“Bedtime, little girl,” said Williston.
“Just a minute more, daddy. Must we have a light? Think how the mosquitoes will swarm3. Let’s go to bed in the dark.”
“We will shut the door and next Summer, little girl, you shall have your screens. I promise you that, always providing, of course, Jesse Black leaves us alone.”
Had it not been so dark, Mary could have seen the wistful smile on the thin, scholarly face. But though she could not see it, she knew it was there. There had been fairer hopes and more generous promises in the past few years. They had all gone the dreary4 way of impotent striving, of bitter disappointment. There was little need of light for Mary to read her father’s thoughts.
“Sure, daddy,” she answered, cheerily. “And I’ll see that you don’t forget. As for Jesse Black, he wouldn’t dare with the Three Bars on his trail. Well, if you must have a light, you must,” rising and stretching her firm-fleshed young arms far over her head. “You can’t forget you were born in civilization, can you, daddy? I am sure I could be your man in the dark, if you’d let me, and I always turn your nightshirt right side out before hanging it on your bedpost, and your sheet and spread are turned down, and water right at hand. You funny, funny little father, who can’t go to bed in the dark.” She was rummaging5 around a shelf in search of matches. “Now, I have forgotten long since that I wasn’t born on the plains. It wouldn’t hurt me if I had misplaced my nightdress. I’ve done it,” with a gay little laugh. He must be cheered up at all costs, this buffeted6 and disappointed but fine-minded, high-strung, and lovable father of hers. “And I haven’t taken my hair down nights since—oh, since months ago, till—oh, well—so you see it’s easy enough for me to go to bed in the dark.”
“Shut the door quick, dad,” she said, lighting9 the lamp on the table. “The skeeters’ll eat us alive.”
Williston stepped to the door. Just a moment he stood there in the doorway, the light streaming out into the night, tall, thoughtful, no weakling in spite of many failures and many mistakes. A fair mark he made, outlined against the brightly lighted room. It was quiet. Not even a coyote shrilled10. And while he stood there looking up at the calm stars, a sudden sharp report rang out and the sacred peace of God, written in the serenity11 of still summer nights, was desecrated12. Hissing13 and ominous14, the bullet sang past Williston’s head, perilously15 near, and lodged16 in the opposite wall. At that moment, the light was blown out. A great presence of mind had come to Mary in the time of imminent17 danger.
“Good, my dear!” cried Williston, in low tones. Quick as a flash, the door was slammed shut and bolted just as a second shot fell foul18 of it.
“Oh, my father!” cried Mary, groping her way to his side.
“Hush, my dear! They missed me clean. Don’t lose your nerve, Mary. They won’t find it so easy after all.”
There had been no third shot. A profound silence followed the second report. There was no sound of horse or man. Whence, then, the shots? One man, maybe, creeping up like some foul beast of prey19 to strike in the dark. Was he still lurking20 near, abiding21 another opportunity?
It took but a moment for Williston to have the rifles cocked and ready. Mary took her own from him with a hand that trembled ever so slightly.
“What will you do, father?” she asked, holding her rifle lovingly and thanking God in a swift, unformed thought for every rattlesnake or other noxious22 creature whose life she had put out while doing her man’s work of riding the range,—work which had given her not only a man’s courage but a man’s skill as well.
“Take the back window, girl,” he answered, briefly23. “I’ll take the front. Stand to the side. Get used to the starlight and shoot every shadow you see, especially if it moves. Keep track of your shots, don’t waste an effort and don’t let anything creep up on you. They mustn’t get near enough to fire the house.”
His voice was sharp and incisive24. The drifting habit had fallen from him, and he was his own master again.
Several heavy minutes dragged away without movement, without sound from without. The ticking of the clock pressed on strained ears like ghastly bell-tolling. Their eyes became accustomed to the darkness and, by the dim starlight, they were able to distinguish the outlines of the cattle-sheds, still, empty, black. Nothing moved out there.
“I think they’re frightened off,” said Mary at last, breathing more freely. “They were probably just one, or they’d not have left. He knew he missed you, or he would not have fired again. Do you think it was Jesse?”
“Jesse would not have missed,” he said, grimly.
At that moment, a new sound broke the stillness, the whinny of a horse. Reinforcement had approached within the shadow of the cattle-sheds. Something moved out there at last.
“Daddy!” called Mary, in a choked whisper. “Come here—they are down at the sheds.”
Williston stepped to the back window quickly.
“Change places,” he said, briefly.
“Daddy!”
“Yes?”
“Keep up your nerve,” she breathed between great heart-pumps.
“Surely! Do you the same, little comrade, and shoot to kill.”
There was a savage25 note in his last words. For himself, it did not matter so much, but Mary—he pinned no false faith in any thought of possible chivalrous26 intent on the part of the raiders to exempt27 his daughter from the grim fate that awaited him. He had to deal with a desperate man; there would be no clemency28 in this desperate man’s retaliation29.
To his quickened hearing came the sound of stealthy creeping. Something moved directly in front of him, but some distance away. “Shoot every shadow you see, especially if it moves,” were the fighting orders, and his was the third shot of that night.
“Hell! I’ve got it in the leg!” cried a rough voice full of intense anger and pain, and there were sounds of a precipitate30 retreat.
Out under protection of the long row of low-built sheds, other orders were being tersely31 given and silently received.
“Now, men, I’ll shoot the first man of you who blubbers when he’s hit. D’ye hear? There have been breaks enough in this affair already. I don’t intend for that petticoat man and his pulin’ petticoat kid in there to get any satisfaction out o’ this at all. Hear me?”
There was no response. None was needed.
Some shots found harmless lodgment in the outer walls of the shanty32. They were the result of an unavailing attempt to pick the window whence Williston’s shot had come. Mary could not keep back a little womanish gasp33 of nervous dread34.
“Grip your nerve, Mary,” said her father. “That’s nothing—shooting from down there. Just lie low and they can do nothing. Only watch, child, watch! They must not creep up on us. Oh, for a moon!”
She did grip her nerve, and her hand ceased its trembling. In the darkness, her eyes were big and solemn. Sometime, to-morrow, the reaction would come, but to-night—
“Yes, father, keep up your own nerve,” she said, in a brave little voice that made the man catch his breath in a sob35.
Again the heavy minutes dragged away. At each of the two windows crouched36 a tense figure, brain alert, eyes in iron control. It was a frightful37 strain, this waiting game. Could one be sure nothing had escaped one’s vigilance? Starlight was deceptive38, and one’s eyes must needs shift to keep the mastery over their little horizon. It might well be that some one of those ghostly and hidden sentinels patrolling the lonely homestead had wormed himself past staring eyeballs, crawling, crawling, crawling; it might well be that at any moment a sudden light flaring39 up from some corner would tell the tale of the end.
Now and then could be heard the soft thud of a hoof40 as some one rode to execute an order. Occasionally, something moved out by the sheds. Such movement, if discernible from the house, was sure to be followed on the instant by a quick sharp remonstrance41 from Williston’s rifle. How long could it last? Would his nerve wear away with the night? Could he keep his will dominant42? If so, he must drag his mind resolutely43 away from that nerve-racking, still, and unseen creeping, creeping, creeping, nearer and nearer. How the stillness weighed upon him, and still his mind dwelt upon that sinuous44, flat-bellied creeping, crawling, worming! God, it was awful! He fought it desperately45. He knew he was lost if he could not stop thinking about it. The sweat came out in big beads46 on his forehead, on his body; he prickled with the heat of the effort. Then it left him—the awful horror—left him curiously47 cold, but steady of nerve and with a will of iron and eyes, cat’s eyes, for their seeing in the dark. Now that he was calm once more, he let himself weigh the chances of succor48. They were pitifully remote. The Lazy S was situated49 in a lonely stretch of prairie land far from any direct trail. True, it lay between Kemah, the county seat, and the Three Bars ranch50, but it was a good half mile from the straight route. Even so, it was a late hour for any one to be passing by. It was not a travelled trail except for the boys of the Three Bars, and they were known to be great home-stayers and little given to spreeing. As for the rustlers, if rustlers they were, they had no fear of interruption by the officers of the law, who held their places by virtue51 of the insolent52 and arbitrary will of Jesse Black and his brotherhood53, and were now carousing54 in Kemah by virtue of the hush-money put up by this same Secret Tribunal.
Yet now that Williston’s head was clear, he realized, with strengthening confidence in the impregnability of their position, that two trusty rifles behind barred doors are not so bad a defence after all, especially when one took into consideration that, with the exception of the sheds overlooking which he had chosen his position as the point of greatest menace, and a small clump55 of half-grown cottonwoods by the spring which Mary commanded from her window, there were no hiding places to be utilized56 for this Indian mode of warfare57. He could not know how many desperadoes there were, but he reasoned well when he confided58 in his belief that they would not readily trust themselves to the too dangerous odds59 of the open space between. An open attack was not probable. Vigilance, then, a never-lapsing vigilance that they be not surprised, was the price of their salvation60. What human power could do, he would do, and trust Mary to do the same. She was a good girl and true. She would do well. She had not yet shot. Surely, they would make use of that good vantage ground of the cottonwood clump. Probably they were even now making a detour61 to reach it.
“Watch, child, watch!” he said again, without in the least shifting his tense position.
Now was her time come. Dark, sinister63 figures flitted from tree to tree. At first, she could not be sure, it was so heartlessly dark, but there was movement—it was different from that terrible blank quiet which she had hitherto been gazing upon till her eyes burned and pricked64 as with needle points, and visionary things swam before them. She winked65 rapidly to dispel66 the unreal and floating things, opened wide her longlashed lids, fixed67 them, and—fired. Then Williston knew that his “little girl,” his one ewe lamb, all that was left to him of a full and gracious past, must go through what he had gone through, all that nameless horror and expectant dread, and his heart cried out at the unholy injustice68 of it all. He dared not go to her, dared not desert his post for an instant. If one got within the shadow of the walls, all was lost.
Mary’s challenge was met with a rather hot return fire. It was probably given to inspire the besieged69 with a due respect for the attackers’ numbers. Bullets pattered around the outside walls like hailstones, one even whizzed through the window perilously near the girl’s intent young face.
Silence came back to the night. There was no more movement. Yet down there at the spring, something, maybe one of those dark, gaunt cottonwoods, held death—death for her and death for her father. A stream of icy coldness struck across her heart. She found herself calculating in deliberation which tree it was that held this thing—death. The biggest one, shadowing the spring, helping70 to keep the pool sweet and cool where Paul Langford had galloped71 his horse that day when—ah! if Paul Langford would only come now!
A wild, girlish hope flashed up in her heart. Langford would come—had he not sworn it to her father? Had he not given his hand as a pledge? It means something to shake hands in the cattle country. He was big and brave and true. When he came, these awful, creeping terrors would disperse—grim shadows that must steal away when morning comes. When he came, she could put her rifle in his big, confident hands, lie down on the floor and—cry. She wanted to cry—oh, how she did want to cry! If Paul Langford would only come, she could cry. Cold reason came back to her aid and dissipated the weak and womanish longing72 to give way to tears. There was a pathetic droop73 to her mouth, a long, quivering, sobbing74 sigh, and she buried her woman’s weakness right deeply and stamped upon it. How utterly75 wild and foolish her brief hope had been! Langford and all his men were sound in sleep long ago. How could he know? Were the ruffians out there men to tell? Ah, no! There was no one to know. It would all happen in the dark,—in awful loneliness, and there would be no one to know until it was all over—to-morrow, maybe, or next week, who could tell? They were off the main trail, few people ever sought them out. There would be no one to know.
As her strained sight stared out into the darkness, it was borne to her intuitively, it may be, that something was creeping up on her. She could see nothing and yet knew it to be true. Every fibre of her being tingled76 with the certainty of it. It was coming closer and closer. She felt it like an actual presence. Her eyes shifted here, there—swept her half-circle searchingly—stared and stared. Still nothing moved. And yet the nearness of some unseen thing grew more and more palpable. If she could not see it soon, she must scream aloud. She breathed in little quickened gasps77. Soon, very soon now, she would scream. Ah! A shadow down by the biggest cottonwood! It boldly sought a nearer and a smaller trunk. Another slinking shadow glided78 behind the vacated position. It was a ghastly presentation of “Pussy-wants-a-corner” played in nightmare. But at last it was something tangible79,—something to do away with that frightful sensation of that crawling, creeping, twisting, worming, insinuating—nearer and nearer, so near now that it beat upon her—unseen presence. She pressed her finger to the trigger to shoot at the tangible shadows and dispel that enveloping80, choking, blanket horror, when God knows what stayed the muscular action of her fingers. Call it instinct, what you will, her hand was stayed even before her physical eye was caught and held by a blot81 darker still than the night, over to her right, farthest from the spring. It lay perfectly82 still. It came to her, the wily plan, with startling clearness. The blot was waiting for her to fire futilely83 at grinning shadows among the trees and, under cover of her engrossed84 attention, insinuate85 its treacherous86 body the farther forward. Then the play would go merrily on till—the end. She turned the barrel of her rifle slowly and deliberately87 away from the moving shapes among the cottonwood clump, sighted truly the motionless blur88 to her right, and fired, once, twice, three times.
The completeness of the surprise seemed to inspire the attackers with a hellish fury. They returned the fire rapidly and at will, remaining under cover the while. Shrinking low at her window, her eyes glued on the still black mass out yonder, Mary wondered if it were dead. She prayed passionately89 that it might be, and yet—it is a dreadful thing to kill. Once more the wild firing ceased. Mary responded once or twice just to keep the deadly chill from returning—if that were possible.
Under cover of the desperadoes’ fire, at obtuse90 angles with the first attempt, a second blot began its tortuous91 twisting. It accomplished92 a space, stopped; pulled itself its length, stopped, waited, watchful93 eyes on the window whence came Mary’s scattered94 firing still into the clump of trees. They had drawn95 her close regard at last. Would it hold out? Forward again, crawling flat on the ground, ever advancing, slowly, very slowly, but also very surely, creeping, creeping, creeping, now stopping, now creeping, stopping, creeping.
All at once the gun play began again, sharp, quick, from the spring, from the sheds. The blot lay perfectly still for a moment—waiting, watching. The plucky96 little rifle was silent. But so it had been before. Quarter length, half, whole length, cautiously with frequent stops, eyes so steely, so intent—could it be possible that this gun was really silenced—out of the race? It would not do to trust too much. The blot waited, scarcely breathed, crept forward again.
A sudden bright light flashed up through the darkness under the unprotected wall to Mary’s left. Almost simultaneously97 a kindred light sprang into being from the region of the cattle-sheds. The men down there had been waiting for this signal. It meant that for some reason the second effort to creep up unobserved to fire the house had been successful. The flare7 grew and spread. It became a glare.
When the whole cabin seemed to be in flames save the door,—the dry, rude boarding had caught and burned like paper,—when the heat had become unbearable98, Williston held out his hand to his daughter, silently. As silently she put her hand, her left hand, in his; nor did Williston notice that it was her left, nor how limply her right arm hung to her side. In the glare, her face shone colorless, but her dark eyes were stars. Her head was held high. With firm step, Williston advanced to the door. Deliberately he unbarred it, as deliberately threw it open, and stepped over the threshold. They were covered on the instant by four rifles.
“drop your guns!” called the chief, roughly. Then the desperadoes moved up.
“I take it that I am the one wanted,” said Williston.
His voice was calm and scholarly once more. In the uselessness of further struggle, it had lost the sharp incisiveness99 that had been the call to action. If one must die, it is good to die after a brave fight. One is never a coward then. Williston’s face wore an almost exalted100 look.
“My daughter is free to go?” he asked, his first words having met with no response. Better, much better, for the make of a man like Williston to die in the dignity of silence, but for Mary’s sake he parleyed.
“I guess not!” responded the leader, curtly101. “If a pulin’ idiot hadn’t missed the broadside of you—as pretty a mark this side heaven as man could want,—then we might talk about the girl. She’s showed up too damned much like a man now to let her loose.”
His big, shuffling102 form lounged in his saddle. He raised his rifle with every appearance of lazy indifference103. They were to be shot down where they stood, now, right on the threshold of their burning homestead.
Williston bowed his head to the inevitable104 for a moment; then raised it proudly to meet the inevitable.
A rifle shot rang out startlingly clear. At the very moment the leader’s hawk’s eye had swept the sight, his rifle arm had twitched105 uncertainly, then fallen nerveless to his side, while his bullet, playing a faltering106 and discordant107 second to the first true shot, tore up the ground in front of him and swerved108 harmlessly to one side. Instantly the wildest confusion reigned,—shouts, curses, the plunging109 of horses mingled110 with the sharp crack of fire-arms. The shooting was wild. The surprise was too complete for the outlaws111 to recover at once. They had heard no sound of approaching hoofbeats. The roaring flames licking up the dry lumber112, and rendering113 the surrounding darkness the blacker for the contrast, had been of saving grace to the besiegers after all.
In a moment, the desperadoes rallied. They closed in and imposed a cursing, malignant114 wall between the rescuers and the blazing door of the shanty and what stood and lay before it. Mary had sunk down at her father’s feet, and had no cognizance of the fierce though brief conflict that ensued.
Presently, she was dragged roughly to her feet. A big, muscular arm had heavy grasp of her.
“Make sure of the girl, Red!” commanded a sharp voice near, and it was gone out into the night.
Afterward115, she heard—oh, many, many times in the night watches—the eerie116 galloping117 of horses’ hoofs118, growing fainter and ever fainter, heard it above the medley119 of trampling120 horses and yelling men, and knew it for what it meant; but to-night—this evil night—she gave but one quick, bewildered glance into the sinister face above her and in a soft, shuddering121 voice breathed, “Please don’t,” and fainted.
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1
stifling
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| a.令人窒息的 | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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swarm
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| n.(昆虫)等一大群；vi.成群飞舞；蜂拥而入 | |
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dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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rummaging
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| 翻找，搜寻( rummage的现在分词 )； 海关检查 | |
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buffeted
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| 反复敲打( buffet的过去式和过去分词 )； 连续猛击； 打来打去； 推来搡去 | |
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flare
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| v.闪耀，闪烁；n.潮红；突发 | |
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Flared
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| adj. 端部张开的, 爆发的, 加宽的, 漏斗式的 动词flare的过去式和过去分词 | |
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lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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shrilled
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| （声音）尖锐的，刺耳的，高频率的( shrill的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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serenity
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| n.宁静，沉着，晴朗 | |
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desecrated
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| 毁坏或亵渎( desecrate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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hissing
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| n. 发嘶嘶声, 蔑视 动词hiss的现在分词形式 | |
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ominous
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| adj.不祥的，不吉的，预兆的，预示的 | |
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perilously
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| adv.充满危险地，危机四伏地 | |
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lodged
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| v.存放( lodge的过去式和过去分词 )；暂住；埋入；（权利、权威等）归属 | |
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imminent
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| adj.即将发生的，临近的，逼近的 | |
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foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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lurking
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| 潜在 | |
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abiding
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| adj.永久的，持久的，不变的 | |
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noxious
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| adj.有害的，有毒的；使道德败坏的，讨厌的 | |
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briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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incisive
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| adj.敏锐的，机敏的，锋利的，切入的 | |
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savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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chivalrous
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| adj.武士精神的；对女人彬彬有礼的 | |
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exempt
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| adj.免除的；v.使免除；n.免税者，被免除义务者 | |
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clemency
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| n.温和，仁慈，宽厚 | |
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retaliation
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| n.报复，反击 | |
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precipitate
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| adj.突如其来的；vt.使突然发生；n.沉淀物 | |
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tersely
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| adv. 简捷地, 简要地 | |
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shanty
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| n.小屋，棚屋；船工号子 | |
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gasp
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| n.喘息，气喘；v.喘息；气吁吁他说 | |
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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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sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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crouched
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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deceptive
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| adj.骗人的，造成假象的，靠不住的 | |
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flaring
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| a.火焰摇曳的，过份艳丽的 | |
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hoof
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| n.(马，牛等的)蹄 | |
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remonstrance
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| n抗议，抱怨 | |
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dominant
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| adj.支配的，统治的；占优势的；显性的；n.主因，要素，主要的人(或物)；显性基因 | |
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resolutely
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| adj.坚决地，果断地 | |
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sinuous
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| adj.蜿蜒的，迂回的 | |
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desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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beads
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| n.（空心）小珠子( bead的名词复数 )；水珠；珠子项链 | |
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47
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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48
succor
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| n.援助，帮助；v.给予帮助 | |
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49
situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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50
ranch
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| n.大牧场，大农场 | |
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51
virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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52
insolent
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| adj.傲慢的，无理的 | |
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53
brotherhood
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| n.兄弟般的关系，手中情谊 | |
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54
carousing
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| v.痛饮，闹饮欢宴( carouse的现在分词 ) | |
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55
clump
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| n.树丛，草丛；vi.用沉重的脚步行走 | |
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56
utilized
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| v.利用，使用( utilize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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57
warfare
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| n.战争(状态)；斗争；冲突 | |
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58
confided
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| v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的过去式和过去分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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59
odds
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| n.让步，机率，可能性，比率；胜败优劣之别 | |
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60
salvation
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| n.（尤指基督）救世，超度，拯救，解困 | |
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61
detour
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| n.绕行的路，迂回路；v.迂回，绕道 | |
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62
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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63
sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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64
pricked
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| 刺，扎，戳( prick的过去式和过去分词 )； 刺伤； 刺痛； 使剧痛 | |
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65
winked
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| v.使眼色( wink的过去式和过去分词 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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66
dispel
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| vt.驱走，驱散，消除 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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68
injustice
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| n.非正义，不公正，不公平，侵犯（别人的）权利 | |
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besieged
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| 包围，围困，围攻( besiege的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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70
helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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71
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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72
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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73
droop
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| v.低垂，下垂；凋萎，萎靡 | |
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74
sobbing
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| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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75
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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76
tingled
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| v.有刺痛感( tingle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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77
gasps
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| v.喘气( gasp的第三人称单数 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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78
glided
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| v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
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79
tangible
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| adj.有形的，可触摸的，确凿的，实际的 | |
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enveloping
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的现在分词 ) | |
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81
blot
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| vt.弄脏（用吸墨纸）吸干；n.污点，污渍 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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futilely
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| futile（无用的）的变形； 干 | |
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84
engrossed
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| adj.全神贯注的 | |
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85
insinuate
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| vt.含沙射影地说，暗示 | |
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treacherous
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| adj.不可靠的，有暗藏的危险的；adj.背叛的，背信弃义的 | |
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deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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88
blur
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| n.模糊不清的事物；vt.使模糊，使看不清楚 | |
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passionately
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| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
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90
obtuse
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| adj.钝的；愚钝的 | |
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91
tortuous
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| adj.弯弯曲曲的，蜿蜒的 | |
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92
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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93
watchful
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| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
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94
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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96
plucky
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| adj.勇敢的 | |
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97
simultaneously
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| adv.同时发生地，同时进行地 | |
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98
unbearable
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| adj.不能容忍的；忍受不住的 | |
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99
incisiveness
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| n.敏锐，深刻 | |
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100
exalted
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| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
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101
curtly
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| adv.简短地 | |
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102
shuffling
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| adj. 慢慢移动的, 滑移的 动词shuffle的现在分词形式 | |
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103
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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104
inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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105
twitched
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| vt.& vi.（使）抽动，（使）颤动（twitch的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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106
faltering
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| 犹豫的，支吾的，蹒跚的 | |
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107
discordant
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| adj.不调和的 | |
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108
swerved
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| v.（使）改变方向，改变目的( swerve的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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109
plunging
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| adj.跳进的，突进的v.颠簸( plunge的现在分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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110
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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111
outlaws
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| 歹徒，亡命之徒( outlaw的名词复数 )； 逃犯 | |
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112
lumber
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| n.木材，木料；v.以破旧东西堆满；伐木；笨重移动 | |
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113
rendering
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| n.表现，描写 | |
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114
malignant
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| adj.恶性的，致命的；恶意的，恶毒的 | |
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115
afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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116
eerie
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| adj.怪诞的；奇异的；可怕的；胆怯的 | |
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117
galloping
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| adj. 飞驰的, 急性的 动词gallop的现在分词形式 | |
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118
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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119
medley
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| n.混合 | |
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120
trampling
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| 踩( trample的现在分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
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121
shuddering
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| v.战栗( shudder的现在分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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