“What’s the use of sawing wood and laying bricks and building houses and churches,” said Harry3, “if that’s all they amount to?”
Indeed, Bulwagga, standing4 silent and serene5, close to the shore of the great lake, seemed to belittle6 everything. There lay Crown Point, a modest little cluster of tiny buildings. There lay the lake, almost under them, with all its little juttings and indentations plain to view. There was the Crown Point peninsula curving out into the middle of the lake and pointing northward8 like a great, clumsy thumb. Inside it was Bulwagga Bay.
Once upon a time, more than three centuries ago, the adventurous9 Champlain sailed up this great lake which bears his name, with an exploring party of merry Frenchmen. Instead of turning their prows10 eastward11 into the narrow channel formed by the peninsula, they sailed gayly into Bulwagga Bay, supposing that an open path lay before them. But the bay proved to be a trap. Down out of the fastnesses of the old mountain came the Mohawk savages13, and the gay little company was caught like a rat. Harry, who knew the history of the lake, now saw just how it had happened. Many a time and oft had the bloody14 Mohawks made good use of this deceptive15 bay, and many who were caught and slaughtered16 there supposed they had reached the end of the winding17 sheet of water, for there was no sign posted on the end of the peninsula informing the explorer to turn to his left.
But now the old mountain, which had so long been the secret ally of the bloody Mohawk tribe, gave up the secret, as if to say: “You see how we worked it. Wasn’t it a great scheme?”
“Harry,” said Gordon, “I’m all in—let’s rest.”
“Your motion is unanimously carried,” said Harry, sitting down on a rock. “If I saw the camp ten feet in front of me now, I wouldn’t budge18. Now that’s just about where I think the smoke was,” he continued, pointing down into the woods which extended from the base of the mountain to the lake; “and if I’m right, we’ve got a grandstand view on them, provided there’s a moon. Just as soon as they get their old logs blazing, we’ve got them. If—”
“Now you spoil it all when you say if, Harry. It isn’t necessary to say that. We’re sure to see them from up here. We’ve got them, sure, Harry.”
There was some reason for his hopefulness. Bulwagga Mountain is, indeed, a mighty19 grand stand built on the shore of Lake Champlain. It is long and narrow, its length running parallel with the lake. There are two peaks, precisely20 placed, one at the northern, one at the southern, end of the ridge21. By reason of Bulwagga Bay, the northern half of the mountain actually forms the shore, descending22 sheer like a great wall, as if to crowd the railroad into the water. The southern half sits back like a dress circle in a theater, or rather the lake flows wide of it, leaving a stretch of flat, wooded country between. Here the mountain slopes down from its southerly peak, admitting of a descent, if you are cautious and care to undertake it; but there is no way to descend23 from the northern peak eastward except to go to the edge and jump off, a method which has never been popular with tourists.
On his western extent old Bulwagga is more amiable24. There is a road which works its way up toward the northern peak, as many a tired horse knows, but it does not get to the top; and you alight and plod25 on till you look straight down into the bay and can see the ruins of the Crown Point fortress26 on the end of the chubby27 peninsula. The southerly summit looks down with lofty scorn upon the touring parties that make the ascent28 of his brother peak, for he encourages no sightseers to come too near and trifle with his lonely majesty29.
It is all very well for Bulwagga to raise his twin crowns proudly and make a great show to summer boarders, but I can tell you that he might better bow his heads in shame, for he has a most bloody and disreputable history. I dare say there is not a mountain along the whole stretch of Lake Champlain and Lake George that has gotten itself mixed up in so many massacres30. For years its fastnesses echoed with warwhoops and with the cries of the dying. It was a favorite stronghold of the savage12 and treacherous31 Mohawks. But all that is past.
It was the baffling, lonely, wild southerly peak of old Bulwagga that the boys had succeeded in mounting. There was no road, no path, nothing but their compass to guide them. They had come up from the west and the spot where they threw themselves down commanded an unobstructed view of the stretch of woodland between them and the lake. As they looked down, a sudden jut7 of white smoke rose under the precipitous northern end of the mountain, the column traveling diagonally across the base of the peninsula toward the lake.
“Listen,” said Harry, and they heard the distant rattle32 of a hidden train, as it rushed across the peninsula to regain33 the shore.
“My, but it’s lonely up here, isn’t it, Harry? When are we going to eat, anyway?”
“As soon as little Gretchen brings in the firewood. I’ve got to sit right here so as to keep that woods down there in view. It wouldn’t be safe for me to move.”
“It wouldn’t, wouldn’t it?” said Gordon, pushing his staff against Harry’s chest and toppling him over backward. “Get up and pitch camp, you lazy thing!”
They set to work putting up their shelter, and in a little while the frying pan sent forth34 its savory35 odor.
“All gone. Want coffee?”
“I certainly do.”
“It’ll keep you awake.”
“All right, hand me over that egg powder. Could you eat an omelette?”
“Could I? Here you go, catch this—catch this chocolate, too.”
“What’s that for?”
“Scrape some into the egg powder, Harry. It’ll make a sort of chocolate omelette.”
“Why not put some cereal in, too, while we’re about it?”
“Just the idea, and we’ll have a new breakfast food—choc-chocerealeg.”
“Reminds you of the Champastic Motor,” laughed Harry. “I wonder how the little chap’s getting on with his model.”
“We’ll get him in the troop, hey, Harry?”
“By all means.”
After supper, to which both did full justice, they sat back to await the darkness. They had hoped to see some smoke which might indicate a cook fire, in the woods below, but supper time had come and gone and there had not been the faintest suggestion of any. It was true their outlook was by no means limited to the woods directly east of them. By shifting their position somewhat they could scan the country far to the west and south. But the woods to the east afforded an ideal spot for a camp; there was the lake just beyond—it was just such a spot as Red Deer would have chosen and near enough to show the trained vision of a scout38 the smoke of its cook fire. But there was none, and both boys rather dreaded39 the approach of darkness with, perhaps, its greater disappointment. For Gordon enthusiastically, and Harry quietly, had set their hopes all day on what a view from this old mountain might reveal.
“I know one thing,” said Harry, “and that is, if we stay here over to-morrow, I’m going to find a place where little fishes dwell. Methinks I could dally40 with a fried trout41, Sir Gordon.”
“But why should we hang around here over to-morrow, Harry?”
“Because, my son, we don’t happen to be weather-vanes on the top of a steeple. If we don’t spy anything down there, we’ve got to get over that way till we can command the west,—savvy?”
“That’s a good expression, Harry, ‘command the west.’”
“You like it?”
“It’s all right.”
“If I happen to use an expression you don’t like, just mention it.”
“The pleasure is mine,” said Gordon.
Ten o’clock arrived—eleven. No sign of a camp-fire. Weary, sleepy, and disappointed, they turned in for the night.
The morning broke damp and foggy, with a drizzling42 rain veiling the country roundabout. The wind was east, the sky dull and heavy, giving no promise of clearing.
“Rain before seven,
Clear before eleven,”
sang Gordon, cheerfully. “It’ll be a good day for fishing, anyway. I’m going after minnows. We’ll see if that trickle43 of water doesn’t broaden out some, hey?”
“I can tell you that without going,” said Harry. “It does. It flows into the lake.”
“Rises in Bulwagga Mountain,” said Gordon, “takes an easterly course, and flows into Lake Champlain. Correct; be seated, Master Lord.”
“A little south by east,” said Harry, looking at his map.
“Aye, aye, sir,” Gordon answered. “A sail on the weather bow, Cap’n.”
“Look here, Kid, we’ll have to stick it out up here to-day, and if there’s any sign of clearing by afternoon we’ll move over through this clump44 where we can command the west.”
“Don’t talk about commanding the west, Harry. Last night you were going to command the east, and now the east has got you rattled45. I don’t see us commanding this old country at all. It seems to me the country is having a great laugh on us. Look at this game that we’re mixed up in now. This rain wasn’t on the map, was it? You give me a pain with your ridges46 and outlooks and things—and so does Red Deer with his blackboard charts! You call this a peak? I don’t see any peak to it. It’s a jungle—that’s what it is! Where’s the peak?”
“We’re on it.”
“Harry, you’re crazy. There’s no sign of a peak here.”
“Isn’t that other one a peak, Kid? Well, over there this one looks the same.”
“All right,” said Gordon, as if to make allowance for his friend’s peculiarities47, “only don’t talk about ‘commanding the west.’”
“Getting discouraged, Kiddo?”
“No, I’m trusting to luck. I’m usually lucky. I found a quarter and a dime48 and a gold ring and a watch charm last year, and I believe I’ll run up against camp—that’s all.”
“Good for you! Well, now, give me your ear. I was just going to rise to remark when you made your little speech, that we’ll go over to the western side of this sharp peak, this tack49 point, this spire—”
“And the first and the last,
And the future and the past.
And the first and the last—”
“Keep still!”
“Well, then, you keep still.”
“Kid, all you need is an apple. Now listen to your patrol leader. It’s a scout’s duty to obey his leader. You need to brush up on the law a little.”
“I suppose that precipice51 over there is what you call a contour line,” said Gordon, with deep sarcasm52.
“That’s what Uncle Sam’s surveyors call it, but, of course, anything you say—”
“And when it comes to the law,” continued Gordon, “you just want to read up General Baden-Powell—what he says about chivalry53. It’s a scout’s duty to recount his adventures to maidens54.”
“Well, if I’d recounted a thrilling adventure like a rescue, she might have cried, Kid.”
“Maidens don’t cry—they weep.”
“Well, this mutiny has got to be put down, anyway,” said Harry. “I order you to dig a hole and bury this refuse, as per camping regulations of the Boy Scouts55.”
The odds56 and ends of breakfast (and they were not many) were soon disposed of “as per,” and Harry outlined his idea for exhausting all the possibilities of spying which the mountain afforded, before, like the famous Duke of Yorkshire, they marched down again.
Despite the drizzling rain, they made their way to where the little neighboring rivulet57 formed a pool with a bright, pebbly58 bottom, and here they scooped59 up minnows almost by the handful, until their pail was thick with the little, darting60, silvery fishes.
These Harry fried in cracker61 crumbs62, and they sat under their little shelter and enjoyed them, Gordon keeping up a running comment on their tastiness and flavor. And I can tell you that if you happen to be on a lonely mountain on a drizzly63 day, you cannot do better than arrange yourself comfortably under your shelter, enjoy the remoteness, the wildness, laugh at the weather, and eat fried minnows.
In the afternoon Harry, who was a true philosopher, took both camp cushions, which they had filled with balsam the night before, spread his blanket, pressed all available clothing into service to form a means of reclining, and settled back comfortably with a paper copy of “Kidnapped,” which he had taken the precaution to bring against the possibility of just such weather as this.
“If any one calls, Kid, I’m not at home—office hours after six.”
Gordon knew what that meant. He hated Robert Louis Stevenson as a rival. As sure as a rainy day came, Harry would double up in a corner somewhere,—in his room, in the library, in the troop room,—and be dead to the world. At such times Gordon was powerless, nothing could rouse his friend. He had hoped that Harry might get through with this trip without an attack of the kind. But now it had come. Stevenson, like rheumatism64, was always to be counted on in bad weather.
“Why don’t you tackle ‘Brave and Bold,’ Kid?” said Harry, as he settled down. Gordon chose to interpret this as a cowardly and slurring65 attack on Alger, and he disdained66 to reply.
“If you’re going to be knocking around in the Scotch67 Highlands all afternoon, I might as well take a walk.”
“Don’t fall off the peak.”
Gordon scorned this shallow attempt at humor. “How near through are you, anyway?”
“Eight more chapters.”
“That’ll take you two hours. Good-by.”
“Here, take the compass—and don’t trip over those contour lines.”
Gordon caught the compass, but his scout smile was conspicuous68 by its absence. The rain had held up somewhat, and he picked his way through the thick brush, every stir of which shook water upon him, for old Bulwagga was thoroughly69 soaked from the continuous drizzle70.
Stumbling and creeping on, he soon found himself in a labyrinth71 which it was impossible to pass through, so interwoven were the limbs and vines. He retraced72 his path and was able to pick out a comparatively open way around this tangled73 spot. Never had he seen such wildness. There was not a thing to indicate that any human being had ever before set foot on this rugged74 mountain top. Great bowlders, covered with tenacious75 vines and sheltered by crooked76 sinewy77 branches, lay about in tumbling confusion.
“This is a peak, I don’t think!” he sneered78, and brushed the water from his clothing. He came to a black pool in which broken twigs79 lay motionless, and there was the pungent80 odor of rotting wood and wet foliage81. A few feet away stood a tall hemlock82 which seemed to rear its head out of the pandemonium83 of rock and thicket84, into the light of day. As he looked about him in the silence of this untamed spot, it seemed as if all the materials of creation, rock, water, trees, creeping vines, had been thrown here in an indiscriminate heap.
It occurred to him that if he could get to the top of this big tree he might obtain an unobstructed view of all the country, north, east, south, and west. The trunk was large and the lowest branches a good distance from the ground, but he noticed that a young spruce rose within its spreading radius85. He hung his hat and khaki coat on a projecting bush, wet his finger and made a mystic circle on his forehead for good luck, embraced the spruce, placed the wet soles of his sneakers against it, and went up like a monkey. Transferring himself to the lowest branch of the hemlock, he paused for refreshment86, producing from his trousers pocket a fishline, two sinkers, a jack-knife, an oval pebble87, and a lead-pencil eraser. An exploration of the opposite pocket proved more successful, yielding half a handful of shelled nuts. He sat on the bough88, dangling89 his legs and eating these. Then up, stepping from bough to bough.
He had not gone far when he was conscious of a slight movement on the branch where his foot rested, and looking down he saw two little eyes gleaming at him out of what looked at first like a knotty90 projection91 of the wood. He moved his foot, and the little animal stirred correspondingly. It was no bigger than a cat.
Gordon was a scout, and he had no wish to harm the animal, whatever it was; but he was also Master Gordon Lord, and he was very curious. He let himself cautiously down and straddled the branch, facing the two eyes. The little creature, frightened at this move, backed out toward the end of the bough and Gordon crept nearer. Presently, they were at close quarters, and for a moment his quarry92 seemed undecided what to do. It scanned the tree above, then looked to the ground, then backed another inch or two—as far as it could go. Gordon’s next move decided93 it. It gave a tremulous whine94. Instantly there came from below a sort of restrained howl, and Gordon saw, climbing up the trunk of the tree, a good-sized gray animal with catlike eyes and a little bushy beard under its chin. He suspected it was a lynx.
The boy was about halfway95 out on the limb, the frightened kitten crouching96 ludicrously on the end, and its mother, presumably, coming to its rescue. Gordon’s predicament was not a pleasant one, and again the words of Red Deer came jumping into his head: Always use your brains first; then your hands and feet.
A move in either direction would hasten the animal’s ascent. The three participants in the affair paused motionless, staring at each other, the large animal’s body flattened97 against the trunk. Then, with its cold eyes fixed98 cautiously on Gordon, it resumed its climb, growling99 irritably101. Gordon fumbled102 for his jack-knife and opened it. The lynx paused again with its narrow eyes fixed upon him. The kitten humped its back and glared in a way that would have been amusing if the situation had not been dangerous.
With as little stir as possible, Gordon pulled the fishline out of his pocket, which, being unwound and somewhat tangled, brought one or two of his precious possessions with it. He distinctly saw his lead-pencil eraser strike a branch below and bounce off into the pool. Binding103 the open jack-knife against the end of his stick, he had a spear long enough, if effectual, to reach below the lowest branch and prevent the mother’s gaining a vantage ground above. He moved inward, much to the little animal’s relief. Growling menacingly, the mother stealthily mounted, inch by inch. She was just making a quick movement to gain the lowest bough when she encountered the large open blade of Gordon’s jack-knife. Her mouth opened in a hissing105 growl100 as her paw cautiously felt the end of the stick. Then she glided106 upward and Gordon pricked108 her vigorously. With a howl that woke the forest, she crouched109 back and gave a spring, her fore1 paws clutching the lowest branch.
By this time the kitten was thoroughly frightened, crowding back on the end of the bough and whining110 piteously. This only served to make the mother more frantic111. Gordon stood on his branch, bracing112 himself against the trunk, and fought back the infuriated creature. And with every prick107 of his makeshift spear, it crouched back and advanced with renewed rage. It was a difficult and perilous113 encounter for the boy, for should he lose his foothold or pause but for a second the lynx would gain the lowest branch and it would be hopeless to try to check it. As long as he could keep it hugging the trunk, his chances were good, and this with all his might and main he strove to do, manipulating his weapon with the greatest dexterity114 to prevent the animal’s getting it between her teeth. Each time he withdrew the stick, the beast gained an inch or two, retreating with each fresh thrust. Its mouth was dripping blood and its paws were stained, but it fought with increasing fury, howling in a way to strike terror to the boy’s heart.
The jack-knife began to wobble on the stick, and presently it fell to the ground. The animal seemed to appreciate this advantage to itself, for it straightway made a savage onslaught. Gordon waited till its mouth opened wide in a menacing hiss104, then thrust his stick between its jaws115 and pushed it vigorously from him. There was a moment’s terrific struggle, the stick broke in the middle, and the lynx, clutching the end of it, went to the ground.
Like lightning, Gordon moved out toward the little animal and shook the branch desperately116. But he could not shake it off. The mother was halfway up the trunk again, howling and climbing rapidly. There was no time to think. Neither was there another small branch which he could quickly detach. In his desperate plight117 he stood above the infuriated creature, clutching the tree and kicking wildly with one foot. But he wore only sneakers, and presently he withdrew his leg, very much the worse for the encounter. He had gained time, however, to perform the acrobatic feat118 of tearing off his flannel119 shirt with one hand. Hastily getting a match from his hat, he set fire to the shirt and held it down above the animal’s head. Singed120 and howling, it backed away from this new weapon. But the shirt was presently all aflame and Gordon could not hold it. Reaching as far down as he could, he dropped it against his enemy’s face.
Then arose such a howl as he had never heard. Backing down the trunk, principally by means of its hind121 legs, the animal tried to rid itself of the blazing garment by its fore paws. The result was that its claws caught in it. Presently it bounded from the trunk to the ground, freeing itself from the burning shreds122. Gordon saw that he had but a moment in which to act. If he failed now there was no other weapon available.
He moved rapidly out toward the little creature. It whined123 as he approached, and an answering whine came from below. The mother, its front hair singed, was again on the tree trunk. He feared if he went farther the limb would break, but it was his only hope, for he could not shake the little creature off. So he moved out, the branch crackling ominously124 beneath him, and grabbed it by the nape of its neck. It whined piercingly and clung to the tree. He wrenched125 it off just as the lynx had reached the same branch. Holding it up so that its mother might clearly see what he was doing, he threw it into the pool below. At this moment the infuriated mother was within five feet of him. What she might have done if he had thrown her baby to the ground is uncertain. Seeing it in the pool, she did not hesitate. With the hatred126 of water which all the cat tribe possess, she could not trust her kitten to its dangers. With a shriek127 she sprang from the bough, and ran excitedly round the pool. Then the necessity gave her courage and she swam to the little one’s rescue. Dripping with the slimy water, her head woefully singed and matted with blood, Gordon saw her bring the little one to shore in her mouth and trot128 silently off into the thicket.
“If she had only known,” said he, “that I didn’t mean to hurt it.”
The creature had given him a great scare and called forth all the agility129 and ingenuity130 that he possessed131, but now that it was over he felt nothing but admiration132 for his foe133. And afterward134, when he “recounted the adventure,” he always made a great point of its plunging135 into the pool and coming out, dripping and bloody, and trotting136 off with the kitten into the forest.
He had lost all desire to climb the tree, his leg was badly scratched, and his nerves on edge. He knew that he had come in a southerly direction from camp and that he had only to work his way northward through the woods to return. And though the way was tangled and baffling, he could have managed it except for one trifling137 circumstance.
He had lost the compass.
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1
fore
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| adv.在前面；adj.先前的；在前部的；n.前部 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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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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serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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belittle
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| v.轻视，小看，贬低 | |
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jut
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| v.突出；n.突出，突出物 | |
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northward
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| adv.向北；n.北方的地区 | |
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adventurous
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| adj.爱冒险的；惊心动魄的，惊险的，刺激的 | |
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prows
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| n.船首( prow的名词复数 ) | |
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eastward
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| adv.向东；adj.向东的；n.东方，东部 | |
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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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savages
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| 未开化的人，野蛮人( savage的名词复数 ) | |
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bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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deceptive
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| adj.骗人的，造成假象的，靠不住的 | |
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slaughtered
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| v.屠杀，杀戮，屠宰( slaughter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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budge
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| v.移动一点儿；改变立场 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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plod
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| v.沉重缓慢地走，孜孜地工作 | |
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fortress
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| n.堡垒，防御工事 | |
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chubby
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| adj.丰满的，圆胖的 | |
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ascent
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| n.(声望或地位)提高；上升，升高；登高 | |
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majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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massacres
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| 大屠杀( massacre的名词复数 )； 惨败 | |
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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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rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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regain
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| vt.重新获得，收复，恢复 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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savory
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| adj.风味极佳的，可口的，味香的 | |
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figs
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brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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scout
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| n.童子军，侦察员；v.侦察，搜索 | |
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39
dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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40
dally
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| v.荒废(时日)，调情 | |
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41
trout
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| n.鳟鱼；鲑鱼(属) | |
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42
drizzling
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| 下蒙蒙细雨，下毛毛雨( drizzle的现在分词 ) | |
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43
trickle
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| vi.淌，滴，流出，慢慢移动，逐渐消散 | |
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44
clump
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| n.树丛，草丛；vi.用沉重的脚步行走 | |
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45
rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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46
ridges
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| 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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47
peculiarities
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| n. 特质, 特性, 怪癖, 古怪 | |
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48
dime
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| n.（指美国、加拿大的钱币）一角 | |
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49
tack
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| n.大头钉；假缝，粗缝 | |
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50
doggedly
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| adv.顽强地，固执地 | |
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51
precipice
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| n.悬崖，危急的处境 | |
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52
sarcasm
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| n.讥讽，讽刺，嘲弄，反话 （adj.sarcastic） | |
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53
chivalry
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| n.骑士气概，侠义；（男人）对女人彬彬有礼，献殷勤 | |
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54
maidens
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| 处女( maiden的名词复数 )； 少女； 未婚女子； （板球运动）未得分的一轮投球 | |
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55
scouts
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| 侦察员[机，舰]( scout的名词复数 )； 童子军； 搜索； 童子军成员 | |
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56
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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57
rivulet
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| n.小溪，小河 | |
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58
pebbly
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| 多卵石的，有卵石花纹的 | |
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59
scooped
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| v.抢先报道( scoop的过去式和过去分词 )；（敏捷地）抱起；抢先获得；用铲[勺]等挖（洞等） | |
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60
darting
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的现在分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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61
cracker
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| n.（无甜味的）薄脆饼干 | |
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62
crumbs
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| int. (表示惊讶)哎呀 n. 碎屑 名词crumb的复数形式 | |
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63
drizzly
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| a.毛毛雨的(a drizzly day) | |
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64
rheumatism
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| n.风湿病 | |
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65
slurring
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| 含糊地说出( slur的现在分词 )； 含糊地发…的声； 侮辱； 连唱 | |
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66
disdained
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| 鄙视( disdain的过去式和过去分词 )； 不屑于做，不愿意做 | |
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67
scotch
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| n.伤口，刻痕；苏格兰威士忌酒；v.粉碎，消灭，阻止；adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
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68
conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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69
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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70
drizzle
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| v.下毛毛雨；n.毛毛雨，蒙蒙细雨 | |
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71
labyrinth
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| n.迷宫；难解的事物；迷路 | |
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72
retraced
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| v.折回( retrace的过去式和过去分词 )；回忆；回顾；追溯 | |
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73
tangled
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| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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74
rugged
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| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
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75
tenacious
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| adj.顽强的，固执的，记忆力强的，粘的 | |
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76
crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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77
sinewy
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| adj.多腱的，强壮有力的 | |
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78
sneered
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| 讥笑，冷笑( sneer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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79
twigs
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| 细枝，嫩枝( twig的名词复数 ) | |
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80
pungent
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| adj.（气味、味道）刺激性的，辛辣的；尖锐的 | |
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81
foliage
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| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
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82
hemlock
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| n.毒胡萝卜，铁杉 | |
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83
pandemonium
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| n.喧嚣，大混乱 | |
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84
thicket
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| n.灌木丛，树林 | |
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85
radius
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| n.半径，半径范围；有效航程，范围，界限 | |
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86
refreshment
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| n.恢复，精神爽快，提神之事物；（复数）refreshments:点心，茶点 | |
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87
pebble
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| n.卵石，小圆石 | |
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88
bough
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| n.大树枝，主枝 | |
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89
dangling
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| 悬吊着( dangle的现在分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
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90
knotty
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| adj.有结的，多节的，多瘤的，棘手的 | |
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91
projection
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| n.发射，计划，突出部分 | |
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92
quarry
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| n.采石场；v.采石；费力地找 | |
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93
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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94
whine
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| v.哀号，号哭；n.哀鸣 | |
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95
halfway
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| adj.中途的，不彻底的，部分的；adv.半路地，在中途，在半途 | |
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96
crouching
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的现在分词 ) | |
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97
flattened
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| [医]（水）平扁的，弄平的 | |
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98
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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99
growling
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| n.吠声, 咆哮声 v.怒吠, 咆哮, 吼 | |
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100
growl
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| v.（狗等）嗥叫，（炮等）轰鸣；n.嗥叫，轰鸣 | |
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101
irritably
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| ad.易生气地 | |
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102
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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103
binding
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| 有约束力的，有效的，应遵守的 | |
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104
hiss
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| v.发出嘶嘶声；发嘘声表示不满 | |
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105
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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106
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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107
prick
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| v.刺伤，刺痛，刺孔；n.刺伤，刺痛 | |
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108
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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109
crouched
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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110
whining
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| n. 抱怨，牢骚 v. 哭诉，发牢骚 | |
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111
frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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112
bracing
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| adj.令人振奋的 | |
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113
perilous
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| adj.危险的，冒险的 | |
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114
dexterity
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| n.(手的)灵巧，灵活 | |
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115
jaws
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| n.口部；嘴 | |
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116
desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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117
plight
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| n.困境，境况，誓约，艰难；vt.宣誓，保证，约定 | |
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118
feat
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| n.功绩；武艺，技艺；adj.灵巧的，漂亮的，合适的 | |
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119
flannel
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| n.法兰绒；法兰绒衣服 | |
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120
singed
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| v.浅表烧焦( singe的过去式和过去分词 )；（毛发）燎，烧焦尖端[边儿] | |
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121
hind
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| adj.后面的，后部的 | |
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122
shreds
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| v.撕碎，切碎( shred的第三人称单数 )；用撕毁机撕毁（文件） | |
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123
whined
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| v.哀号( whine的过去式和过去分词 )；哀诉，诉怨 | |
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124
ominously
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| adv.恶兆地，不吉利地；预示地 | |
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125
wrenched
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| v.（猛力地）扭( wrench的过去式和过去分词 )；扭伤；使感到痛苦；使悲痛 | |
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126
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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127
shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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128
trot
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| n.疾走，慢跑；n.老太婆；现成译本；(复数）trots:腹泻（与the 连用）；v.小跑，快步走，赶紧 | |
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129
agility
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| n.敏捷，活泼 | |
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130
ingenuity
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| n.别出心裁；善于发明创造 | |
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131
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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132
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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133
foe
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| n.敌人，仇敌 | |
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134
afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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135
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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136
trotting
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| 小跑，急走( trot的现在分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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137
trifling
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| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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