Leaving Los Angeles in the afternoon in a through sleeper7, we awoke the following morning to see the vivid green of the Salt River alfalfa278 fields all about us, reaching Phoenix in time for a late breakfast. We were not posted on the hotels of the town, but went to the Jefferson because it was nearest, finding it a modern, fireproof building with well-appointed, comfortable rooms. There was no meal service, however, and we were directed to a restaurant farther down the street. We also inquired about hiring a car to take us to the Roosevelt Dam and the clerk replied that he would have a driver connected with the hotel call on us shortly. This party appeared while we were at breakfast and expressed his willingness to serve us.
“Of course you mean to spend the night at the dam,” he said, “returning tomorrow.”
We assured him that we didn’t mean anything of the sort—that our time in Phoenix was limited to two days and that only one of them could be devoted9 to the Roosevelt Dam. “They tell us that it is only seventy-five miles distant,” I asserted. “Surely one hundred and fifty miles isn’t much of a drive if we get away by 9:30.”
“You may think differently after you’ve made the trip,” he replied, “but I reckon it can be done if you feel that you can stand it.”
We thought we knew something of bad roads and rough going and felt sure that the trip couldn’t be much worse than many other one-hundred-and-fifty-mile jaunts10 we had done279 in a day, and, to get down to business, asked, “What kind of a car have you, and what will you charge us for the drive?”
The lady of the expedition had not said much so far but the latter part of the remark aroused her interest and slightly excited her ire. “Forty dollars for one hundred and fifty miles—a six or seven-hour trip!” she exclaimed. “We don’t wish to buy your car, thank you.”
We declined to negotiate farther with a party who was such a palpable would-be robber and on coming out into the street I approached a jovial-looking old fellow in a Ford12 labeled “for hire,” thinking more of getting a little information than of any likelihood of doing business with him.
“Yes, I can take you to the dam,” he said. “Drive you up to-day and bring you back tomorrow; forty dollars for the round trip.”
“But we want to get back this evening,” we replied, ignoring the unpleasant confirmation13 of the Dodge driver’s “regular fare.”
“Waal, couldn’t do it in the Ford, but my son has a new Buick six and he can make it all right—but he’d have to charge you fifty dollars.”
We had gotten over the first shock given us by auto14 rates to Roosevelt Dam and heard this280 with fairly steady nerves—we were bound to make the trip and a few dollars one way or the other were not to deter15 us. The young man was hunted up and after some dickering he consented to pilot the new Buick six, the pride of his heart, on her maiden16 trip to the dam for the regular price, but declared it would be well after dark before he could get us back.
“Do you mean to tell me,” I exclaimed, “that a machine like that will require twelve hours to do one hundred and fifty miles?”
“You’ll know more about it,” he replied, “when you’ve been over the road; besides, we’ll have to stop for lunch and of course you’ll want a little time at the dam.” To all of which we assented17—and I may anticipate here enough to say that I do know more about it since I have been over the road and that while forty dollars seems pretty high auto hire for a one-hundred and-fifty-mile trip, I am convinced that it would have taken all of that out of my own car and tires had we made the run in it.
A few preliminaries detained us until nearly ten o’clock, but when we got under way our driver quickly cleared the streets of the town and we were soon skimming merrily along a fine, level road skirting a broad, tree-bordered irrigation canal. This is one of the main arteries18 carrying the water which gives the valley its green281 prosperity—an unruffled emerald river eighty feet broad and eight feet deep. We crossed a fine bridge over the Salt River at Tempe, nine miles from Phoenix, and about as far beyond this town we entered Mesa, the second city of the valley. So far we found the road level and good, some of it having been surfaced and otherwise improved.
Beyond Mesa we came quickly out of the cultivated part of the valley, pursuing a good dirt road leading through a sandy stretch of desert, toward the rugged19 hill range which rears its serrated crests20 against the silvery horizon. Seen from Phoenix, the mountains that encircle the verdant22 valley are shrouded23 in the intensest blue—far away hills of mystery that suggest some fairyland beyond—but as we drew nearer to them the blue shadows vanished and the bald, harsh outlines of mighty24 wall and towering crag seemingly barred our way. The prevailing25 colors were dull browns and reds and the slopes were almost devoid26 of vegetation. Great boulder-like hills are tumbled about as though some giant had flung them in wild confusion to bar the ingress of human trespassers. The road, however, finds a crevice27 by which to enter the mighty barrier and about midway between Phoenix and the dam it begins its conquest of these forbidding hills. Somewhere we had read that282 the government had built a “boulevard” through these mountains to the dam and our preconceived notions were of a fair mountain road. We had, therefore, no mental preparation to assist us in enduring one of the crookedest, roughest, rockiest trails we ever bumped over in all our experience. The route we followed was known as the “Apache Trail” in pioneer days and frequently afforded a secure retreat for these troublesome savages29 when pursued by the U. S. troopers. In converting it into a thoroughfare for vehicles, it would seem that little has been done except to widen the old trail—a real highway to Roosevelt Dam is yet to be built.
The climb begins at the foot of Superstition30 Mountain, leaving the river some miles to the left. Much of the road is natural granite31 rock, almost untouched by the hand of man; again it is blasted in the edge of a cliff, though little has been done to finish the surface to any degree of smoothness. We scrambled32 through the Devil’s Kitchen—a wild array of fantastic, multi-colored rocks—pink, yellow green—withal a beautiful spot spoiled by a senseless name.
We followed the edge of sheer cliffs or skirted sloping hillsides overlooking charming little valleys. From one point we had a far-away glimpse of the vexed33 river—we crossed the inevitable34 “hogback” and the grandest panorama283 of the whole trip burst suddenly upon our astonished vision. It is a vast, oval basin more than a thousand feet in depth, surrounded by parti-colored hills—though golden yellow seems the predominating color—on every side save for the narrow chasm35 by which the stream makes its escape from the canyon36. But from our point of view the creek37 seemed a silver thread and the pines on the valley floor shrunk to mere38 shrubs39. Our driver pointed8 out the ranch40 house where we were to have lunch, though we located it with difficulty, for it seemed no larger than an ordinary dry-goods box. The road here—the only especially creditable piece of engineering on the route—descends the mighty hillside in long, swinging loops and with only moderate grades. It offers many wonderful panoramas41 of giant crags and towering pinnacles42; at times great cliffs rise far above it and again sheer precipices43 fall away at its side. This wonderful vale of beauty and grandeur44 goes by the very unpoetical title of Fish Creek Canyon, which again reminds us how unfortunate the pioneers often were in their nomenclature. What a pity that the sense of fitness which clung to the old Indian or Spanish names in the Southwest or the romantic propriety45 that gave the oriental titles to the palaces of the Grand Canyon was not more common.
284 At Fish Creek Station, we paused at a plain, rustic46 roadhouse, where a substantial dinner was served after considerable delay, for the landlady47 and her daughter appeared to be sole attendants upon ourselves and a dozen or more people who came by the stage. While awaiting the dinner call, we amused ourselves in watching the antics of a pair of young mountain lions confined in a wire cage. They were graceful48, playful beasts, somewhat larger than a big cat, and about six months old, our driver said. They were caught in the vicinity, which is noted49 for big game, and the very rare mountain sheep can be seen on the surrounding cliffs at almost any time. The rocks assume many fantastic shapes against the skyline around the valley and by exercising a little imagination we finally could see the “Lion” and the “Cross” on the distant heights. Leaving the station, the road follows the boisterous50 creek for some distance, winding51 among trees and boulders52 which skirt its banks. Then we again climbed rugged granite hills almost devoid of vegetation, save many queer cacti53, often gorgeous with blooms, and finally approached the river, which we followed at no great distance for the rest of the run. We saw it from the heights, whence it appeared like a green, fluttering ribbon, as it dashed over its stony54 bed. As we proceeded the road dipped down in the valley and finally285 came to the very banks of the stream, which it closely followed for several miles. It is a broad, beautifully clear river, plunging55 over the stones in foaming56 rapids or lying still and deep in emerald green pools. The road had been washed out for some distance by a spring flood and the new work was excruciatingly rough and strewn with razor-edged stones which wrought58 havoc59 on the smooth new tires. The scene at this point, however, is one of wild and entrancing beauty. Far above us rose the rocky walls, splashed with reds and yellows; below us the river banks were lined with cottonwoods, aspens, and willows60 beneath which were green meadows, with prosperous-looking cattle grazing upon them.
The road swings away from the river for some distance and we again entered the hills; we crawled up narrow, steep grades and around the corners of stupendous cliffs. Ere long a deep-voiced roar announced that the object of our pilgrimage was near at hand. As we came out upon a promontory61, we got a full view of the mighty arc of stone that shuts the vast wall of water in the heart of the blue hill range before us. Torrents63 were pouring from the spillways and a rainbow arched the clouds of mist and foam57 that rose at the base of the three-hundred-foot fall. We paused in wonder and admiration64 to286 contemplate65 the scene—for once the works of man rival the phenomena66 of nature in beauty and grandeur, though we must confess that the natural background is a very helpful accessory to the wonderful view. Back of the dam the shining blue lake, twenty-five square miles in area, stretches away between the granite hills, which show little traces of vegetation save scattered67 scrub pines and cedars68. Near at hand the reddish-brown volcanic69 rocks stand out in bold, bare outlines, but gradually softened70 by the blue mists of the distance, they take on the semblance71 of fairy towers and domes72. Substantial iron bridges two hundred feet long span the spillways on either side of the dam and afford access to a sixteen-foot roadway along the top of the mighty structure.
From the road one gets the most adequate idea of the gigantic dimensions and great solidity of the dam; a few figures illustrating73 these may be admissable here. The height from lowest foundation is 284 feet; thickness at base, 168 feet; at crest21, 20 feet; total length, including spillways, 1080 feet. The cost of the entire work was nine million dollars, of which three and a half millions were spent on the dam alone. Five and one-half years were required to complete the job and formal dedication74 occurred on the eighteenth of March, 1911, with the redoubtable75 Teddy himself287 as master of ceremonies. It was not until nearly four years later that the reservoir was entirely76 filled. There is enough water in reserve to supply all lands now under the system with sufficient moisture for three years, putting any chance of crop failure from shortage out of the question. About three and a half feet of water annually77 is required to produce crops in the Salt River Valley and this, with the warm sunshine and fertile soil, brings forth a yield that is amazing to farmers in rain-watered sections. A valuable by-product78 of the system is the water power available at the dam and at various points on the river. The aggregate79 will exceed twenty-five thousand horse power, which will ultimately pay for the maintenance of the system, giving the land-owner his water service free.
Crossing the dam, we followed the road for a mile or two to Webb Lodge80, a comfortable-looking rustic inn built on a point of land extending well into the lake. A good many Phoenix people come here to spend the week-end and enjoy the excellent fishing. A number of stage tourists also stop at the Lodge for the night, completing the trip to Globe, forty-five miles farther, on the following day. We may confess that the thought of a pause for the night here appealed mightily81 to us, but our plans did not admit of such a stop, and after a half hour’s rest288 in the big chairs on the Lodge veranda82 we signified our readiness for the return trip.
The prospect83 of immediately retracing85 our way over the cruel road which we had just covered was not at all alluring86 and we would recommend to would-be visitors to make arrangements for a through trip to Globe by auto-stage, resuming the railroad there. Our return trip was not entirely without its reward, for we saw many weirdly87 beautiful effects as the sun went down over the giant hills and the blue shadows veiled the mysterious deeps of the savage28 ravines. Besides, the viewpoints were so vastly different that it was often hard to believe we were pursuing the road which we followed in coming. The sky was perfectly89 clear and the western horizon was a vast, burning expanse as the sun disappeared, though there was but little afterglow.
But we were hardly in form to appreciate the weird88 gradations of light and color and the almost terrifying beauty of the twilight90 mountains about us. The terrible road had worn the lady of the party to the limit of endurance and our anxiety to get out of the fearful hills constantly increased. It seemed an age before we rounded the black bulk of Superstition Mountains and saw the moonlit Mesa glimmering91 before us. Even the motor seemed to give a sigh289 of relief as the car reached the level plain and settled down to a swift, steady pace after the strenuous92 work in the hills. Mesa and Tempe were quickly passed and we reached the well-lighted streets of Phoenix a little after nine o’clock. The lady was so thoroughly93 fagged out that she declared there was no possible hope that she would be able to leave the hotel the next day. A night’s rest in a comfortable bed, however, worked wonders and, though there was considerable complaint about sore joints94 and muscles in the morning, she declared herself ready, after a late breakfast, to carry out our plan to explore the vicinity of Phoenix during the day.
We soon struck a bargain with the old man whose son had piloted us to the dam, to show us, with the assistance of his trusty Ford, what he considered worth while in and about the city. He proved an excellent guide, for he apparently95 knew every foot of the country by heart, though perhaps he was a little too much of a “booster” to impart unprejudiced information about Phoenix. We found it quite impossible to disabuse96 him of the idea that we were seeking investments in the valley—he evidently couldn’t conceive of any other reason for the interest we were evincing in the country. He first descanted upon the climate—the practice of every loyal westerner—and290 we had learned the futility97 of disputing the asseverations made in such cases.
“I lived in Missouri several years ago and my wife suffered so terribly from rheumatism98 and other ills that we decided99 on a change of climate. We moved to Los Angeles and lived there for three years, but there wasn’t much improvement and on the advice of a friend we came to Phoenix a few years ago. My wife is perfectly well now and I feel that I’ve added years to my life. It’s the warm, dry climate that does the business; California is too wet in the winter months. Pretty hot in summer?—Well, yes, but we don’t feel it like you do back east. I stay here the year round and enjoy the weather all the time. The records prove that the sun shines eighty-four per cent of the possible time and there is an average of only thirty-seven rainy days in the year. Yes, it’s good enough for me, and you’ll like it, too, if you decide to come here.”
We first drove about the town and noted the handsome public and private buildings, the wide, well-paved streets, and the many comfortable residences with their pretty grounds. Not many of these could be classed as pretentious100, though there are several fine homes on the broad avenue leading to the Government Indian School. The State Capitol, a small but handsome building of classic design, surrounded by ample291 grounds, is situated101 in the center of the town. Tucson has given up the claim which it once pressed for the capitol, and no doubt a more adequate structure will be built before many years. There are several imposing102 public school buildings, classic lines prevailing in the architecture of nearly all of them. A beautiful Y. M. C. A. building with the mission motif103 predominating, fronts a pretty little park. I have already mentioned the hotels, which of course greatly outclass anything one would be likely to find in an eastern town two or three times as large as Phoenix. Near the city is the Ingleside Country Club, with a handsome club house where winter visitors are made welcome. Nor did our guide permit us to overlook the Insane Asylum104 adjoining the city and assured us that the big addition then building was made necessary by prohibition105, recently adopted in Arizona—leaving us to draw any conclusions we might see fit.
Leaving the town we pursued the broad avenue leading to the Indian school—a splendid road running straight away to the blue mountains, sixty miles distant. It seems to me that I never saw elsewhere mountains so intensely blue as those which surround this Arcadian valley. Perhaps the universal greenness accentuates106 all colors. Surely it was an earthly Paradise on the day of which I am writing—a bright, fresh day292 with a light breeze laden107 with the odors of orange blossoms and new-mown alfalfa. The Indian school is small and the buildings old, but the surroundings seem ideal for teaching the rising generation of red men the ways of civilization.
From the Indian school we drove to some orange groves108 not far distant and made no attempt to dispute our guide’s emphatic109 claim that they were quite the equal of the best groves about Riverside or Azusa.
“They can grow any fruit here that can be grown in California,” he declared, “and some that can’t be matured there—dates, for instance. We have frosts sometimes, but I’ve seen worse ones about Los Angeles. Our main crops never fail, though; we can always count on a full yield of grain, alfalfa, sugar beets110, or a dozen other staples111. And I want to ask you if you ever saw finer cattle than those right before your eyes.”
We followed a road along one of the canals which spread like a network over the valley and furnish unlimited112 water for the 182,000 acres now under irrigation. About 30,000 additional acres can be reclaimed113 by pumping water to a slightly higher level and this will comprise about all the available land in the valley. None of it remains114 in possession of the government and prices of improved land now range from $100 to $500 per acre—very low, our enthusiastic informant asserted,293 when you consider that a single year’s crop will often pay twenty-five to fifty per cent of the original cost of the land. And this did not seem unreasonable115 when we saw the enormous crops of wheat and alfalfa which are being harvested—and the latter yields two to six cuttings per year. Of course, there may be another side to the story of Salt River Valley’s prosperity—as there is to nearly everything on this mundane116 sphere—but our interest was too casual to spur us to any careful investigation117.
We were back to our hotel in the early afternoon, after having covered a large part of the roads, good, bad, and indifferent, in the immediate84 vicinity of the town. If we had time to go farther afield, we were assured that there is much of interest within a radius118 of one hundred and fifty miles about Phoenix. Tucson, one hundred and twenty miles to the southeast, has the State University and one of the oldest and most picturesque119 of Spanish missions in the Southwest—that of San Xavier Del Bac, still in charge of the Franciscan monks120. Granite Reef Diversion Dam is thirty miles to the northeast and just beyond that are the ruins of old Fort McDowell, established in the days of the Apache wars. About it is an Indian reservation where the sons and daughters of these fierce red warriors121 now pursue the arts of peace—they are famous basket-makers294 and some of them are prosperous farmers and cattle raisers. The Gila Indian Reservation is seventeen miles to the southwest and is remarkable122 for its excellent buildings, which were erected123 by the Indians themselves. One tribe, the Pimas, is noted for its pottery124, and its proudest boast is that it has never been at war with the whites.
All of these points may be reached by motor over roads ranging from fair to bad—but whatever their condition, constantly improving, for Arizona, despite her limited population as compared with her vast areas, is making every effort to improve her highways. Our old driver left us at the hotel with the earnest plea that we give the merits of Phoenix as a place to live our careful consideration and we assured him that if we did not become citizens of the town it would not be his fault.
Our plans were already made for a stop at the Petrified Forests of Arizona—for these are in Arizona, though it takes a night’s run on the Santa Fe to reach them in this land of magnificent distances. We were met at the little goods-box station of Adamana by a short, swarthy individual who seized our grips and piloted us to the bungalow-like inn across the track, where the proprietor125, Mr. Chester B. Campbell, welcomed us and assured us that in response to our295 telegram he had reserved “the best in the house for us.” We found the best to be had in the Campbell Hotel quite primitive126 enough to suit the taste of the most ardent127 advocate of the simple life; bath-rooms and running water were taboo128 and telephone and call bells minus in rooms. But things were clean and one is hardly entitled to Waldorf-Astoria accommodations for two-fifty per day—“American plan.”
We barely paused to deposit our baggage in the room assigned to us before signifying to Mr. Campbell our desire to visit the wonders which had brought us to Adamana and we were assured that nearly everything worth while could be done in a day—since Fords had superseded129 horses and spring wagons130. And I suppose it was fortunate for me that this shift in transportation methods had been made; otherwise what excuse could I have found for including the story of our experiences in a chronicle of the motor car? And there was no time lost in “hitching up.” Almost immediately we heard the familiar growl131 of the Ford engine and were told that our car was ready. We found the swart, stocky individual who met us at the station in charge of the steering132 wheel and he proved an encyclopaedia133 of information, useful and otherwise, as well as an artist in piloting the little machine over the sandy wastes.
296 “We’ll take in the North Sigillaria first,” he declared, “and there’ll be plenty of time after dinner to do the others.”
It was the last of May—a clear, fresh day with a rather stiff breeze, and the desert sand along our route was starred with many beautiful blooms which elicited134 exclamations135 of admiration from the ladies of the party. They must needs pause to gather a few of the flowers and inquired as they climbed back into the car,
“Are there any rattlesnakes in this country?”
“Plenty of ’em,” responded our pilot. “I just shipped a big fellow east yesterday.”
“Not much—but a young lady who was here said she’d like to have one and I promised to send it,” he replied with the air of a man whose promise is always equal to performance, and went on to regale137 us with other weird stories of adventure with deadly reptiles140.
“Any mountain lions in this section?” I asked, thinking to afford him subject-matter for further stories of his experiences.
“Roosevelt in his new book tells about hunting297 them near the Grand Canyon,” I began, but he interrupted me with a snort of disgust.
“Roosevelt is the biggest —— faker in the whole country. You can bet your life he never hunted mountain lions in Arizona.”
“But I read it yesterday in his new book,” I insisted.
“Mebbe you did—he may write about it, all right, but I’ll gamble this Ford agin a copper142 cent that he never did it.”
I saw there was no use trying to defend the veracity143 of our strenuous ex-president to a man with such a righteous horror of a faker and therefore desisted.
In the meanwhile the Ford had scrambled up a short incline to the verge144 of a gigantic chasm and paused. From the gorgeous colorings—the vivid dashes of red, yellow, purple, orange, and all the gamut145 of the mingling146 of these—we might have fancied before us a section of the Grand Canyon in miniature, save that the floor of the great depression was comparatively level. Looking westward147 down this weird prismatic valley, our view was unobstructed for twenty-five miles or more and the vivid color belts gradually melted into a lavender haze149 which formed the horizon.
“That’s a corner of the Painted Desert,” said our guide, “and those black stumps150 and298 blocks you see down yonder, a mile or so, are pieces of the petrified trees. There’s a trail so you can walk down if you want to.” Nobody exhibited any keen anxiety to hit the trail and the driver confirmed the general disinclination by saying that the trip was hardly worth while; we should see the other forests, far larger and more interesting, at close range. So, after due contemplation of the scene—for this stretch of the Painted Desert is far more worth while than the forest at this point—we gave word for the return.
On the way the driver pointed out the line of the original Santa Fe Trail which we crossed and I made some remark about the improvement in roads and transportation methods which enabled a transcontinental driver only a week before to complete the ocean-to-ocean trip in a little over seven days. Our driver had not heard of this feat151 and as the purport152 of my remark percolated153 to his brain he burst out,
“Don’t believe it; clean impossible for a single driver to do it. He’d have to average five hundred miles a day.”
I assured him, however, that it had been done; that the Los Angeles papers were full of it when we left that city.
“Don’t care if they were; there’s a fake of some sort about it,” and he expressed his disapproval299 of fakes in general by urging the Ford at a vicious rate over the sandy trail.
As we came near the hotel we saw signs of great activity in the stable yard—the girls mounting saddle horses and cowboys dashing hither and thither154 in the valley beyond.
“Big cattle round-up to-day,” said our driver, and we were seized with a desire to see as much as possible of said round-up. Mr. Campbell assured us that we still had time before dinner to visit the scene of the round-up and that our driver could take the Ford anywhere a mustang could go. So we struck out across the broad, sandy wash of the Rio Puerco in face of stinging gusts155 of sand, for the wind had been steadily156 rising all morning. We pursued our way across the desert toward the scene of activity, jumping over hummocks157, plunging in and out of little ravines, and crawling through the sagebrush, but making progress all the time at an astonishing rate.
Our driver in the meanwhile was regaling us with blood-curdling tales of his experiences as a cowpuncher—stories of thrilling fights with Indians, of how he was lost for days in a blizzard158 to be rescued in last extremity159, and similar harrowing adventures. He was interrupted by a cowboy who rode up to us, touching160 his sombrero to the ladies. “Hello, Gulliver,” he cried, “How’s the Ford for rounding ’em up?”300 Our pilot now had little to say, but the newcomer was very courteous161 in answering our queries162 and explaining the maneuvers163 of the round-up.
They were now coming in from every side, bringing about a thousand cattle in all—the object being to separate—“cut out”—the cows with young calves164 for branding and the merchantable steers165 for shipment to the east. The herd166 was assembled in a level plain near a corral and the cowboys, some three or four dozen in number, dashed furiously about, dexterously167 singling out the proper animals and turning them into the corrals. Sometimes a calf168, bawling169 wildly, would bolt for the hills, followed by his terrified mama. It was astonishing how fast and how far the little beast’s spindling legs could carry him, but his pursuer soon had him lassoed and dragged him, in spite of his stiff legs, to the corral. Poor fellow, if he could have realized the fate awaiting him, he would probably have increased his desperate struggles for freedom; a little later he was thrown to the ground and his owner’s brand imprinted170 on his smooth hide with a red-hot iron.
One of the ladies of our party had a kodak and, being anxious to have a few snaps at closer range, asked one of the cowboys to take the camera and ride nearer the herd.
“I’m afraid I don’t know how to work the301 machine. Say, Gulliver, you take my horse and try it,” which Gulliver did with sublime171 assurance. In the meanwhile perhaps a dozen girls from the hotel and vicinity came cantering to the scene and were the recipients172 of most respectful attention on part of the cowboys. A couple of heavy covered wagons came lumbering173 on the scene a little later and paused beside a pond filled by windmills on the opposite side of the herd.
“Them’s the grub wagons,” said Gulliver, “Shall we drive round and see them get dinner?” To which proposal we readily assented. The two cooks had some difficulty in getting a fire started on account of the wind, which had increased to a veritable gale138, driving the sand in stinging gusts. One of the cooks dipped a bucket of water from the pool and poured a quantity of the murky174 liquid into a dishpan of flour which he vigorously stirred with his hands. He soon had some biscuits which looked quite good and his compeer was busy frying steak in huge pans. Canned vegetables and fruits were produced from the wagons and a very passable meal was soon ready for serving on wooden picnic plates. True, everything was liberally sprinkled with the sand which constantly filled the air, but it was clear from the husky boys flocking in to the repast that Arizona sand isn’t deleterious to the constitution. We were invited to join in the repast,302 but the ladies decided it was time to return to the hotel and we departed with profuse175 thanks to our would-be hosts.
We did not fare any too well at the hotel—the help had gone almost en masse to the round-up, leaving most of the work to be done by the proprietor and his wife.
“A round-up means a holiday to almost everyone in Adamana,” explained Mr. Campbell. “It’s no easy matter to keep help at the very best, and when anything occurs to break the monotony of our life, we have to let our people make the most of it.”
We agreed that a chance to see the round-up ourselves more than compensated176 for any inconvenience we experienced on account of it, and everybody took it good-naturedly.
Gulliver, however, expressed contempt for the round-up; it was hopelessly tame and civilized177 compared with those of old days, in which he had participated, when every man wore a big gun and cartridge178 belt and shootings were delightfully179 common. He was ready after lunch with his Ford to pilot us to the forests lying south of Adamana. Had not our time been limited, we should have demurred180; the wind had risen to a perfect gale, clouds of sand obstructed148 our view, and gave a faint yellow tinge181 to the sky. Crossing the river wash, the Ford stalled303 in a fresh sand drift and Gulliver requested us to dismount and “give her a lift.” A little sagebrush thrown under the wheels, an energetic push by the passengers, some vigorous growling182, and more or less snorting and scrambling183 on part of the car brought it out of the drift and we went on our way rejoicing. A wide waste of sand-blown desert stretched before us; not a tree was visible save a few small cottonwoods along the Rio Puerco, which, being interpreted, means “river of mud”—though sand would be more appropriate just now. In the rainy season it often becomes a raging torrent62, cutting off access for the time to the southern forests, but Mr. Campbell hoped to have a bridge before long. For six miles we followed the desert trail, often nearly obliterated184 by the drifting sand. No human habitations were in sight, only rocks and sagebrush-studded sand with fragments of a pre-historic Indian village or two.
The first forest is not of great extent, but is interesting for its famous natural log bridge, sixty feet long, spanning a deep, tree-fringed chasm. The great trunk is four or five feet in diameter and despite earnest protests from the female contingent185 I walked across it in face of the gale, which was, of course, the only element of danger.
The second forest is larger, comprising304 about two thousand acres. It has many huge trunks almost intact, including the “Twin Sisters,” the most distinguishing feature of this forest. Gulliver assured us, however, that the third forest, six or seven miles farther, was the one most deserving of our attention and if, when we had done this, we still hankered for petrified forests, we could stop again at the first two on our return. He took occasion to regale us with additional chapters from his personal experiences—some of which might indeed have fitted very appropriately in the career of his namesake. I suggested that he ought to wear goggles186 to protect his eyes from the sand—one of them was badly blood-shot.
“The sand hain’t got nothing to do with that eye,” he said. “One time when I was on the range I got into a little dispute with another cow-puncher and he shoved his gun in my face. I knocked it to one side but the bullet grazed my cheek, and I got a bad powder burn in the eye.”
“Well, I suppose you didn’t do a thing to that fellow,” I ventured.
“Just took his gun away from him and told him to be more keerful next time—but here’s the third forest. We’ll just leave the Ford and take a little round on foot.”
And, indeed, we soon agreed that one who305 wishes to see the real wonder and beauty of the petrified forests may well devote most of his time to the third, or Rainbow Forest, as it is known locally. Here are hundreds of huge stone trunks, many five or six feet in diameter, and over two hundred feet long, lying as they fell, but broken by some mighty convulsion into sections a few feet in length. Every detail of the bark is preserved, in some cases in apparently its original colors, so that except for the fractures one might imagine before him a great redwood log of comparatively recent date. But the great marvel187 of color is seen in fractures—every tint188 of the prism, with blood-red and golden yellow predominating, combine to astonish and delight the beholder189. The grain and annual rings of growth are plainly marked on many of the gigantic blocks, enabling scientists to judge pretty accurately191 of the age of the trees when destruction overtook them—and some of them had surely attained192 their millennium193. Everywhere on the sands were scattered millions of jewel-like fragments, glittering in the sun and exciting our cupidity194 to possess specimens195 of these curious prismatic gems196. We picked up what seemed the most beautiful specimens only to discard them for others that happened to strike our fancy more forcibly, and in the end we had stowed away several pounds of the306 wonderful stone-wood in Gulliver’s Ford. Of course we knew that only the smallest fraction—a few glistening197 chips—could be taken with us, but Sinbad the Sailor in the valley of diamonds must have experienced much the same feelings as ourselves amidst these exhaustless jewels. For there is no danger of the tourists depleting198 the supply. Millions of tons, covering square miles in area, are scattered about on the surface and perhaps as much more is buried just beneath it. Commercial exploitation of the wood was prohibited since December 1906, when the forests were made a national monument and the preservation199 of these wonderful deposits is thus assured for all time to come.
Many solutions have been offered to the question, How did natural forces operate to produce this almost incredible spectacle which our eyes behold190? “The wise guys say that these trees grew hundreds of miles from the place,” said Gulliver, “and some big flood washed them here and buried them under a half mile of sand. There they laid a million years or so, changing into stone, and then along comes another flood and washes the sand off from ’em.”
There are other explanations in the books, but perhaps this is as good as any; it all must have happened before the advent139 of the human race upon earth and before the surface of the307 earth had assumed the definite shape which now confronts us. Some declare that a great inland sea overwhelmed this prehistoric200 forest and the petrification took place beneath its waters, which deposited deep layers of rock and sand over the trees. But however it occurred, the great marvel is before our eyes, acres and acres, profusely201 covered with chalcedony, agate202, onyx, cornelian, and amethyst203, for all of these are here in color if not in actual composition. Though no habitation now greets the eye—the only structure being a covered platform on a little eminence204 affording a view of a wide area of this strange prostrate205 forest—human beings once lived among these weirdly-colored stone trees. Skeletons and rare old potteries206 are often unearthed207 and ruins of Aztec villages are found in this vicinity. How these primitive men subsisted208 here is hard to conjecture209, for it would be difficult to imagine a land more inhospitable for the support of animal life.
When we were preparing to return, I asked Gulliver if it were not possible to visit the Blue Forest, to complete our round of the wonders.
“The Blue Forest,” he snorted in disgust, “that’s one of John Muir’s fakes. Nothing there worth seeing and would take you another day; have to make the trip with a team.”
The latter assertion was sufficient to quench308 our desire to visit the Blue Forest and the question whether it was one of John Muir’s fakes or not became a matter of indifference210.
“There’ll still be time for you to visit the hieroglyphics211 after you get back if you want to,” said Gulliver, “but that’s another trip that even a Ford can’t make; it’s only a four-mile round, though, and the team can do it in an hour. No, I don’t drive the team myself; I just officiate as chauffeur212. Alkali Ike will do it about right, though, and he knows more about them hieroglyphics than the fellers that scratched them on the rocks. They’re mighty curious, and you’ll miss it if you don’t see them.”
We didn’t propose to miss it and a small charabanc was ordered forthwith on our return to the hotel, as several others proposed to join our party. The wind was raging stronger than ever and the whole river wash was hidden in clouds of driven sand. Through this we had to pass at a snail’s pace, for it was heavy going. We could scarcely see a foot ahead and the stinging sand filled our eyes and hair and when anyone tried to speak he got a mouthful of it. The driver bowed his head and let the horses wallow along at their own pace until they finally scrambled up the opposite bank.
A few rods beyond the river the driver asked us to dismount and led us among the huge sandstone309 ledges213 which overlook the valley. He first conducted us to the prehistoric ruins of an Aztec community house, where walls of rough stone about a foot in height laid in mortar214 mark the outlines of numerous dwellings215 which fronted a plaza216 one hundred and thirty feet wide by two hundred and ten feet long. Near the center of this court has been found a small “kiva” or underground ceremonial chamber217 similar to those of the pueblos218 to-day, and the flagstone pavement is still in good preservation.
Near this ruin the hieroglyphics may be seen; they are cut in the stones of the cliffs along the river for the distance of more than a mile. The “cutting,” however, of the smooth sandstone has been done with some hard substance, probably bits of petrified wood, rather than any metal instrument. Some of the carvings219 are probably symbolical220, and the meaning is not easy to decipher. Others, however, tell their story plainly enough. The most ambitious effort is supposed to represent a royal wedding. The figures indicate dancing and rejoicing and the priest may be distinguished222 by the symbolic221 “bird of wisdom” which he holds in his hand. There are also representations of flocks and herds223 and many individual birds and animals, some quite cleverly done. There is a long-legged stork224, and what he holds in his bill is evidently310 intended for a frog, though it might pass for a baby by a stretch of the imagination. Altogether, these strange carvings are as interesting as they are mysterious. Their age can only be guessed at, but few authorities put it at less than a thousand years. No history exists of the people whose lives are represented here; even tradition is silent.
After inspecting the ruins and the hieroglyphics in the immediate vicinity, we were driven for a mile or so beneath the mighty cliffs along the river. At intervals225 additional carvings were to be seen, often high up on the rocks. Returning, we passed near the scene of the round-up, where a few cowboys were still engaged in branding the calves—a scene which none of the ladies of the party wished to linger over. It was nearly dark when we recrossed the river—if we may use the name for the wide strip of sand where the Puerco rages at rare intervals. The wind had slightly subsided226, though the sand was still disagreeable enough.
We were quite ready for a substantial dinner, but things were still badly disarranged at the hotel. A dance always follows a round-up and of course none of the hotel girls were willing to miss such an event. Even the cook had disappeared and the guests had to be satisfied with311 the efforts of Mr. Campbell and wife, who rose to the occasion in a very creditable manner.
After dinner the guests lounged about the comfortable lobby of the hotel; there was little to attract one to the rooms until he was ready to go to bed. I don’t know whether it was a representative petrified-forest crowd or not, but it was certainly cosmopolitan227. There was a Dutch doctor and his wife from Java—exceedingly non-committal on the subject of the European War; a middle-aged228 English lady, professing229 to be an invalid230 but doing the hardest “stunts” everywhere—she even ate the cowboy dinner at the round-up—accompanied by a very intelligent Danish lady as a companion and manager; and several plain American citizens like ourselves from widely scattered sections of the country. The conversation, as may be imagined, was varied231 and generally interesting. The proprietor, who joined us later, told many entertaining anecdotes232 of his experiences in the Indian country to which he made frequent visits to purchase blankets for his store. He said that he made it a rule never to decline the hospitality of the Indians or traders, no matter how filthy233 they might be, since they were sure to resent any squeamishness on part of a visitor.
“I was invited to eat in one shack,” he said, “where conditions beggared description (I fancy312 the principal dish was dog); and where the table was simply black with flies, but I joined in as if it had been a repast at the Waldorf-Astoria. That’s the only way to get the confidence and the genuine friendship of these people. Of course, I was situated differently from the ordinary tourist, for I have regular dealings with both the Indians and the traders.”
The guests generally joined in expressing the hope that circumstances might not arise to put their good manners to such a test.
Mr. Campbell has occasionally outfitted234 and conducted parties to the various Indian reservations and particularly to the Moki Snake Dance. On his last excursion to Moki-land he conducted a party of some thirty people at a round rate of two hundred and fifty dollars per head, and the general impression prevailed among them that he was coining money a la Rockefeller. The fact was, he assured us, that so great were the difficulties in securing supplies and especially forage235 for the horses, that his profits on the trip were negligible.
The round trip to the Navajo country can be made via Ford in two days and Gulliver had orders to be ready to take the “invalid” English lady and her companion on this excursion the following day, but it was deferred on account of313 the wind storm which raged in even greater fury than the day before.
Campbell is an expert on Navajo blankets, of which he has a very large collection in the little store which he runs in connection with his hotel. There are blankets of all degrees, ranging up to three hundred dollars in price. During the holidays he does a considerable mail-order business in all parts of the country by means of a magazine advertising236 campaign.
At breakfast we found the serving girls again on the job, looking a little blase237 after the dissipation of the round-up and dance. They declared the latter a disappointment; it was too tame and uneventful. “Why, there wasn’t even a fight,” said a blonde-haired German damsel who brought our coffee and hot cakes. To elucidate238 her remark, Mr. Campbell explained that while “gun toting” in Arizona is entirely obsolete239 and bloodshed quite as uncommon240 and unpopular as in any part of the country, few dances in Adamana end without a fist-fight between some of the cowboys. Naturally, the men greatly outnumber the maidens241 and contests for favors are almost sure to result in warlike demonstrations242. The ladies have doubtless come to consider these collisions between rivals as in some314 degree a tribute to the popularity of the female sex and when a dance passes off too peaceably they feel as if their charms have not been adequately appreciated.
We boarded the California Limited about noon to resume our eastward243 journey. We agreed that the Petrified Forests are well worth while; we are sure that if the traveling public was generally aware how easily these strange stone trees can be reached and how well visitors are taken care of by Mr. Campbell and his helpers—not forgetting the efficient and entertaining Gulliver—a far greater number of passengers would “drop off” for a day or two at Adamana.
The End
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1
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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2
petrified
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| adj.惊呆的；目瞪口呆的v.使吓呆，使惊呆；变僵硬；使石化(petrify的过去式和过去分词) | |
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3
phoenix
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| n.凤凰，长生(不死)鸟；引申为重生 | |
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4
wrench
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| v.猛拧；挣脱；使扭伤；n.扳手；痛苦，难受 | |
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5
deferred
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| adj.延期的，缓召的v.拖延，延缓，推迟( defer的过去式和过去分词 )；服从某人的意愿，遵从 | |
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6
ascertain
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| vt.发现，确定，查明，弄清 | |
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7
sleeper
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| n.睡眠者，卧车，卧铺 | |
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8
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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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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10
jaunts
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| n.游览( jaunt的名词复数 ) | |
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11
dodge
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| v.闪开，躲开，避开；n.妙计，诡计 | |
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12
Ford
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| n.浅滩，水浅可涉处；v.涉水，涉过 | |
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13
confirmation
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| n.证实，确认，批准 | |
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14
auto
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| n.(=automobile)(口语)汽车 | |
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15
deter
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| vt.阻止，使不敢，吓住 | |
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16
maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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17
assented
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| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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18
arteries
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| n.动脉( artery的名词复数 )；干线，要道 | |
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19
rugged
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| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
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20
crests
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| v.到达山顶（或浪峰）( crest的第三人称单数 )；到达洪峰，达到顶点 | |
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21
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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22
verdant
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| adj.翠绿的，青翠的，生疏的，不老练的 | |
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23
shrouded
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| v.隐瞒( shroud的过去式和过去分词 )；保密 | |
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24
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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25
prevailing
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| adj.盛行的；占优势的；主要的 | |
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26
devoid
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| adj.全无的，缺乏的 | |
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27
crevice
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| n.(岩石、墙等)裂缝；缺口 | |
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28
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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29
savages
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| 未开化的人，野蛮人( savage的名词复数 ) | |
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30
superstition
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| n.迷信，迷信行为 | |
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31
granite
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| adj.花岗岩，花岗石 | |
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32
scrambled
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的过去式和过去分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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33
vexed
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| adj.争论不休的；（指问题等）棘手的；争论不休的问题；烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
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34
inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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35
chasm
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| n.深坑，断层，裂口，大分岐，利害冲突 | |
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36
canyon
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| n.峡谷，溪谷 | |
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37
creek
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| n.小溪，小河，小湾 | |
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38
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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39
shrubs
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| 灌木( shrub的名词复数 ) | |
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40
ranch
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| n.大牧场，大农场 | |
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41
panoramas
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| 全景画( panorama的名词复数 )； 全景照片； 一连串景象或事 | |
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42
pinnacles
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| 顶峰( pinnacle的名词复数 )； 顶点； 尖顶； 小尖塔 | |
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43
precipices
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| n.悬崖，峭壁( precipice的名词复数 ) | |
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44
grandeur
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| n.伟大，崇高，宏伟，庄严，豪华 | |
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45
propriety
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| n.正当行为；正当；适当 | |
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46
rustic
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| adj.乡村的，有乡村特色的；n.乡下人，乡巴佬 | |
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47
landlady
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| n.女房东，女地主 | |
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48
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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49
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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50
boisterous
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| adj.喧闹的，欢闹的 | |
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51
winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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52
boulders
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| n.卵石( boulder的名词复数 )；巨砾；（受水或天气侵蚀而成的）巨石；漂砾 | |
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53
cacti
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| n.（复）仙人掌 | |
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54
stony
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| adj.石头的，多石头的，冷酷的，无情的 | |
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55
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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56
foaming
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| adj.布满泡沫的；发泡 | |
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57
foam
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| v./n.泡沫，起泡沫 | |
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58
wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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59
havoc
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| n.大破坏，浩劫，大混乱，大杂乱 | |
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60
willows
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| n.柳树( willow的名词复数 )；柳木 | |
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61
promontory
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| n.海角；岬 | |
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62
torrent
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| n.激流，洪流；爆发，(话语等的)连发 | |
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63
torrents
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| n.倾注；奔流( torrent的名词复数 )；急流；爆发；连续不断 | |
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64
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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65
contemplate
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| vt.盘算，计议；周密考虑；注视，凝视 | |
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66
phenomena
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| n.现象 | |
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67
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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68
cedars
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| 雪松，西洋杉( cedar的名词复数 ) | |
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69
volcanic
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| adj.火山的；象火山的；由火山引起的 | |
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70
softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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71
semblance
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| n.外貌，外表 | |
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72
domes
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| n.圆屋顶( dome的名词复数 )；像圆屋顶一样的东西；圆顶体育场 | |
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73
illustrating
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| 给…加插图( illustrate的现在分词 )； 说明； 表明； （用示例、图画等）说明 | |
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74
dedication
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| n.奉献，献身，致力，题献，献辞 | |
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75
redoubtable
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| adj.可敬的；可怕的 | |
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76
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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77
annually
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| adv.一年一次，每年 | |
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78
by-product
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| n.副产品，附带产生的结果 | |
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79
aggregate
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| adj.总计的，集合的；n.总数；v.合计；集合 | |
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80
lodge
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| v.临时住宿，寄宿，寄存，容纳；n.传达室，小旅馆 | |
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81
mightily
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| ad.强烈地；非常地 | |
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82
veranda
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| n.走廊；阳台 | |
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83
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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84
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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85
retracing
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| v.折回( retrace的现在分词 )；回忆；回顾；追溯 | |
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86
alluring
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| adj.吸引人的，迷人的 | |
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87
weirdly
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| 古怪地 | |
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88
weird
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| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
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89
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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90
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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91
glimmering
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| n.微光，隐约的一瞥adj.薄弱地发光的v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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92
strenuous
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| adj.奋发的，使劲的；紧张的；热烈的，狂热的 | |
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93
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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94
joints
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| 接头( joint的名词复数 )； 关节； 公共场所（尤指价格低廉的饮食和娱乐场所） （非正式）； 一块烤肉 （英式英语） | |
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95
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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96
disabuse
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| v.解惑；矫正 | |
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97
futility
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| n.无用 | |
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98
rheumatism
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| n.风湿病 | |
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99
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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100
pretentious
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| adj.自命不凡的，自负的，炫耀的 | |
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101
situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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102
imposing
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| adj.使人难忘的，壮丽的，堂皇的，雄伟的 | |
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103
motif
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| n.(图案的)基本花纹，(衣服的)花边；主题 | |
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104
asylum
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| n.避难所，庇护所，避难 | |
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105
prohibition
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| n.禁止；禁令，禁律 | |
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106
accentuates
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| v.重读( accentuate的第三人称单数 )；使突出；使恶化；加重音符号于 | |
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107
laden
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| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
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108
groves
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| 树丛，小树林( grove的名词复数 ) | |
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109
emphatic
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| adj.强调的，着重的；无可置疑的，明显的 | |
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110
beets
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| 甜菜( beet的名词复数 )； 甜菜根； （因愤怒、难堪或觉得热而）脸红 | |
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111
staples
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| n.（某国的）主要产品( staple的名词复数 )；钉书钉；U 形钉；主要部份v.用钉书钉钉住( staple的第三人称单数 ) | |
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112
unlimited
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| adj.无限的，不受控制的，无条件的 | |
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113
reclaimed
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| adj.再生的；翻造的；收复的；回收的v.开拓( reclaim的过去式和过去分词 )；要求收回；从废料中回收（有用的材料）；挽救 | |
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114
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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115
unreasonable
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| adj.不讲道理的，不合情理的，过度的 | |
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116
mundane
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| adj.平凡的；尘世的；宇宙的 | |
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117
investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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118
radius
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| n.半径，半径范围；有效航程，范围，界限 | |
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119
picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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120
monks
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| n.修道士，僧侣( monk的名词复数 ) | |
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121
warriors
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| 武士，勇士，战士( warrior的名词复数 ) | |
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122
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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123
ERECTED
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| adj. 直立的，竖立的，笔直的 vt. 使 ... 直立，建立 | |
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124
pottery
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| n.陶器，陶器场 | |
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125
proprietor
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| n.所有人；业主；经营者 | |
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126
primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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127
ardent
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
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128
taboo
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| n.禁忌，禁止接近，禁止使用；adj.禁忌的；v.禁忌，禁制，禁止 | |
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129
superseded
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| [医]被代替的，废弃的 | |
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130
wagons
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| n.四轮的运货马车( wagon的名词复数 )；铁路货车；小手推车 | |
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131
growl
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| v.（狗等）嗥叫，（炮等）轰鸣；n.嗥叫，轰鸣 | |
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132
steering
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| n.操舵装置 | |
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133
encyclopaedia
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| n.百科全书 | |
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134
elicited
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| 引出，探出( elicit的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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135
exclamations
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| n.呼喊( exclamation的名词复数 )；感叹；感叹语；感叹词 | |
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136
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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137
regale
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| v.取悦，款待 | |
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138
gale
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| n.大风，强风，一阵闹声（尤指笑声等） | |
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139
advent
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| n.(重要事件等的)到来，来临 | |
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140
reptiles
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| n.爬行动物，爬虫( reptile的名词复数 ) | |
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141
promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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142
copper
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| n.铜；铜币；铜器；adj.铜(制)的；(紫)铜色的 | |
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143
veracity
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| n.诚实 | |
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144
verge
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| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
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145
gamut
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| n.全音阶，(一领域的)全部知识 | |
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146
mingling
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| adj.混合的 | |
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147
westward
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| n.西方，西部；adj.西方的，向西的；adv.向西 | |
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148
obstructed
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| 阻塞( obstruct的过去式和过去分词 )； 堵塞； 阻碍； 阻止 | |
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149
haze
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| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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150
stumps
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| （被砍下的树的）树桩( stump的名词复数 )； 残肢； （板球三柱门的）柱； 残余部分 | |
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151
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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152
purport
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| n.意义，要旨，大要；v.意味著，做为...要旨，要领是... | |
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153
percolated
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| v.滤( percolate的过去式和过去分词 )；渗透；（思想等）渗透；渗入 | |
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154
thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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155
gusts
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| 一阵强风( gust的名词复数 )； （怒、笑等的）爆发； （感情的）迸发； 发作 | |
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156
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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157
hummocks
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| n.小丘，岗( hummock的名词复数 ) | |
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158
blizzard
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| n.暴风雪 | |
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159
extremity
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| n.末端，尽头；尽力；终极；极度 | |
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160
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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161
courteous
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| adj.彬彬有礼的，客气的 | |
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162
queries
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| n.问题( query的名词复数 )；疑问；询问；问号v.质疑，对…表示疑问( query的第三人称单数 )；询问 | |
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163
maneuvers
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| n.策略，谋略，花招( maneuver的名词复数 ) | |
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164
calves
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| n.(calf的复数)笨拙的男子，腓；腿肚子( calf的名词复数 )；牛犊；腓；小腿肚v.生小牛( calve的第三人称单数 )；（冰川）崩解；生（小牛等），产（犊）；使（冰川）崩解 | |
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165
steers
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| n.阉公牛，肉用公牛( steer的名词复数 )v.驾驶( steer的第三人称单数 )；操纵；控制；引导 | |
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166
herd
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| n.兽群，牧群；vt.使集中，把…赶在一起 | |
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167
dexterously
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| adv.巧妙地，敏捷地 | |
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168
calf
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| n.小牛，犊，幼仔，小牛皮 | |
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169
bawling
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| v.大叫，大喊( bawl的现在分词 )；放声大哭；大声叫出；叫卖（货物） | |
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170
imprinted
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| v.盖印（imprint的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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171
sublime
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| adj.崇高的，伟大的；极度的，不顾后果的 | |
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172
recipients
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| adj.接受的；受领的；容纳的；愿意接受的n.收件人；接受者；受领者；接受器 | |
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173
lumbering
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| n.采伐林木 | |
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174
murky
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| adj.黑暗的，朦胧的；adv.阴暗地，混浊地；n.阴暗；昏暗 | |
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175
profuse
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| adj.很多的，大量的，极其丰富的 | |
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176
compensated
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| 补偿，报酬( compensate的过去式和过去分词 )； 给（某人）赔偿（或赔款） | |
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177
civilized
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| a.有教养的，文雅的 | |
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178
cartridge
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| n.弹壳，弹药筒；(装磁带等的)盒子 | |
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179
delightfully
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| 大喜，欣然 | |
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180
demurred
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| v.表示异议，反对( demur的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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181
tinge
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| vt.(较淡)着色于，染色；使带有…气息；n.淡淡色彩，些微的气息 | |
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182
growling
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| n.吠声, 咆哮声 v.怒吠, 咆哮, 吼 | |
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183
scrambling
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的现在分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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184
obliterated
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| v.除去( obliterate的过去式和过去分词 )；涂去；擦掉；彻底破坏或毁灭 | |
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185
contingent
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| adj.视条件而定的；n.一组，代表团，分遣队 | |
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186
goggles
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| n.护目镜 | |
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187
marvel
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| vi.(at)惊叹vt.感到惊异；n.令人惊异的事 | |
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188
tint
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| n.淡色，浅色；染发剂；vt.着以淡淡的颜色 | |
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189
beholder
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| n.观看者，旁观者 | |
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190
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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191
accurately
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| adv.准确地，精确地 | |
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192
attained
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| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
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193
millennium
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| n.一千年，千禧年；太平盛世 | |
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194
cupidity
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| n.贪心，贪财 | |
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195
specimens
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| n.样品( specimen的名词复数 )；范例；（化验的）抽样；某种类型的人 | |
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196
gems
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| growth； economy； management； and customer satisfaction 增长 | |
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197
glistening
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| adj.闪耀的，反光的v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的现在分词 ) | |
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198
depleting
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| 使大大的减少，使空虚( deplete的现在分词 )； 耗尽，使枯竭 | |
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199
preservation
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| n.保护，维护，保存，保留，保持 | |
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200
prehistoric
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| adj.（有记载的）历史以前的，史前的，古老的 | |
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201
profusely
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| ad.abundantly | |
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202
agate
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| n.玛瑙 | |
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203
amethyst
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| n.紫水晶 | |
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204
eminence
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| n.卓越，显赫；高地，高处；名家 | |
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205
prostrate
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| v.拜倒，平卧，衰竭；adj.拜倒的，平卧的，衰竭的 | |
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206
potteries
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| n.陶器( pottery的名词复数 )；陶器厂；陶土；陶器制造（术） | |
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207
unearthed
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| 出土的（考古） | |
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subsisted
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| v.（靠很少的钱或食物）维持生活，生存下去( subsist的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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conjecture
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| n./v.推测，猜测 | |
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indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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hieroglyphics
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| n.pl.象形文字 | |
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212
chauffeur
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| n.(受雇于私人或公司的)司机；v.为…开车 | |
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ledges
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| n.（墙壁，悬崖等）突出的狭长部分( ledge的名词复数 )；（平窄的）壁架；横档；（尤指）窗台 | |
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214
mortar
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| n.灰浆，灰泥；迫击炮；v.把…用灰浆涂接合 | |
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215
dwellings
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| n.住处，处所( dwelling的名词复数 ) | |
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plaza
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| n.广场，市场 | |
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217
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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pueblos
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| n.印第安人村庄( pueblo的名词复数 ) | |
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219
carvings
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| n.雕刻( carving的名词复数 )；雕刻术；雕刻品；雕刻物 | |
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220
symbolical
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| a.象征性的 | |
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symbolic
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| adj.象征性的，符号的，象征主义的 | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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223
herds
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| 兽群( herd的名词复数 )； 牧群； 人群； 群众 | |
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224
stork
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| n.鹳 | |
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225
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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226
subsided
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| v.（土地）下陷（因在地下采矿）( subside的过去式和过去分词 )；减弱；下降至较低或正常水平；一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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227
cosmopolitan
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| adj.世界性的，全世界的，四海为家的，全球的 | |
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middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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professing
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| 声称( profess的现在分词 )； 宣称； 公开表明； 信奉 | |
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invalid
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| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
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varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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anecdotes
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| n.掌故，趣闻，轶事( anecdote的名词复数 ) | |
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filthy
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| adj.卑劣的；恶劣的，肮脏的 | |
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234
outfitted
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| v.装备，配置设备，供给服装( outfit的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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235
forage
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| n.(牛马的)饲料，粮草；v.搜寻，翻寻 | |
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236
advertising
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| n.广告业；广告活动 a.广告的；广告业务的 | |
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blase
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| adj.厌烦于享乐的 | |
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238
elucidate
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| v.阐明，说明 | |
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obsolete
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| adj.已废弃的，过时的 | |
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240
uncommon
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| adj.罕见的，非凡的，不平常的 | |
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241
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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242
demonstrations
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| 证明( demonstration的名词复数 )； 表明； 表达； 游行示威 | |
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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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