“No. What is the matter?”
“There is to be a half holiday to-day,” went on McKay.
“The devil there is! I did not know that such things existed this side of heaven.”
“In which case you would never see one,” laughed McKay. “But to-day there is to be one. In my opinion, we owe it to Miss Cameron’s influence with her father. Every one can knock off work at twelve o’clock. Look at the notice!”
On the office wall, beneath the usual “No Entrada—Oficina,” was a big placard which conveyed the news in English and Spanish. Stephen read it with satisfaction.
“I think that will make breakfast taste rather well. What is your opinion, Mac?”
“That comes pretty close to my jedgments,”[80] answered McKay. “Hey, Wah, you crazy Chinaman; quit hammering that gong!”
This last was addressed to Hop1 Wah, who was standing2 on the porch of the eating house, hammering with a railroad spike3 upon an iron gong.
“Me hab to. Else me lazy pig bludders allee late. La, la, boom, boom! Breakfas’. Nice hot cakes. Oh, lubbly, lubbly cakes; eggs this mornin’. Goodee canned eggs. Oh, lubbly; la, la”—Wah fled precipitately4 into the kitchen, as Loring and McKay made gestures of killing5 him.
They were the first at the mess, and while the sleepy stragglers filed in, one by one, they ate their oatmeal in comfort. They took a lazy pleasure in watching the surprise, and listening to the ejaculations, with which the news of the half holiday was received. “Thin Jim,” who always presided at the head of the table, on account of his so-called “boarding house arm,” which enabled him to be of vast service as a waiter, professed6 to be so astounded7 at the news as to be incapable8 of performing his duties.
“What with a dance on Washington’s birthday, and a half holiday to-day, why, we’re becomin’ sort of a leisure class,” he remarked.
“Well, look out that you don’t deteriorate[81] under the strain,” laughed Loring. “Has any one a match?” The only real system in all Loring’s habits of life was his custom of rising early enough to have time for a smoke between breakfast and work.
In the afternoon the camp was alive with shouts and hilarity9. On the slag10 dump two baseball games were in progress, of such excitement that the umpires had early withdrawn11; while some one had established in the gulch12 an impromptu13 shooting gallery, whence the quick rattle14 of reports told of financial success.
Stephen sat with Duncan on the steps of the assay15 office while the latter checked up his figures for the morning’s work.
“The ore from Number Three is running six per cent these days,” he exclaimed, as he tossed his note-book into the office.
Together they watched the trail leading out from the camp, down which rode little groups of horsemen, lounging in the saddle. The smoke from their cigarettes trailed thinly blue behind them.
“There goes domesticity for you, Steve!” said Duncan. He pointed16 to a family group riding by. Old Tom Jenkins, the smelter boss, with[82] his wife, was starting for a trip to the river. Three children were strung in various attitudes across their saddles.
“It seems as if every one were going for a ride,” commented Stephen. “Shall we fall in line with the popular amusement?”
“I haven’t got a horse,” answered Duncan, “and all the company caballos will be out to-day. I heard old Hodges down at the corral after lunch cursing like a pirate at the amount of saddling that he had to do. Right in the midst of his growling17, Miss Cameron came along, and wanted a horse. The old man pretty nearly fell over himself trying to accommodate her. There’s something about her that seems to affect people that way. Quite a convenient trait, I should think!”
Stephen agreed silently, and in his mind added considerably18 more, then strode off to the corral for his pony19.
As he slung20 the saddle across his horse’s back and cinched the girth, he fumbled21 a little, for his mind was not upon the task, but upon a certain curl, which defying combs or hairpins22, waved capriciously at the turn of a girl’s neck.
Horses, however, have little sympathy with[83] sentiment, and while Loring tugged23 absent-mindedly at the straps24, the little beast puffed25 and squealed26, trying to arrange for a comfortable space between his round, gray belly27 and the girth. Stephen, placing his left hand on the head-piece, and his right on the pommel, swung himself into the saddle, in spite of the pony’s antics. Soon he was loping out of camp, and down towards the river. The clear sunshine struck his neck beneath his broad hat; the alkali dust tasted smoky and almost invigorating.
As he left the camp behind him, he laughed and sang softly to himself, beating with his unspurred heel the time of his song against his pony’s ribs28. He blessed the extravagance which had led him to invest half a month’s pay in “Muy Bueno,” as the horse was christened to indicate the owner’s assurance that he was “very fine.” Leaning forward, Loring playfully pulled “Muy Bueno’s” ears. The pony shook its head in annoyance29. This was no holiday for him.
After a short distance the ground began to rise, and the pony, with lowered head, buckled30 to his task, resolutely31 attacking the trail which zig-zagged up the steep mountainside.
Half way up the rise stood a saloon. As Loring[84] approached it, he heard roars of laughter. In it there was that quality which only liquor can produce. As he drew nearer he could see the reason for the laughter. Before the saloon was a girl on horseback, her pony balking32, and flatly refusing to proceed. The doorway33 was full of half drunken miners, calling out advice of varied34 import. The saloon keeper, himself a bit flushed, called out: “She’s got Tennessee Bob’s old pony. He never would go by here without taking a drink, and I reckon the horse sort of inherited the habit.”
Stephen took in the situation at once. Riding up quickly, he cut the stubborn pony across the flank with his quirt. The animal quivered for a moment, then as another stinging blow fell, galloped35 on up the trail.
“Hell, Loring! what you want to do a thing like that for? Funniest thing I’ve seen in a month,” growled36 a man in the crowd.
Stephen only waved his hand in answer and rode on after the girl, whom he had no difficulty in recognizing. A couple of hundred yards of hard riding brought him up with her.
[85]
“Really, Mr. Loring,” she exclaimed, half breathlessly, “you seem to be always in the position of a rescuer.”
“Your horses do seem to have a taste for adventure,” he replied. “Perhaps I may be allowed to accompany you on your ride this afternoon,” continued Stephen. “There might, you know, be other saloons which your pony was in the habit of visiting.”
They were nearing the crest41 of the hill, and the trail broadened so that they could ride abreast42. A bevy43 of quail44 flushed suddenly up from the ground, strumming the air sharply. A little further on, a jack-rabbit jumped into the center of the trail, looked about, then dove into the underbrush. To a mind in its normal condition, these things were but commonplaces. To Stephen it seemed as if all nature were in an exuberant45 mood. The very creak of the leather, or ring of steel, as now and then one of the horses’ hoofs46 struck on stone, fell in with the tenor47 of his spirits. There are few men who could ride over the Arizona hills with Jean Cameron and doubt the gloriousness of existence.
At the summit they drew rein48 to breathe the[86] horses. Before them lay the valley of the “Dripping Spring Wash.” For miles the belt of white sand in the bottom stretched away darkened with clumps49 of drab sage-brush, or with tall wavy50 lines which they knew must be cactus51. Whiter than the sand, far out in the valley, a tent gleamed. Here and there a few moving specks52 betokened53 range cattle. Framing it all were great mountains, as irregular and barren as floe54 ice,—blue, purple, and brown, with streaks55 of yellow where the hot rays of the sun struck upon bare earth. All the detail of the rocky contour showed in the clear air. The mountains at the end of the valley, forty miles away, seemed as distinct as if within a mile. In silence the riders sat their horses, looking straight before them.
“I never knew how big life could be until I saw Arizona,” exclaimed Jean.
“I never knew how big life could be until—”
“Until what, Mr. Loring?”
Loring’s answer was to guide the horses into the trail that led down to the Wash.
In a short while they reached the bottom, and rode out into the valley, where wandering “mavericks,” or faggot-laden burros had pounded innumerable hard paths.
[87]
Jean shook the bridle56 of her horse, and calling back over her shoulder, “Shall we run them?” was off in a flash. Stephen, urging on his pony, soon caught up with her, and side by side they galloped hard up the valley. Leaning forward in his saddle, he could watch the rich color rush across the girl’s face, as the speed set her blood dancing. Her head was tossed backward, throwing out the clean molded chin, and perhaps emphasizing the hint of obstinacy57 concealed58 in its rounded finish. Her bridle hand lay close on the horse’s neck, the small gloved fingers crushing the reins59. From the amount of attention that Loring was, or rather was not, paying to his horse, he richly deserved a fall; but the fates spared him. Perhaps they, too, were engaged in watching the girl.
With a sigh, Jean pulled her horse down to walk.
“That was splendid! Why can’t one always be riding like that?”
Loring looked at her, amused by the exuberance60 of her spirits.
“A bit hard on the horses as a perpetual thing, otherwise perfect,” he answered.
[88]
She turned to him suddenly. “Have you no enthusiasms?”
“I used to have,” answered Stephen, “but they were not of exactly the right kind. In fact they made me what I am.”
“What are you?” she asked, looking at him directly.
“A failure—and rather worse, because I am a poor failure. There is just enough left in me to make me realize the truth, but not enough to compel me to do anything about it.”
Jean thought for a minute, then, with sincere pity in her face, she asked, “Why?”
Stephen had resolved never to speak of his past, of the golden opportunities lost, of the friends who would have helped if they could; but as he looked at her, at the slightly parted lips, at the frank sympathy that shone from her face, he knew that here was some one who could understand and perhaps help.
Slowly at first, controlling the breaks in his voice, then more evenly, he told her of start after start, of the relatives who had disowned him, of drifting and drifting. “Now, here I am, running a hoist61! Well, it is probably the best thing of which I am capable and I owe it to you and[89] your father that I have so good a place. I have been tried and found wanting in almost every way the Lord could invent, and,” he tried rather unsuccessfully to smile, “I think I am down and out.”
Jean reached out her hand to him, and pressed his warmly, with the proud confidence of not being misunderstood.
“Mr. Loring, I do not believe it. You may have been and done all that you say, but you have still the battle ahead of you. I owe my life to you. You risked yours to save me. I will not let you go on throwing yourself away, without trying to help you. I thank you for what you have told me. I think that I understand. It is hard perhaps for a girl to realize the truth; but I do so want to help you! Here in Arizona you have a fresh chance. Go on and win—and never forget that I am going to stand by you.”
Stephen set his teeth and looked straight ahead of him. Every nerve within him tingled62 with the desire to bow his head over the small hand that lay on his, to crave63, he knew not what. Then he lifted his head and looked at her. “I will try—and God bless you!”
So absorbed had the man and girl been in[90] their talk, that they had failed to realize that the soft, swift night of Arizona was overtaking them. Clouds too were gathering64 in the west and obscuring the sunset before its time. Jean noticed it at length and took alarm.
“We must turn and ride fast,” she said hastily. “My father will be worried if we are late. I think I remember this path which cuts into the trail again farther on and is a shorter way. Let us take it!”
Without waiting for Loring’s assent40, she dashed off to the left. Stephen followed her with some misgiving65. He had known too much of the devious66 windings67 of these half-beaten paths and would have chosen the longer way around in confidence of its proving the shorter way home.
On and on they rode in the gathering darkness till at length they could scarcely see a yard ahead of them, and were forced to drop the reins on the necks of the ponies68, realizing that in such a situation instinct is a far safer guide than reason. Loring took the lead, and rode slowly and cautiously, peering about him in the vain hope of discovering the right way. At length his pony balked69 suddenly and threw back its ears. “Stop!” Stephen called back, as he slipped[91] hastily from the saddle and took a step forward to investigate the cause of “Muy Bueno’s” fright. One step was enough, for it showed him that the ground dropped off into space at his very feet. “Whew!” he whistled softly to himself. Then aloud he said: “I am afraid, Miss Cameron, that you must dismount. Wait and let me help you!” But before he could reach her the girl was out of her saddle and at his side. She saw their danger and paled at its nearness. Then she said quietly: “Of course it is my fault; but we need not talk about that now. The question is, what are we going to do?”
“The only thing we can do is to grope our way back by the way we have come, and hope by good luck to reach the main trail again. If the moon would only come up, we might at least get our bearings,” said Loring.
“We ought to be somewhere near the Bingham mine,” Jean reflected aloud. “Mr. Bingham is a friend of my father’s and we have ridden over to supper in his camp once or twice. But I don’t know—I have lost all faith in my skill as a pilot.”
Loring took hold of the bridles70 and turned the ponies. Then mounting, they rode into the[92] darkness, where a slight thread of openness seemed to show their path. Time and time again the horses, sure-footed as they were, stumbled and went down on their knees, only to pick themselves up with a shake and a plunge71. Wandering cattle had beaten so many blind paths through the chaparral or between the rocks that the riders were often forced to stop and retrace72 their way, searching for new openings. Stephen was afraid. It was a new sensation for him to have any dread73 of the uncertain; but every time that Miss Cameron’s horse slipped or hesitated he turned nervously74 in the saddle on the lookout75 for some accident to her. His was a nature which danger elated, but responsibility depressed76. Had he been alone he would have rejoiced in the stubbornness of the way, in the rasp of the cactus as his boots scratched against it, in the uncertain sliding and the quick checking of his horse; but now they worried him, so intent was he on the safety of the girl with him. He knew that only good fortune could find their way for them before sunrise and he prayed for good fortune in a way that made up for his past unbelief in such a thing.
Jean’s cheerfulness and acceptance of conditions[93] only made it harder for him, as, with every sense alert, he led the way towards what he hoped was their goal.
And fear was not the only emotion that struck at his heart. Mingled77 with his anxiety was a rushing glow of happiness, of fierce exultation78 such as he had never experienced in his life. The fact that under his care, alone in the Arizona night, was the girl whom he loved, thrilled and shook him. The soft note of confidence in her voice, her unconscious appeal to him for protection, made the stinging blood rush to his face, made him crush the bridle in a grip as of a vise. “Alone!” he murmured. “Is there in God’s world any such aloneness as two together when the world is a countless79 distance away, when each second is precious as a lifetime!” His voice, when he spoke80 to her, sounded to him dry and forced. It was only by superhuman control that when he guided her horse to the right or left he did not cry out his need of her. Yet through all the electric silence he knew that he had no right to speak of love, no right even to love her. His mood was of that intensity81 which cares not for its reaction on others. Through it all he did not think or imagine that she could[94] care; and yet he was happy, happy with that joy of a great emotion so sweeping82 as not to know pain from pleasure and not to care. For the first time in his life he realized what it was to live, not to think or to care, but to live.
And she? She could not have been a woman and not have known, even though the imprisoned83 words had not escaped; but from knowing to caring is a very long road, and not only has it many turnings, but often it doubles upon itself.
After an hour of this blind riding, they suddenly found themselves following a well-beaten track. A tip of bright gold appeared from behind the black mountains, then a crescent, then a semicircle, and almost before they realized it the trail was flooded with the splendor84 of the full-rounded moon. As they watched, they were startled by the soft thud of a horse’s hoofs behind them. Stephen, a bit uneasy as to the newcomer, wheeled his horse sharply to meet him, and slipped his riding gauntlet from his right hand, prepared to shoot or to shake as the occasion might necessitate85. He was greatly surprised, when the stranger drew abreast of them, to hear him exclaim in a cheerful bass86 voice: “Miss Cameron! How did you come here?”
[95]
“That is just what we want to know. The only thing we want to know more is how to get out by any other way than past the cliff which we almost rode over in the darkness. This is Mr. Loring, Mr. Bingham, one of the hoist engineers at Quentin. Darkness overtook us while we were riding, and I thought that I knew a short cut. I did not, it seems, and here we are.”
“Yes, and a mighty87 narrow escape you had if you were up by the divide yonder. It drops off a good five hundred feet. Cleverness of your horses, I suppose. Positively88 uncanny the instinct of those little beasts! Well, as it happens, you have been riding only a few rods from the path which you were looking for, only that winds around the divide, and not over it. I am on my way to our camp just below here. You’ll stop to supper with us, of course,” he added, as the lights of his camp suddenly twinkled from behind a spur in the hills.
“Not to-night, thank you,” Jean answered. “I am afraid that my father will be worried as it is, and would soon be scouring89 the mountains for us.”
“It might look a little as if you’d run off together,”[96] Mr. Bingham chuckled90 with obtuse91 humor. Suddenly Jean, who had been all gratitude92, felt that she could, with great pleasure, see him go over the cliff which they had avoided. She would have liked to reply to his remark with something either jocular or haughty93; but instead she was conscious of a stiff, shy pause, broken by Loring’s query94 as to how the ore was running in the Bingham mine.
“Decidedly he is a gentleman,” reflected Jean, and then the scene of her talk with her father flashed over her,—the porch, the living-room, the guitar, the song “She’s o’er the border and awa’ wi’ Jock o’ Hazeldean.”
Suddenly she laughed aloud. Both men turned in their saddles to see what could have caused her sudden mirth. “Only an echo,” Jean explained. “It sounded like a girl’s voice. It is gone now. Don’t stop!”
Mr. Bingham seemed so grieved to have them pass the camp without dismounting that Jean, realizing that a neglect of his proffered95 hospitality would wound him unnecessarily, consented to take a cup of coffee. Mrs. Bingham brought it to them with her own hands, talking to them eagerly as they drank it. Mr.[97] Bingham drew out his flask96 and offered it to Stephen; but with a glance at Jean, he declined it and the girl noted97 the sacrifice with satisfaction.
The coffee finished, Jean and Loring bade a hasty farewell to their hosts, who grieved over their parting with that true Western hospitality born of the desolate98 hills, the long reaches of sparsely99 populated country, and the loneliness of camp life.
The horses were tired; but their riders had no notion of sparing them, and rode as fast as the roughness of the trail permitted. Mr. Bingham’s ill-timed words had jarred upon their companionship, and the horses’ hoofs alone broke the silence which had fallen between them.
It was eleven o’clock when they reached Quentin, and Mr. Cameron was pacing the porch impatiently, peering out into the blackness where the moonlight pierced it, as they rode up to the shack100.
“We are all safe, father; we merely took a wrong turning,” Jean called aloud as they drew rein.
“Yes,” observed Mr. Cameron with a stubborn[98] ring in his voice. “I was afraid that you had.”
Jean perceived her father’s frame of mind instantly, and the Cameron in her rose to meet the Cameron in him.
“We have spent a very agreeable afternoon, however,” she said in clear, determined101 tones; “at least I have, so I can scarcely regret our adventure, though I am sorry to have caused you anxiety.”
To Loring’s surprise, instead of slipping out of her saddle as she had done before, she waited for him to lift her down. As he did so, she felt his lips brush her sleeve. It was done after the fashion of a devotee, not of a lover, yet the girl’s pulses bounded with a sense of elation102 and power. She held a man’s soul in her hands. Yes, she knew now with a sense of certainty what she had only suspected before,—that Loring loved her. How she felt herself, how much response the man’s passion had power to call out in her, she took no time to think; but she resolved to use this new power for his good. It should be the beginning of better things than he had ever known. Oh, yes, love could do anything. She had always heard that.
[99]
That night Loring, too, would have sworn that the turning point in his life had come, that never again could he prove unworthy of the trust in him which had shone from Jean Cameron’s eyes and pulsed in the strong clasp of her hand. A woman’s faith had saved other men worse than he. Why could he not surely rely upon its power to save him, too?
One who knew him well might have answered: “Because you are both too strong and too weak to be saved by anything from without. Your regeneration, if it comes, will come from no such gentle approaches and soft appeals, but through the stress and storm of deep experience, through the struggle and agony of overwhelming remorse103. So it must be with some men.”
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1
hop
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| n.单脚跳，跳跃；vi.单脚跳，跳跃；着手做某事；vt.跳跃，跃过 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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spike
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| n.长钉，钉鞋；v.以大钉钉牢，使...失效 | |
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4
precipitately
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| adv.猛进地 | |
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killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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professed
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| 公开声称的，伪称的，已立誓信教的 | |
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7
astounded
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| v.使震惊(astound的过去式和过去分词)；愕然；愕；惊讶 | |
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incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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9
hilarity
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| n.欢乐；热闹 | |
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slag
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| n.熔渣，铁屑，矿渣；v.使变成熔渣，变熔渣 | |
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11
withdrawn
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| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
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gulch
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| n.深谷，峡谷 | |
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impromptu
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| adj.即席的，即兴的；adv.即兴的(地)，无准备的(地) | |
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14
rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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15
assay
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| n.试验，测定 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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growling
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| n.吠声, 咆哮声 v.怒吠, 咆哮, 吼 | |
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considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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pony
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| adj.小型的；n.小马 | |
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slung
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| 抛( sling的过去式和过去分词 )； 吊挂； 遣送； 押往 | |
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fumbled
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| （笨拙地）摸索或处理（某事物）( fumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 乱摸，笨拙地弄； 使落下 | |
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hairpins
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| n.发夹( hairpin的名词复数 ) | |
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tugged
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| v.用力拉，使劲拉，猛扯( tug的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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straps
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| n.带子( strap的名词复数 )；挎带；肩带；背带v.用皮带捆扎( strap的第三人称单数 )；用皮带抽打；包扎；给…打绷带 | |
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puffed
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| adj.疏松的v.使喷出( puff的过去式和过去分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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squealed
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| v.长声尖叫，用长而尖锐的声音说( squeal的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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belly
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| n.肚子，腹部；(像肚子一样)鼓起的部分，膛 | |
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ribs
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| 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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annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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buckled
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| a. 有带扣的 | |
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resolutely
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| adj.坚决地，果断地 | |
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balking
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| n.慢行，阻行v.畏缩不前，犹豫( balk的现在分词 )；（指马）不肯跑 | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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galloped
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| （使马）飞奔，奔驰( gallop的过去式和过去分词 )； 快速做[说]某事 | |
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36
growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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38
embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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assented
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| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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40
assent
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| v.批准，认可；n.批准，认可 | |
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41
crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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42
abreast
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| adv.并排地；跟上(时代)的步伐，与…并进地 | |
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43
bevy
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| n.一群 | |
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44
quail
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| n.鹌鹑；vi.畏惧，颤抖 | |
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45
exuberant
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| adj.充满活力的；（植物）繁茂的 | |
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46
hoofs
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| n.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的名词复数 )v.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的第三人称单数 ) | |
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47
tenor
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| n.男高音（歌手），次中音（乐器），要旨，大意 | |
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rein
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| n.疆绳，统治，支配；vt.以僵绳控制，统治 | |
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49
clumps
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| 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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50
wavy
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| adj.有波浪的，多浪的，波浪状的，波动的，不稳定的 | |
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51
cactus
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| n.仙人掌 | |
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52
specks
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| n.眼镜；斑点，微粒，污点( speck的名词复数 ) | |
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53
betokened
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| v.预示，表示( betoken的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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54
floe
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| n.大片浮冰 | |
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streaks
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| n.（与周围有所不同的）条纹( streak的名词复数 )；（通常指不好的）特征（倾向）；（不断经历成功或失败的）一段时期v.快速移动( streak的第三人称单数 )；使布满条纹 | |
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56
bridle
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| n.笼头，束缚；vt.抑制，约束；动怒 | |
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57
obstinacy
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| n.顽固；（病痛等）难治 | |
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58
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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reins
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| 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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60
exuberance
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| n.丰富；繁荣 | |
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hoist
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| n.升高，起重机，推动；v.升起，升高，举起 | |
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62
tingled
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| v.有刺痛感( tingle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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63
crave
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| vt.渴望得到，迫切需要，恳求，请求 | |
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gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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misgiving
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| n.疑虑，担忧，害怕 | |
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devious
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| adj.不坦率的，狡猾的；迂回的，曲折的 | |
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windings
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| （道路、河流等）蜿蜒的，弯曲的( winding的名词复数 )； 缠绕( wind的现在分词 )； 卷绕； 转动（把手） | |
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ponies
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| 矮种马，小型马( pony的名词复数 )； ￡25 25 英镑 | |
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balked
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| v.畏缩不前，犹豫( balk的过去式和过去分词 )；（指马）不肯跑 | |
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bridles
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| 约束( bridle的名词复数 )； 限动器； 马笼头； 系带 | |
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71
plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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retrace
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| v.折回；追溯，探源 | |
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dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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lookout
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| n.注意，前途，瞭望台 | |
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depressed
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| adj.沮丧的，抑郁的，不景气的，萧条的 | |
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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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78
exultation
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| n.狂喜，得意 | |
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79
countless
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| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
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80
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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81
intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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82
sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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83
imprisoned
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| 下狱，监禁( imprison的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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84
splendor
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| n.光彩；壮丽，华丽；显赫，辉煌 | |
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85
necessitate
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| v.使成为必要，需要 | |
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86
bass
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| n.男低音(歌手)；低音乐器；低音大提琴 | |
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87
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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88
positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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89
scouring
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| 擦[洗]净，冲刷，洗涤 | |
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90
chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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91
obtuse
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| adj.钝的；愚钝的 | |
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92
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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93
haughty
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| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
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94
query
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| n.疑问，问号，质问；vt.询问，表示怀疑 | |
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95
proffered
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| v.提供，贡献，提出( proffer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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96
flask
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| n.瓶，火药筒，砂箱 | |
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97
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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98
desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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99
sparsely
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| adv.稀疏地；稀少地；不足地；贫乏地 | |
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100
shack
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| adj.简陋的小屋，窝棚 | |
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101
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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102
elation
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| n.兴高采烈，洋洋得意 | |
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103
remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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