嫉妒( begrudge的现在分词 ); 勉强做; 不乐意地付出; 吝惜 | |
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121 westward | |
n.西方,西部;adj.西方的,向西的;adv.向西 | |
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122 dense | |
a.密集的,稠密的,浓密的;密度大的 | |
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123 heeded | |
v.听某人的劝告,听从( heed的过去式和过去分词 );变平,使(某物)变平( flatten的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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124 sublimity | |
崇高,庄严,气质高尚 | |
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125 hoarse | |
adj.嘶哑的,沙哑的 | |
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126 somber | |
adj.昏暗的,阴天的,阴森的,忧郁的 | |
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127 zigzag | |
n.曲折,之字形;adj.曲折的,锯齿形的;adv.曲折地,成锯齿形地;vt.使曲折;vi.曲折前行 | |
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128 gashed | |
v.划伤,割破( gash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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129 boughs | |
大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
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130 descending | |
n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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131 gulf | |
n.海湾;深渊,鸿沟;分歧,隔阂 | |
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132 subsided | |
v.(土地)下陷(因在地下采矿)( subside的过去式和过去分词 );减弱;下降至较低或正常水平;一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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133 steadily | |
adv.稳定地;不变地;持续地 | |
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134 scrambling | |
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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135 descended | |
a.为...后裔的,出身于...的 | |
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136 precipice | |
n.悬崖,危急的处境 | |
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137 abate | |
vi.(风势,疼痛等)减弱,减轻,减退 | |
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138 dent | |
n.凹痕,凹坑;初步进展 | |
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139 precipices | |
n.悬崖,峭壁( precipice的名词复数 ) | |
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140 haze | |
n.霾,烟雾;懵懂,迷糊;vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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141 scattered | |
adj.分散的,稀疏的;散步的;疏疏落落的 | |
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142 basking | |
v.晒太阳,取暖( bask的现在分词 );对…感到乐趣;因他人的功绩而出名;仰仗…的余泽 | |
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143 inviting | |
adj.诱人的,引人注目的 | |
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144 refreshment | |
n.恢复,精神爽快,提神之事物;(复数)refreshments:点心,茶点 | |
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145 repose | |
v.(使)休息;n.安息 | |
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146 glistening | |
adj.闪耀的,反光的v.湿物闪耀,闪亮( glisten的现在分词 ) | |
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147 kindled | |
(使某物)燃烧,着火( kindle的过去式和过去分词 ); 激起(感情等); 发亮,放光 | |
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148 serene | |
adj. 安详的,宁静的,平静的 | |
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149 lighter | |
n.打火机,点火器;驳船;v.用驳船运送;light的比较级 | |
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150 augury | |
n.预言,征兆,占卦 | |
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151 apparently | |
adv.显然地;表面上,似乎 | |
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152 scanty | |
adj.缺乏的,仅有的,节省的,狭小的,不够的 | |
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153 reins | |
感情,激情; 缰( rein的名词复数 ); 控制手段; 掌管; (成人带着幼儿走路以防其走失时用的)保护带 | |
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154 crouching | |
v.屈膝,蹲伏( crouch的现在分词 ) | |
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155 posture | |
n.姿势,姿态,心态,态度;v.作出某种姿势 | |
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156 lashed | |
adj.具睫毛的v.鞭打( lash的过去式和过去分词 );煽动;紧系;怒斥 | |
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157 groves | |
树丛,小树林( grove的名词复数 ) | |
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158 wading | |
(从水、泥等)蹚,走过,跋( wade的现在分词 ) | |
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159 scrutinizing | |
v.仔细检查,详审( scrutinize的现在分词 ) | |
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160 doze | |
v.打瞌睡;n.打盹,假寐 | |
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161 trickled | |
v.滴( trickle的过去式和过去分词 );淌;使)慢慢走;缓慢移动 | |
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162 intercepted | |
拦截( intercept的过去式和过去分词 ); 截住; 截击; 拦阻 | |
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163 proceeding | |
n.行动,进行,(pl.)会议录,学报 | |
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164 plowed | |
v.耕( plow的过去式和过去分词 );犁耕;费力穿过 | |
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165 furrows | |
n.犁沟( furrow的名词复数 );(脸上的)皱纹v.犁田,开沟( furrow的第三人称单数 ) | |
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166 pickets | |
罢工纠察员( picket的名词复数 ) | |
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167 hearty | |
adj.热情友好的;衷心的;尽情的,纵情的 | |
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168 hue | |
n.色度;色调;样子 | |
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169 drooping | |
adj. 下垂的,无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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170 noxious | |
adj.有害的,有毒的;使道德败坏的,讨厌的 | |
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171 sufficiently | |
adv.足够地,充分地 | |
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172 mortification | |
n.耻辱,屈辱 | |
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173 adamant | |
adj.坚硬的,固执的 | |
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174 hoof | |
n.(马,牛等的)蹄 | |
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175 bruised | |
[医]青肿的,瘀紫的 | |
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176 afterward | |
adv.后来;以后 | |
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177 thither | |
adv.向那里;adj.在那边的,对岸的 | |
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178 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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179 vehement | |
adj.感情强烈的;热烈的;(人)有强烈感情的 | |
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180 eddying | |
涡流,涡流的形成 | |
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181 irresistible | |
adj.非常诱人的,无法拒绝的,无法抗拒的 | |
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182 refreshing | |
adj.使精神振作的,使人清爽的,使人喜欢的 | |
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183 momentary | |
adj.片刻的,瞬息的;短暂的 | |
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184 erect | |
n./v.树立,建立,使竖立;adj.直立的,垂直的 | |
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185 notch | |
n.(V字形)槽口,缺口,等级 | |
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186 furrowed | |
v.犁田,开沟( furrow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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187 gateway | |
n.大门口,出入口,途径,方法 | |
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188 throng | |
n.人群,群众;v.拥挤,群集 | |
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189 ascent | |
n.(声望或地位)提高;上升,升高;登高 | |
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190 defile | |
v.弄污,弄脏;n.(山间)小道 | |
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191 wilderness | |
n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等,荒漠 | |
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192 mischief | |
n.损害,伤害,危害;恶作剧,捣蛋,胡闹 | |
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193 declivity | |
n.下坡,倾斜面 | |
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194 clumps | |
n.(树、灌木、植物等的)丛、簇( clump的名词复数 );(土、泥等)团;块;笨重的脚步声v.(树、灌木、植物等的)丛、簇( clump的第三人称单数 );(土、泥等)团;块;笨重的脚步声 | |
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195 shrill | |
adj.尖声的;刺耳的;v尖叫 | |
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196 saluted | |
v.欢迎,致敬( salute的过去式和过去分词 );赞扬,赞颂 | |
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197 canopy | |
n.天篷,遮篷 | |
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198 outlet | |
n.出口/路;销路;批发商店;通风口;发泄 | |
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199 elk | |
n.麋鹿 | |
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200 frightful | |
adj.可怕的;讨厌的 | |
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201 grassy | |
adj.盖满草的;长满草的 | |
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202 perplexed | |
adj.不知所措的 | |
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203 precarious | |
adj.不安定的,靠不住的;根据不足的 | |
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204 burrows | |
n.地洞( burrow的名词复数 )v.挖掘(洞穴),挖洞( burrow的第三人称单数 );翻寻 | |
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205 yelped | |
v.发出短而尖的叫声( yelp的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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206 impended | |
v.进行威胁,即将发生( impend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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207 winding | |
n.绕,缠,绕组,线圈 | |
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208 obstructions | |
n.障碍物( obstruction的名词复数 );阻碍物;阻碍;阻挠 | |
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209 foliage | |
n.叶子,树叶,簇叶 | |
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210 knolls | |
n.小圆丘,小土墩( knoll的名词复数 ) | |
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211 interspersed | |
adj.[医]散开的;点缀的v.intersperse的过去式和过去分词 | |
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212 mellow | |
adj.柔和的;熟透的;v.变柔和;(使)成熟 | |
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213 robin | |
n.知更鸟,红襟鸟 | |
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214 dormant | |
adj.暂停活动的;休眠的;潜伏的 | |
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215 delightful | |
adj.令人高兴的,使人快乐的 | |
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216 beset | |
v.镶嵌;困扰,包围 | |
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217 scowling | |
怒视,生气地皱眉( scowl的现在分词 ) | |
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218 puffing | |
v.使喷出( puff的现在分词 );喷着汽(或烟)移动;吹嘘;吹捧 | |
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219 elasticity | |
n.弹性,伸缩力 | |
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220 hoofs | |
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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221 shingly | |
adj.小石子多的 | |
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222 petulant | |
adj.性急的,暴躁的 | |
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223 brook | |
n.小河,溪;v.忍受,容让 | |
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224 foaming | |
adj.布满泡沫的;发泡 | |
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225 lamentably | |
adv.哀伤地,拙劣地 | |
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226 solitude | |
n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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227 obstructed | |
阻塞( obstruct的过去式和过去分词 ); 堵塞; 阻碍; 阻止 | |
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228 swelled | |
增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 ); 肿胀; (使)凸出; 充满(激情) | |
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229 specks | |
n.眼镜;斑点,微粒,污点( speck的名词复数 ) | |
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230 perfectly | |
adv.完美地,无可非议地,彻底地 | |
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231 ascended | |
v.上升,攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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232 ascend | |
vi.渐渐上升,升高;vt.攀登,登上 | |
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233 congealed | |
v.使凝结,冻结( congeal的过去式和过去分词 );(指血)凝结 | |
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234 verdant | |
adj.翠绿的,青翠的,生疏的,不老练的 | |
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235 beaver | |
n.海狸,河狸 | |
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236 apprehensions | |
疑惧 | |
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237 proximity | |
n.接近,邻近 | |
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238 plunder | |
vt.劫掠财物,掠夺;n.劫掠物,赃物;劫掠 | |
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239 utensils | |
器具,用具,器皿( utensil的名词复数 ); 器物 | |
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240 primitive | |
adj.原始的;简单的;n.原(始)人,原始事物 | |
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241 dough | |
n.生面团;钱,现款 | |
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242 awaken | |
vi.醒,觉醒;vt.唤醒,使觉醒,唤起,激起 | |
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243 abodes | |
住所( abode的名词复数 ); 公寓; (在某地的)暂住; 逗留 | |
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244 homely | |
adj.家常的,简朴的;不漂亮的 | |
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245 malady | |
n.病,疾病(通常做比喻) | |
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246 abated | |
减少( abate的过去式和过去分词 ); 减去; 降价; 撤消(诉讼) | |
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247 stony | |
adj.石头的,多石头的,冷酷的,无情的 | |
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248 tangled | |
adj. 纠缠的,紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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249 scraps | |
油渣 | |
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250 myriads | |
n.无数,极大数量( myriad的名词复数 ) | |
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251 bourgeois | |
adj./n.追求物质享受的(人);中产阶级分子 | |
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252 expediency | |
n.适宜;方便;合算;利己 | |
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253 tallied | |
v.计算,清点( tally的过去式和过去分词 );加标签(或标记)于;(使)符合;(使)吻合 | |
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254 prudent | |
adj.谨慎的,有远见的,精打细算的 | |
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255 skulls | |
颅骨( skull的名词复数 ); 脑袋; 脑子; 脑瓜 | |
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256 fatality | |
n.不幸,灾祸,天命 | |
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257 antelopes | |
羚羊( antelope的名词复数 ); 羚羊皮革 | |
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258 plover | |
n.珩,珩科鸟,千鸟 | |
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259 timorous | |
adj.胆怯的,胆小的 | |
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260 trampled | |
踩( trample的过去式和过去分词 ); 践踏; 无视; 侵犯 | |
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261 tenantless | |
adj.无人租赁的,无人居住的 | |
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262 glistened | |
v.湿物闪耀,闪亮( glisten的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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263 spoke | |
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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264 swarming | |
密集( swarm的现在分词 ); 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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265 savage | |
adj.野蛮的;凶恶的,残暴的;n.未开化的人 | |
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266 lodges | |
v.存放( lodge的第三人称单数 );暂住;埋入;(权利、权威等)归属 | |
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