Bruce Standing1—Timber-Wolf, as he exulted2 in being called—was a man of few friends and many enemies. In and about Big Pine men disliked him wholeheartedly; many hated him so that they would have been glad to know that he was dead. And this was chiefly because he jeered3 at them and overrode4 them; because at every opportunity, going out of his way to make opportunity more often than not, he thrust them aside and trod his unobstructed path through and over them, setting his heel upon many; because he spat5 upon their laws and made his own. And he, in his turn, held them in high contempt simply because always they stood aside for him. Those few who did not hate him were the handful of hard men whom, in the working out of his wide, overweening ambitions, he had drawn6 to him like so many feudal7 henchmen; they were, in their lesser8 degrees, of his stamp; they belonged in their hearts to an older day and a wider frontier; there were scores taking his pay whose blood ran hot and lawless.
So to-night he came riding down the winding9 trail from his mountains, singing. Thus he shot his spirit across the miles ahead of him, to invade Big Pine before his coming, to taunt10 before he brought his hard eyes to mock at them. He had received his word and his warning, and made his retort in the one way possible to him.
The road in front of the Gallup House, leading on to the pines and the aloof11 jail where Mexicali Joe glared out, was thronged12. Half a dozen bonfires had been started, and in the ruddy light men stirred restlessly.
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Their talk was becoming purposeful; they gathered in knots about men who were showing impatient signs of initiative; they had murmured and were looking this way and that, over their shoulders, shifting their feet as they gave increasingly free expression to their determination. They were working themselves up to the pitch of defiance13 of the law, as represented by Sheriff Jim Taggart; as yet no man cared to be first and still they looked frequently at the deputy sheriff with the rifle across his arm, and meant to set Mexicali Joe free. A man broke away from one of these groups and ran back to the Gallup House, to carry warning to Taggart.
It was at this moment that Bruce Standing, Timber-Wolf, rode into town. He rode alone, on a powerful red-bay gelding, silent now, a great-bulked man sitting straight in the saddle. One saw nothing of his face under the wide black hat.
He had no word of greeting for any man of them; after his characteristic coldly insolent14 way, he appeared to ignore them utterly15. On the instant he, rather than Mexicali Joe, became the central object of interest. Most knew who he was and what he stood for, and wherein his visit among them was to be regarded as worthy17 of interest; those who did not know, marked the hush18 which greeted him, and in lowered voices demanded the explanation which, in voices equally low, was briefly19 given. They looked for him to draw rein16 at Gallup's and swing down and go in. But, knowing that you could never be sure of him, they watched to see.
He disappointed them. That, in itself, was like him. No doubt he got his bit of glee out of knowing that, where they had looked to him for one thing, he had given them another. He rode on by Gallup's without turning his head. Where a tree grew at the
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road-crossing he dismounted, tying his horse. They saw that his rifle was in its scabbard, slung20 to the saddle; he left it where it was, and went forward on foot. Bigger than ever he loomed21 among them, appearing to walk leisurely22, yet taking the long, measured strides which carried him along swiftly. They let him go on his way, their eyes following him with growing interest, some of the more curious of the crowd stringing along in his wake. And all this time no man had given him the time of day, and he had not opened his lips.
Meanwhile they saw him turn his head this way and that, as though he sought something. Before he had gone fifty paces he found what he wanted. A man was piling wood on his fire; the axe23 which he had used a moment ago lay on the ground, glinting in the firelight. Bruce Standing stooped and caught it up and went on—straight toward the jail. A sudden shout from many voices burst out; men came running to see, now that they understood what he meant to do. And those about the jail, when they saw, drew back to right and left hurriedly, leaving only the deputy with the rifle across his arm to block the way.
Now, the axe could mean only one thing in the world, and the deputy saw it, and saw who it was that carried it and called out a sharp, throaty warning. Standing came on, his stride quickened. He was not a dozen steps away, carrying his axe lightly in his right hand. The deputy jerked his rifle up, the butt24 to his shoulder, shouting:
"Stop, or...."
The man fired, but he was not quick enough. At that distance, had his finger touched the hair-trigger the tenth of a second sooner, he could not have failed to kill. But he was not the man, even though armed, to dictate25 to Timber-Wolf. For Standing made instant answer to
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that command, "Stop!" and hurled26 his only weapon, a heavy wood-cutter's axe, straight into the deputy's face. The bullet went wild; the man who had fired it, through the rarest chance left alive, went down in a heap, unconscious before he struck ground. For, though the axe blade had very narrowly missed his face, the hard hickory handle had taken him full across the eyebrows27 and came near being the death of him. His rifle clattered28 against the rock wall of the jail.
Bruce Standing, who had paused but the briefest moment, came on and stepped over the fallen man, and caught up his axe again. He stooped long enough to make out that the deputy's head was not split open; then he swung up his axe, high above his head, and brought it crashing down against the thick oak padlocked door. The sound of the stroke echoed and the echoes were lost in the striking of the second blow. And, when for the third time the axe rose and fell, flashing in the light of the fires, the door fell.
"Out you come, Joe."
Standing's deep, full voice rumbled29 in a sort of rich, placid30 content. And out like a rabbit, darted31 Mexicali Joe, looking pinched and starved and frightened.
"It is you, Señor!" he gasped32.
"The crowd will be after you," said Standing. "And I'm not going to worry about what happens to you after this."
He was turning away when Joe caught his sleeve, and stood on his tiptoes and began a rapid, excited whispering. Standing hesitated, then laughed and shook the man off.
"You are a good little sport, Mexico," he chuckled33. "Now, on your way."
Joe, with never another look behind him, turned and ran, disappearing about the corner of the jail, sending
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back an account of himself in the sound of his racing34 footfalls among the pines.
Once again came a great shouting from the crowd in the road; they had seen, and now that they had their hearts' desire in having Mexicali Joe free, they saw themselves losing all hope of coming at his secret because they were losing him. Their brief interest in Bruce Standing was dead for the present; Joe ran like a scared cat, and they, like so many yelping36 dogs, set after him. And Timber-Wolf, watching, standing where he was with his big hands on his hips37, roared with laughter.
Babe Deveril and the girl, Lynette Brooke, had seen much of all this. They were at the time on their way to the Gallup House, she to her room and he to his meeting with his lawless kinsman38. Thus it happened that Deveril's first sight of Timber-Wolf in half a dozen years, and Lynette's first sight of him in all her life, was at a moment when he was engaged in an episode of the type which made him stand apart as the man he was.
"Taggart ought to kill him for that," grunted39 Deveril. "And he probably will before the night is over."
The girl shivered as she had done just now when she saw a rifle raised and an axe flung. And yet within her, being woman, there was the exultation40 which would not stay down, and the thought: "He is magnificent.... A brute41, maybe, but surely magnificent!" And she knew that she would never be content until she had seen his face and looked into his eyes. Already, being woman, she was concerned with his eyes; whether they would be large or small, set wide apart or close together. She wanted him to be the lion, not the wild boar.
The remainder of the night's happenings was to come, because of the simple arrangement of rooms at the
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Gallup House, within the experience of both Deveril and Lynette. They saw Bruce Standing go down the road and followed him. He did not once look back. When he came to his horse, he stopped only long enough to take down his rifle. Plainly now he meant to go direct to the Gallup House. All the while men were streaming by him, hurrying to join in the chase after the escaping Mexicali Joe. So, by the time he came to Gallup's door, there were not over a score of men remaining in the house.
The Gallup House was a long, squat42 building of two low stories, its three main rooms on the ground floor facing the road. These were the dining-room; a room given over to Gallup's office, and sufficient space for a dozen chairs and a big sheet-iron stove—a sort of living-room for Gallup's guests, when he had any; and, finally, a room which had in older times been the barroom, and which, despite changing conditions, remained in practice a barroom. At this hour both dining-room and sitting-room43 were deserted44, and the score or so of men, Gallup and Taggart among them, were in the bar. Here were round tables, for it was a big room, for games of cards or dice45.
Deveril and the girl parted at the centre door through which she entered direct into the general living-room. They saw Bruce Standing go to the last of the three doors and step in unhesitantly, still carrying his rifle lightly. Deveril followed him, and saw the looks on the faces of Taggart and Gallup and some of their following.
"I stepped in to buy the drinks for the crowd," Timber-Wolf said quietly, all the while his eyes flashing back and forth46. "Gents, the treats are on me."
Jim Taggart, his hands on his hips, was eying him like a hawk47, and in Taggart's face was a dull, hot flush.
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Gallup, however, standing close at Taggart's side, was the first to speak. He cried out angrily:
"No man drinks with you in my house! Not as long as I live. And...."
Bruce Standing drew a wallet from his pocket.
"About twenty men here," he said, in the same slow, steady voice. "As it's a night of celebration, we'll make it a dollar a drink. That's twenty bucks48, easy money, Young Gallup," he wound up with a sneer49 in his voice. For all men knew Gallup's cupidity50, which clutched at small as well as large amounts.
But Gallup, shaken with rage, only shouted back at him:
"To hell with your twenty dollars! And with you, Bruce Standing!"
"So? Well, twenty dollars isn't much, after all, is it? Gents, we drink to-night and damn the cost! Two bones for every glass of whiskey; that's forty of the iron men, Gallup. Call Ricky with the bottles."
A couple of men laughed at that. Gallup, however, seeing himself baited, roared out:
"I tell you, no! And out you go. You are not wanted here."
"Low bid loses, high bid wins," said Standing. Now he opened his wallet and disclosed a tight pad of bills. "Three dollars for each and every glass of imitation hootch! God, what a pirate you are, Gallup! Now, trot52 it out."
"Sixty dollars, clean-cut velvet53, Gal," said a man at his elbow, willing to drink with the devil so the drink came paid for.
"And at last Young Gallup hesitates, his soul tempted54 by a row of dirty pennies," gibed55 Standing. "Look, men, and you'll see that pale-yellow soul of his snared56 clean out of his stingy hide. Look, Gallup! And if
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you can say no this time you have established a new record for yourself!"
Slowly, while they watched him, he counted off ten ten-dollar bank-notes, and, with a careless gesture, tossed them to a table.
"That's for one round of your rotten bootleg liquor," he said contemptuously. "Now, step out, Gallup, and show them the sort of money-grabbing porker you are. You know you haven't got the guts57 to save your own besmirched58 pride at the price of a hundred dollars."
Gallup would have sold out for far less, but Timber-Wolf was not the man to haggle59 over what he termed dirty pennies. He shrugged61 his heavy shoulders and caught up the money, counting it carefully, stuffing it into his pocket and growling62:
"You're not wanted here, Standing; but any time you're fool enough to pay a hundred dollars for the privilege, I'll take the rules down for a round of drinks! Hey, Ricky!"
Standing only grunted at that, though his eyes flashed.
"I come when I please and where I please, and you know it, Young Gallup! And if you think you are the man to throw me out, hop35 to it and don't let a little hundred dollars hold you back! Better than that; if you'll tie into me right now and chuck me out of doors, getting all your hangdogs that will take a chance with you to help you, you've got my word that I'll add a second hundred as your bonus! Or a thousand, by heaven! And right now you'll toe the scratch or back down and shut your mouth."
Gallup had never before in his life been faced down like that. And with so many men looking on! Yet in his heart, though no man had ever called him a coward, he was afraid of Timber-Wolf; mortally afraid. There was the look of death itself in the eyes flashing into his
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own. He sought to laugh the thing off, saying, with what semblance63 of fine scorn he could master:
"Your word!"
"I am no liar64," said Standing wrathfully. "And no man in all Arizona and New Mexico ever called me liar. Do you, Young Gallup?"
"Bruce!" called Sheriff Taggart sharply, for the first time speaking a word. "What's the sense of trying to start a row? drop all this foolery and let me have a word with you."
"That's fair enough," agreed Standing. "I've no desire to break Gallup's neck so long as he leaves me alone. But make it snappy, as I have another engagement."
"I want to talk with you privately66, Bruce." Taggart obviously was angry, and yet it was equally clear that when it came to dealing67 with the Timber-Wolf, Jim Taggart meant to hold himself well in hand.
"I won't stand for corner-whisperings," Standing told him sternly. "If it happens you've got anything for my set of ears, they're listening. But it's right now or never."
Taggart's black and ominous68 scowl69 deepened, and he shuffled70 his feet back and forth, and in the end stamped them in his anger. But still he held the curb71 line upon himself.
"You always was a strong-headed man, Bruce, that would have things his way. So be it. And I guess, being a man myself that stands on his own two legs, I can say it all in one mouthful: You and me has always been friends. Are we that yet?"
Now for the first time Lynette Brooke, looking in from the adjoining room through a door just ajar, saw Timber-Wolf clearly, his face under his big hat unhidden as he turned a little in order to look straight at
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Taggart. He did not see her, and she looked her fill at him; he gave her a start of surprise, and after that start came a surge of admiration72. He was a young, blond giant of a man, eyes very blue and laughing and innocent! And wide-spaced! A man no older than Babe Deveril, one who bore himself like some old buccaneer or Norse Viking, before men who would have given much for the courage and the power to fly at his bared white throat and drag the life out of him; a man who overflowed73 with his superabundant vital energy, and who stamped his own character, through sheer force of unbroken will, upon others about him; a man who believed in himself and who was at once implacable and gay. Heartless he looked, and yet full of the dancing joy of life. She felt herself on the instant both strongly drawn to him and frightened; the mad vision presented itself to her of herself in his mighty74 arms. And the odd tremor75 which shook her body, as she whipped back with flaming face, was compounded of thrill and shiver. He confused her; at once she was amazed that he could be like this and convinced that the owner of that glorious voice which she had heard pulsing out across the fields of night could be no jot76 different.... While she drew back to a dim corner of the room, she managed not to lose sight of him.
His clear blue eyes kept on laughing; his was that silent laughter which arises from the soul, and which mocked and insulted and was like the cold mirth of Satan. And yet, in some vague way which she was all at loss to plumb77, and which troubled her strangely, Lynette Brooke knew that this corsair of a man was laughing because there was cold anger in his heart and because, for some mysterious reason of his own, he was set on holding his anger hidden. It troubled her so that, within herself, she cried out passionately78 against
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knowing through leaping instinct anything of what might be going on within the dark caverns80 of the Timber-Wolf's mind and heart. She wanted him and herself to be as far apart as north and south; she meant them to be. And all the while that compelling interest which he awoke within her tugged81 mightily82 and she yielded to it in that, keeping out of his sight, she lost nothing of the play of expressions upon his face.
As yet she knew nothing of that one thing which Bruce Standing, forthright83 exponent84 of untrammelled manhood, held to be his greatest weakness; the one and only thing of which he was bitterly ashamed. A trifle, it amounted to; and a trifle he would have accounted it in any other strong man. Yet within his hard breast it awoke the intensest feeling of shame. And it was a thing which invariably sprang forth upon him and humiliated85 him whenever once he let his passions fly. A laughable thing, and yet one that put tears into his bright blue eyes. But, on guard against it, he strove to curb his anger.
Of all this and the thing itself she knew nothing. But she felt and she knew that the Timber-Wolf, laughing into Jim Taggart's gloomy face, was fighting down his own anger, as a man may fight wild beasts. She awaited, scarcely breathing, the answer he would make to that question from Taggart: "Are we still friends?"
"No!" shouted Standing, and laughed at him. "No, by God!"
That was man talk! Straight, simple words—words that left little enough to be said. But Taggart, though his face grew hotter and his eyes seemed burning in their sockets86, demanded further:
"And why not, Bruce Standing? You and me have been pardners. You know and I know and a thousand men know what sort of a bond and an understanding has
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always, for more than a dozen years, been between us. And now, if that is busted87 and wiped out, I ask you, as man to man: 'Why?'"
"And as man to man," cried Timber-Wolf, his eyes brightening, "I'll answer you, Jim Taggart. When I knew you for a man who played his game he-man style and stood up and fought hard and took his chances, I was for you! And I went out and shaped things up for you and made you sheriff. And, when men got to know you and wanted no more of you as master of law here in the mountains, I lifted you over their heads and made you sheriff again and again. And now that you are done for and are on your last legs, I would have done the same thing once more. But when you got panicky, thinking that this was your last term of office, and began to feather your dirty nest by running with the breed of this Young Gallup and his crowd, and when I found the sort of contemptible88, hide-in-the-brush jobs you were pulling off, I got a bellyful of you and your new kind of ways. And you double-crossed me, thinking I wouldn't know! And on top of everything else, running neck and neck with Gallup, you threw Mexicali Joe into jail ... knowing that Joe, puny89 blackbird as he is, had been a friend of mine. For that I've done two things, Jim Taggart: I've smashed your damned jail door off its hinges and I've thrown you over. And there, until I'm sick of talk about it, you've got your answer!"
Taggart, too, and with his own ulterior reasons, kept his head cool. He said ponderously90:
"You broke the law, Bruce, when you let Joe go. For that I could run you in. But all Joe done was steal a pocketful of nuggets, and we got them back. And there's bigger things than that, anyway. You and me has been friends and so I'll go slow. But we got to have
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another talk. You've got me down wrong, old-timer."
Never had Lynette Brooke seen such utter contempt as that which now filled Bruce Standing's eyes. But he made no answer. At this moment the man Ricky came in with a gallon earthen jug91 and began to pour out the glasses set upon a table. Here was the Timber-Wolf's hundred-dollar treat. Standing himself waved it aside and:
"I drink no poison in this house," he said briefly. And as he spoke92 he saw for the first time Babe Deveril standing just inside the door, not two steps behind him.
"By the Lord, Babe, I'm glad to see you! Shake!" he shouted, thrusting out his big hand.
But now it was Deveril's turn to be cool and contemptuous.
"You and I, Bruce Standing," he said in that clear, insolent voice of his, "have gone a long way beyond the point of shaking hands."
Standing frowned as he muttered:
"Don't be a young ass51, Babe."
But Deveril only shook his head, retorting:
"I have come, according to promise, for a word with you. Suppose we make it snappy."
"The same little Baby Devil!" Standing jeered at him, making Deveril stiffen93 with that look of his eyes. "I'll give you a new dance tune94 before I'm through with you. Come ahead!"—and with a suddenness which took Lynette Brooke by surprise he struck back the door leading to the room where she was and led the way in, Deveril at his heels.
But, though there were three or four coal-oil lamps burning in the room which he had just quitted, there was but one here where she was. And because its chimney was smoky and the flame burned crookedly95 and she was in
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a dim corner, he could make nothing of the look of her. Had she remained perfectly96 still he would scarcely have noted97 her presence. But now she was suddenly impatient to be gone, and went hurrying to a door which led into a hallway, the hallway in turn leading to her room at the back of the house.
"A woman," growled98 Timber-Wolf disgustedly, getting only a glimpse of a hastily departing figure. "It begins to look as though a man couldn't pick him a spot in the wilderness99 that the female didn't crowd in."
Lynette heard, and knew with a flash of resentment100 that he did not care whether she had heard or not, and that with the last word he would be turning to Deveril and forgetting that he had seen her. She went slowly down the hall, three or four paces only. There she paused and lingered; it was no such pale incentive101 as curiosity which held her now, but a peculiar102 fascination103. Two men like those two, by far the strongest-willed and most dynamic men she had ever known, with the business which lay between them, made her ignore and give no thought to the convention of shut ears against the talk of others. So she stood here in the dim hallway, poised104 for instant flight if need be to her own door, a couple of yards farther on.
"Now," said Deveril impatiently, "what is it?"
Timber-Wolf's mood softened105 and the old bright laughter welled up in his dancing blue eyes.
"I pass it to you, Kid," he chuckled. "You've grown a man since last we met. We'll not forget, either one of us ... will we?... that night in my cabin?"
"I'll not forget," returned Deveril coolly. "And some day I'll square the count."
"You'll square the count?" The keen eyes twinkled like bits of deep-blue glass on a frosty morning. "I was under the impression that always you have held that I
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was the man to square things. Accusing me, as you did, of so wicked a deed!"
"It was a treacherous106 thing at best," muttered Deveril, his own eyes bleak107 with that bitter hatred108 which never slept. "I didn't know then that you were, among other things, a damned thief."
Timber-Wolf's sudden laughter boomed out joyously109, and he smote110 his thigh111 so that the sound was sharp and loud, like a gunshot.
"But you knew that always and always and once again always I take what I want! I asked you for the money, and I made you a fair proposition: I would guarantee that you doubled your dinky three thousand, and I'd see you had interest on top of it. And you hadn't the nerve to chip in...."
"Wasn't the fool, you mean!"
"And so ... I went and took it! And I took from other quarters the same way. What I wanted I took. And when they all said I was busted in two, like a rotten stick, I fooled 'em, and laughed at the whole crowd. And now I'm whole again—and I've got what I want. That's me, Baby Devil! A man who goes his way and blazes his trail wide. A man you can't stop!"
"A cursed, insufferable, conceited112 ass, rather than wolf," snapped Deveril.
And still, in the rarest of high good humor, Timber-Wolf laughed, and his rich, deep voice went rumbling113 through the house.
"You're sore, Baby Devil. And you're envious114."
"Not of you, Bruce Standing! You...."
"Let's chop out the Sunday-school stuff, Kid!" cried Standing impatiently. "I don't need your lecturings. Maybe I'm not what your puling moralists call a good man, and maybe I'm not 'clean-hearted and pure' and all that drivel. But, by God, I'm a man who's got his
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own code and who sticks to it, blow high, blow low! A code that, if more men followed it, would give us a world with more men in it and fewer mollycoddle115 pups!"
"It would appear," sneered116 Deveril, "that you remain well contented117 with yourself!"
"Like the rest of humanity—he, she, and it!" said Timber-Wolf equably. "And so much for friendly chatter118. Now a word whispered in your pretty ear, since the Lord knoweth how many busybodies are straining their own ears to listen-in on us."
Lynette, in the hallway, stiffened119 and felt her face grow hot. But, with a strange new-born stubbornness, she remained where she was.
Timber-Wolf came a step closer to Deveril, and, lowering his voice so that Lynette lost the words, he muttered:
"I am under obligations to you, my dear kinsman, and since there is a tough crowd in town, any man of whom would whack120 you over the head for a handful of silver, I am keeping this between us." He took his wallet from his pocket the second time, and drew from it several bank-notes. These he proffered121 to Deveril, his eyes still bright with his cold mirth.
"Count it and stick it in your jeans," he said softly. "There's your three thousand. With it is another three thousand, the double of the bet which I promised you. And with that is another two thousand, which is a gain of ten per cent for you for six years, all rough figuring. In all eight thousand in coin of the realm ... and I'm much obliged," he ended mockingly, "for your generous loan!"
Babe Deveril, taken off his feet by the unexpectedness of this, stared at the bank-notes in the great hard palm, and from them to the grinning face. And slowly, from a conflicting tumult122 of emotions, in which, strangely
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enough, anger surged highest, Deveril's face went violently red.
"Damn you and your eternal posings!" Lynette caught those words, clear and high. But she missed the eloquence123 of the shrug60 into which Timber-Wolf's shoulders lifted.
"It's up to you, Kid," said Standing, and still he kept his voice low and quiet. The money lay in his outstretched palm. "The minute I make my offer I consider my obligation fulfilled. If you are too proud to take it ... well, then, the devil take you for a fool, and I'll use the money elsewhere."
Deveril put out his hand, selecting from the several bills.
"My three thousand, I take," he said, "because it is mine. And the two thousand with it, judging that fair interest, considering the risks my money took. As for the rest—" he whipped back, and his voice, because of the emotions near choking him, was little more than a harsh whisper—"you can keep it and go to hell with it! I want none of your cursed charity!"
Timber-Wolf's thick eyebrows lifted, and a new look dawned in his eyes.
"By thunder, Baby Devil, you've the makings of a man in you!" he exclaimed. "You and I could be friends!"
"Don't fool yourself. We won't be!"
"I didn't say we would!" And Bruce Standing glared at him angrily. "I only said we could. There's a difference there, Kid. I could eat tripe124, but I'm damned if I ever will!"
As the two men eyed each other, it was impossible to conceive of any earthly happening bringing them within the warm enclosure of man's friendship.
But there was money in sight, and money in the hands
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of Timber-Wolf was habitually125 offered to fate as free money. And always, in the heart of Babe Deveril, when there was money in his pocket and money in sight, there was the impulse to hazard, to win or lose, and know the wild moment of a gambler's pleasure. And so he said swiftly:
"Just the same, I have a claim on that three thousand of yours!"
"Yes?" And again the heavy eyebrows were lifted as Timber-Wolf's interest was snared.
"If it's mine, it comes to me. If it's yours, you keep it and take three thousand from me to boot. I'll flip126 a coin with you!"
"Baby Devil!" laughed Standing softly. "Oh, Baby Devil, if your mamma could only see you now!"
"Are you on?" demanded Deveril, in a suppressed voice.
"On? With bells, Baby Devil! Heads or tails, and let her flicker127!"
Lynette Brooke could catch only enough of all this to set her wondering. The two men were agreeing upon something, and all the while jeering128 at each other, and, though they checked their words and subdued129 their voices, anger was directing whatever they did or meant to do.
Both men were eager and tense. For both made of life a game of hazard. With Babe Deveril three thousand dollars, to be won or lost in the flicker of an eyelid130, was a large sum of money; to Bruce Standing, a man of millions, it was no great thing. Yet neither of them was more tense and eager than the other. The game was the thing.
Automatically, perhaps subconsciously131 intending to have a free hand, since his rifle was still held in his left, Bruce Standing stuffed his spurned132 bank-notes into his
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pocket. But it was Deveril who, having conceived the idea, was first to produce a coin; a silver dollar, and mate to those other silver dollars which he had presented to the girl, Maria.
"Heads or tails, Standing?" he demanded, holding the coin ready to toss ceilingward.
"Throw it," said Timber-Wolf, with his characteristic grin, "and I name it while it's in the air. For I don't know what sleight-of-hand you may have acquired these later years, and I don't trust you, my sweet kinsman! And shoot fast, as some one's coming."
For both had heard the rattle133 of hoofs134 in the road outside, as some horseman came racing up to the door.
"Name it, then," cried Deveril, and shot the coin, spinning, upward.
"Heads!" Timber-Wolf named it. "Always heads. My motto there, Kid!"
The silver dollar, with such zest135 had it been pitched upward, struck the ceiling and dropped to the floor, rolling. It rolled half across the room, both men springing after it, stooping to watch and know how fate decided136 matters between them. And in the end there was no decision at all. For the coin rolled half-way into a crack between the boards and stood thus, on edge, neither heads nor tails.
"Flip her again," growled Bruce Standing, deep in his throat. "And step lively!"
Already the horse's hoofs, as its rider plucked at the reins137, were sliding outside. Deveril caught up the coin and tossed it again. And this time, true to his word, and not trusting the other, Bruce Standing called before the silver dollar struck the floor:
"Tails!"
And as the silver dollar struck and rolled and stopped, and at last lay flat, and the two stooped over it so close
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that almost the black hair of one and the reddish hair of the other brushed, they saw that it was heads. And that Timber-Wolf, repudiating138 his motto, "Always heads!" had lost three thousand dollars. And at the instant their intruder burst in upon them from the road.
Here, after his own strange fashion, came Billy Winch, Timber-Wolf's one-legged retainer. An able-bodied man and agile139 had been Billy Winch all of his hard life until, after a horse had fallen on him, the doctor had cut his leg off above the knee. "You'll go on crutches140 the rest of your life," they told him that day. And Billy Winch, weak and pale and sick and haggard-eyed, muttered at them: "You're a pack of damn liars141! I'll cut my throat before I'll be a crutch-man." And he had kept his oath. Seldom did he stir save on the back of his horse. And when needs must that he go horseless some few steps, he went "like a man, one-leg style, hopping142!" Now, hopping on his one foot so that, with his pinched, weazened face and small bright eyes, he resembled some uncouth143 bird, he bounced into the room.
"I got word for you, Bruce Standing!" he cried excitedly.
"Clear out, you fool...."
"I won't clear out! This is the real thing. Listen: A man, and it was a man paid by Young Gallup, has just went down the road with a double-barrel shotgun, and the dirty skunk144 has shot your horse, good old Sunlight ... dead!" By now Billy Winch was whimpering; tears, whether of rage or grief, filled his bright eyes and streamed down his face. And all the while, to maintain his balance, he was hopping unsteadily about, his outflung hand groping for the wall.
And now at last Timber-Wolf's anger, a devastating145, all-engulfing rage which mastered him utterly, was unleashed146. And with its release came inevitably147 that
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one condition of which he was so terribly ashamed. He cried out aloud, in a great, roaring voice ... and in the fierce grip of his wrath65 his utterance148 was so affected149 that his speech came enunciated150 in the most incongruous of fashions. For it was Timber-Wolf's burning mortification151 that he, the strongest man of these mountains, when in the clutch of his mightiest152 passions ... lisped like an affected school-girl!
"Thunlight dead!" he stormed. "You thay that to me? Yeth? Then, by God, juth ath thure as I live, I'll...."
He cut himself short; his face, instantly red with rage, grew redder with shame. He snapped his great jaws153 shut, and across the room Deveril heard the grinding of his teeth. He swerved154 about, charging toward the door, which gave entrance to the room where Gallup was.
But a far more critical moment than Timber-Wolf knew was ticking in the clock of his life. In the hall stood the girl, Lynette. She had heard all of these words of Billy Winch, and she had heard Bruce Standing's bellowed155 rejoinder. And she, already taut-nerved and keyed up, what with fatigue156 and a strenuous157 night, was so struck by the absurdity158 of a strong man lisping his passionate79 utterance, that she broke out into uncontrollable laughter. And when Lynette Brooke's laughter caught her unawares, it rang out as clearly as the chiming of silver bells. Now, with nerves quivering, she was almost hysterical159....
Timber-Wolf came to as dead a halt as though it had been a bullet instead of the mockery of a girl's laughter which cut into his heart. For only mockery he made of it, he who upon this one point, as upon no other, was so sensitive. And to have a human female laugh at him!
His rage threatened to choke him. But now, even
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as he had forgotten his lost bet with Babe Deveril, so did he forget a dead horse and Young Gallup. The entire violence of his anger was deflected160, turned upon a woman who had eavesdropped161 upon his ignominy and then assailed162 him with the mockery of her mirth. He who held all womankind in such high scorn, to be now a woman's laughing-stock! He, Bruce Standing, Timber-Wolf! He snatched at the hall door, and under his attack one of the ancient hinges broke, and the door, flung back, leaned crazily against the wall. And all the while, though he kept his teeth so hard set that his jaws bulged163 with the strain, he was muttering curses in his throat. He burst into the dim hallway, his brain on fire.
She heard him coming. More than that, and before, it seemed to her that her instinct told her that he would come, bearing down upon her like a hurricane, in such violence as would stamp her into the earth. She had not meant to laugh at him; she did not want to laugh. And yet now all that she could do was clap her hands over her mouth and run before him as a blown leaf races before the storm. She sped down the hall, plunged164 into her room, slammed the door after her.
... And in the hallway she heard the pounding of his heavy boots. Already he was at her door. Before she could shoot the bolt, he had gripped the knob. When he flung his weight against the panel, it flew back, and under the impact she was thrown backward, and would have fallen had it not been that she brought up against her bed. Here she half fell, but was erect165 before he had stormed across the threshold.
"You...."
Why had she run from him? She was not afraid of him and she was not afraid of anything on earth. Or, at least, making a sort of religion out of it, that was the
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thing which she had always told herself. Just at hand, on the little table by the open window, was her revolver. And she could shoot and shoot true to the mark. She had told Babe Deveril that she could take care of herself. She stood, rigid166 and defiant167, and in her heart unafraid.
On a bracketed shelf over her bed was a kerosene168 lamp which she had left burning when she had gone out. She could see the working of his lips. And he saw her.
Now those who knew Timber-Wolf best knew this about him—that he had no use for womankind; that he held all of the female of the human race to be weaklings and worse, leeches169 upon the strength of man, mere170 outwardly glossed171 tricks of a scheming nature; things contemptible. And at this moment, surely, Timber-Wolf was in no mood to revise for the better his sweeping172 and deep-based opinion. But now, despite all trumped-up reasonings, no matter how sincere, his first clear view of this girl gave him pause.
She was superb. Physically173, if not otherwise. For the first thing, her hair snared him. Strong men are always caught by films; a big brute of a man who may break his triumphant174 way through iron bands grows powerless under a frail175 wisp of a frail woman's hair. In the hall she had held her hat in her hands; her hair, loosely upgathered and insecurely and hastily confined, had tumbled all about her face as she bolted into her room. He saw that first of all. And then he saw her eyes. At the moment, already in her room with the door slammed shut behind him and his back against it, he looked, glowering176, into her eyes. And he found them at once soft and still amazingly unafraid; those daring eyes of Lynette Brooke, daughter of a dancing-girl and of the dare-all miner, Brooke. Unafraid, though
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he who might have choked the life out of her between finger and thumb, turned his furious face upon her.
He paid her tribute with a flash of his shining blue eyes. That was for the physical beauty of her; that said, "Outwardly, girl, you are superb!" Yet it remained that, his one weakness shaming him, she had laughed at him. For the first time in his life a girl had laughed at him....
She saw the sudden changing fires in his eyes and stepped closer to the table on which lay that small, high-powered implement177 which puts the weak on a level with the strong....
"By God, girl...."
There came a sudden sharp rapping at the door against which his broad back leaned. There was Babe Deveril, who had lunged after him. Timber-Wolf, growling savagely178, flung himself about, for the second ignoring the girl and facing the door. Deveril, just without, heard the bolt shot home. And then he heard the second, the sinister179 sound. A revolver shot, muffled180 by the four walls of a room. And he heard Timber-Wolf, whose back had been turned to Lynette Brooke and the gun upon the table, curse deep down in his throat, and heard almost simultaneously181 the scraping of the heavy boots and the crashing fall of the big body. Deveril shook fiercely at the door. Then he turned and ran back down the hall, meaning to go through the room he had just quitted and on through so as to come to Lynette's room by the rear.
But in the sitting-room Billy Winch, teetering on his one foot, grasped him by the arm, demanding to know what had happened. Deveril savagely shook him off, and Winch, raising the echoes with a shrilling182 voice, toppled over and fell. But little time had been wasted, and yet, before Deveril could free himself and run on,
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Lynette Brooke ran in upon him. Her eyes were wild and staring; in her hand was her revolver, so lately fired that the last wisp of smoke had not cleared from the barrel.
"Babe Deveril," she gasped. "They are after me!"
It was Sheriff Taggart who was after her. He was almost at her heels, shouting:
"Stop! In the name of the law! You are under arrest for killing183 Bruce Standing...."
Babe Deveril carried no weapon upon him. And he saw Taggart's pistols dragging at his belt, the heavy forty-fives which, as sheriff, he was entitled to carry openly. Taggart's hands were almost upon her.
Deveril did the one thing. He caught at the gun in Lynette's hand and wrenched184 it free, and, having no time for accurate aim, did not fire, but hurled the revolver itself, with all of his might, full into Taggart's face. And Taggart, as though a thunderbolt had struck him, went down, with a steel barrel driven against his skull185, near the temple, and lay a crumpled186, still heap.
"The house is full of Taggart's friends!" Deveril cried sharply, warning her and, at the same time, thinking for himself.
But already she was running again. She ran out into the road; but there the brisk-burning bonfires made night into day. She dodged187 back into the shadow cast by the corner of the house, and ran about to the rear. Deveril hesitated only an instant; men were already rushing in from the room where they had been drinking. He followed her through the door, and here again he paused. Men were already stooping over the sheriff; he heard one cry out the single word, "Dead!" His brain caught fire. The girl had killed Timber Wolf; he had killed Jim Taggart. He and she were fugitives188.
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He followed her again into the shadows, running to the back of the house.
And as he ran one thing angered him: He had won three thousand dollars from Bruce Standing, and that three thousand dollars was at this moment in Standing's pocket. And being Babe Deveril, who dared at least as far as most men dare, he meant to have what fortune allowed him.
And so, when he came to an open and lighted window, and looked in and saw the sprawling189 body of Timber-Wolf, Babe Deveril unhesitatingly threw his leg over the sill and went in. In his judgment190 Standing was as good as dead, shot in the back. Well, that was no affair of his, and certainly he was not the man to grieve. Let "Serve him right" be his epitaph. Deveril, in a feverish191 haste, began to feel in the fallen man's pockets.
He found the bank-notes and stuffed them into his own pocket. At the window, as he turned back to it, while he heard men hammering at the locked door, he saw Lynette Brooke's white face. She had been watching him. Yet even that, in the present need for haste, made no impression. He slipped through, hearing a discordant192 shouting of many voices.
"We are in for it now," he panted. "Run!"
He caught her hand, and, holding it tight, the two raced into the darkness under the pines.
So to-night he came riding down the winding9 trail from his mountains, singing. Thus he shot his spirit across the miles ahead of him, to invade Big Pine before his coming, to taunt10 before he brought his hard eyes to mock at them. He had received his word and his warning, and made his retort in the one way possible to him.
The road in front of the Gallup House, leading on to the pines and the aloof11 jail where Mexicali Joe glared out, was thronged12. Half a dozen bonfires had been started, and in the ruddy light men stirred restlessly.
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Their talk was becoming purposeful; they gathered in knots about men who were showing impatient signs of initiative; they had murmured and were looking this way and that, over their shoulders, shifting their feet as they gave increasingly free expression to their determination. They were working themselves up to the pitch of defiance13 of the law, as represented by Sheriff Jim Taggart; as yet no man cared to be first and still they looked frequently at the deputy sheriff with the rifle across his arm, and meant to set Mexicali Joe free. A man broke away from one of these groups and ran back to the Gallup House, to carry warning to Taggart.
It was at this moment that Bruce Standing, Timber-Wolf, rode into town. He rode alone, on a powerful red-bay gelding, silent now, a great-bulked man sitting straight in the saddle. One saw nothing of his face under the wide black hat.
He had no word of greeting for any man of them; after his characteristic coldly insolent14 way, he appeared to ignore them utterly15. On the instant he, rather than Mexicali Joe, became the central object of interest. Most knew who he was and what he stood for, and wherein his visit among them was to be regarded as worthy17 of interest; those who did not know, marked the hush18 which greeted him, and in lowered voices demanded the explanation which, in voices equally low, was briefly19 given. They looked for him to draw rein16 at Gallup's and swing down and go in. But, knowing that you could never be sure of him, they watched to see.
He disappointed them. That, in itself, was like him. No doubt he got his bit of glee out of knowing that, where they had looked to him for one thing, he had given them another. He rode on by Gallup's without turning his head. Where a tree grew at the
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road-crossing he dismounted, tying his horse. They saw that his rifle was in its scabbard, slung20 to the saddle; he left it where it was, and went forward on foot. Bigger than ever he loomed21 among them, appearing to walk leisurely22, yet taking the long, measured strides which carried him along swiftly. They let him go on his way, their eyes following him with growing interest, some of the more curious of the crowd stringing along in his wake. And all this time no man had given him the time of day, and he had not opened his lips.
Meanwhile they saw him turn his head this way and that, as though he sought something. Before he had gone fifty paces he found what he wanted. A man was piling wood on his fire; the axe23 which he had used a moment ago lay on the ground, glinting in the firelight. Bruce Standing stooped and caught it up and went on—straight toward the jail. A sudden shout from many voices burst out; men came running to see, now that they understood what he meant to do. And those about the jail, when they saw, drew back to right and left hurriedly, leaving only the deputy with the rifle across his arm to block the way.
Now, the axe could mean only one thing in the world, and the deputy saw it, and saw who it was that carried it and called out a sharp, throaty warning. Standing came on, his stride quickened. He was not a dozen steps away, carrying his axe lightly in his right hand. The deputy jerked his rifle up, the butt24 to his shoulder, shouting:
"Stop, or...."
The man fired, but he was not quick enough. At that distance, had his finger touched the hair-trigger the tenth of a second sooner, he could not have failed to kill. But he was not the man, even though armed, to dictate25 to Timber-Wolf. For Standing made instant answer to
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that command, "Stop!" and hurled26 his only weapon, a heavy wood-cutter's axe, straight into the deputy's face. The bullet went wild; the man who had fired it, through the rarest chance left alive, went down in a heap, unconscious before he struck ground. For, though the axe blade had very narrowly missed his face, the hard hickory handle had taken him full across the eyebrows27 and came near being the death of him. His rifle clattered28 against the rock wall of the jail.
Bruce Standing, who had paused but the briefest moment, came on and stepped over the fallen man, and caught up his axe again. He stooped long enough to make out that the deputy's head was not split open; then he swung up his axe, high above his head, and brought it crashing down against the thick oak padlocked door. The sound of the stroke echoed and the echoes were lost in the striking of the second blow. And, when for the third time the axe rose and fell, flashing in the light of the fires, the door fell.
"Out you come, Joe."
Standing's deep, full voice rumbled29 in a sort of rich, placid30 content. And out like a rabbit, darted31 Mexicali Joe, looking pinched and starved and frightened.
"It is you, Señor!" he gasped32.
"The crowd will be after you," said Standing. "And I'm not going to worry about what happens to you after this."
He was turning away when Joe caught his sleeve, and stood on his tiptoes and began a rapid, excited whispering. Standing hesitated, then laughed and shook the man off.
"You are a good little sport, Mexico," he chuckled33. "Now, on your way."
Joe, with never another look behind him, turned and ran, disappearing about the corner of the jail, sending
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back an account of himself in the sound of his racing34 footfalls among the pines.
Once again came a great shouting from the crowd in the road; they had seen, and now that they had their hearts' desire in having Mexicali Joe free, they saw themselves losing all hope of coming at his secret because they were losing him. Their brief interest in Bruce Standing was dead for the present; Joe ran like a scared cat, and they, like so many yelping36 dogs, set after him. And Timber-Wolf, watching, standing where he was with his big hands on his hips37, roared with laughter.
Babe Deveril and the girl, Lynette Brooke, had seen much of all this. They were at the time on their way to the Gallup House, she to her room and he to his meeting with his lawless kinsman38. Thus it happened that Deveril's first sight of Timber-Wolf in half a dozen years, and Lynette's first sight of him in all her life, was at a moment when he was engaged in an episode of the type which made him stand apart as the man he was.
"Taggart ought to kill him for that," grunted39 Deveril. "And he probably will before the night is over."
The girl shivered as she had done just now when she saw a rifle raised and an axe flung. And yet within her, being woman, there was the exultation40 which would not stay down, and the thought: "He is magnificent.... A brute41, maybe, but surely magnificent!" And she knew that she would never be content until she had seen his face and looked into his eyes. Already, being woman, she was concerned with his eyes; whether they would be large or small, set wide apart or close together. She wanted him to be the lion, not the wild boar.
The remainder of the night's happenings was to come, because of the simple arrangement of rooms at the
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Gallup House, within the experience of both Deveril and Lynette. They saw Bruce Standing go down the road and followed him. He did not once look back. When he came to his horse, he stopped only long enough to take down his rifle. Plainly now he meant to go direct to the Gallup House. All the while men were streaming by him, hurrying to join in the chase after the escaping Mexicali Joe. So, by the time he came to Gallup's door, there were not over a score of men remaining in the house.
The Gallup House was a long, squat42 building of two low stories, its three main rooms on the ground floor facing the road. These were the dining-room; a room given over to Gallup's office, and sufficient space for a dozen chairs and a big sheet-iron stove—a sort of living-room for Gallup's guests, when he had any; and, finally, a room which had in older times been the barroom, and which, despite changing conditions, remained in practice a barroom. At this hour both dining-room and sitting-room43 were deserted44, and the score or so of men, Gallup and Taggart among them, were in the bar. Here were round tables, for it was a big room, for games of cards or dice45.
Deveril and the girl parted at the centre door through which she entered direct into the general living-room. They saw Bruce Standing go to the last of the three doors and step in unhesitantly, still carrying his rifle lightly. Deveril followed him, and saw the looks on the faces of Taggart and Gallup and some of their following.
"I stepped in to buy the drinks for the crowd," Timber-Wolf said quietly, all the while his eyes flashing back and forth46. "Gents, the treats are on me."
Jim Taggart, his hands on his hips, was eying him like a hawk47, and in Taggart's face was a dull, hot flush.
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Gallup, however, standing close at Taggart's side, was the first to speak. He cried out angrily:
"No man drinks with you in my house! Not as long as I live. And...."
Bruce Standing drew a wallet from his pocket.
"About twenty men here," he said, in the same slow, steady voice. "As it's a night of celebration, we'll make it a dollar a drink. That's twenty bucks48, easy money, Young Gallup," he wound up with a sneer49 in his voice. For all men knew Gallup's cupidity50, which clutched at small as well as large amounts.
But Gallup, shaken with rage, only shouted back at him:
"To hell with your twenty dollars! And with you, Bruce Standing!"
"So? Well, twenty dollars isn't much, after all, is it? Gents, we drink to-night and damn the cost! Two bones for every glass of whiskey; that's forty of the iron men, Gallup. Call Ricky with the bottles."
A couple of men laughed at that. Gallup, however, seeing himself baited, roared out:
"I tell you, no! And out you go. You are not wanted here."
"Low bid loses, high bid wins," said Standing. Now he opened his wallet and disclosed a tight pad of bills. "Three dollars for each and every glass of imitation hootch! God, what a pirate you are, Gallup! Now, trot52 it out."
"Sixty dollars, clean-cut velvet53, Gal," said a man at his elbow, willing to drink with the devil so the drink came paid for.
"And at last Young Gallup hesitates, his soul tempted54 by a row of dirty pennies," gibed55 Standing. "Look, men, and you'll see that pale-yellow soul of his snared56 clean out of his stingy hide. Look, Gallup! And if
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you can say no this time you have established a new record for yourself!"
Slowly, while they watched him, he counted off ten ten-dollar bank-notes, and, with a careless gesture, tossed them to a table.
"That's for one round of your rotten bootleg liquor," he said contemptuously. "Now, step out, Gallup, and show them the sort of money-grabbing porker you are. You know you haven't got the guts57 to save your own besmirched58 pride at the price of a hundred dollars."
Gallup would have sold out for far less, but Timber-Wolf was not the man to haggle59 over what he termed dirty pennies. He shrugged61 his heavy shoulders and caught up the money, counting it carefully, stuffing it into his pocket and growling62:
"You're not wanted here, Standing; but any time you're fool enough to pay a hundred dollars for the privilege, I'll take the rules down for a round of drinks! Hey, Ricky!"
Standing only grunted at that, though his eyes flashed.
"I come when I please and where I please, and you know it, Young Gallup! And if you think you are the man to throw me out, hop35 to it and don't let a little hundred dollars hold you back! Better than that; if you'll tie into me right now and chuck me out of doors, getting all your hangdogs that will take a chance with you to help you, you've got my word that I'll add a second hundred as your bonus! Or a thousand, by heaven! And right now you'll toe the scratch or back down and shut your mouth."
Gallup had never before in his life been faced down like that. And with so many men looking on! Yet in his heart, though no man had ever called him a coward, he was afraid of Timber-Wolf; mortally afraid. There was the look of death itself in the eyes flashing into his
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own. He sought to laugh the thing off, saying, with what semblance63 of fine scorn he could master:
"Your word!"
"I am no liar64," said Standing wrathfully. "And no man in all Arizona and New Mexico ever called me liar. Do you, Young Gallup?"
"Bruce!" called Sheriff Taggart sharply, for the first time speaking a word. "What's the sense of trying to start a row? drop all this foolery and let me have a word with you."
"That's fair enough," agreed Standing. "I've no desire to break Gallup's neck so long as he leaves me alone. But make it snappy, as I have another engagement."
"I want to talk with you privately66, Bruce." Taggart obviously was angry, and yet it was equally clear that when it came to dealing67 with the Timber-Wolf, Jim Taggart meant to hold himself well in hand.
"I won't stand for corner-whisperings," Standing told him sternly. "If it happens you've got anything for my set of ears, they're listening. But it's right now or never."
Taggart's black and ominous68 scowl69 deepened, and he shuffled70 his feet back and forth, and in the end stamped them in his anger. But still he held the curb71 line upon himself.
"You always was a strong-headed man, Bruce, that would have things his way. So be it. And I guess, being a man myself that stands on his own two legs, I can say it all in one mouthful: You and me has always been friends. Are we that yet?"
Now for the first time Lynette Brooke, looking in from the adjoining room through a door just ajar, saw Timber-Wolf clearly, his face under his big hat unhidden as he turned a little in order to look straight at
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Taggart. He did not see her, and she looked her fill at him; he gave her a start of surprise, and after that start came a surge of admiration72. He was a young, blond giant of a man, eyes very blue and laughing and innocent! And wide-spaced! A man no older than Babe Deveril, one who bore himself like some old buccaneer or Norse Viking, before men who would have given much for the courage and the power to fly at his bared white throat and drag the life out of him; a man who overflowed73 with his superabundant vital energy, and who stamped his own character, through sheer force of unbroken will, upon others about him; a man who believed in himself and who was at once implacable and gay. Heartless he looked, and yet full of the dancing joy of life. She felt herself on the instant both strongly drawn to him and frightened; the mad vision presented itself to her of herself in his mighty74 arms. And the odd tremor75 which shook her body, as she whipped back with flaming face, was compounded of thrill and shiver. He confused her; at once she was amazed that he could be like this and convinced that the owner of that glorious voice which she had heard pulsing out across the fields of night could be no jot76 different.... While she drew back to a dim corner of the room, she managed not to lose sight of him.
His clear blue eyes kept on laughing; his was that silent laughter which arises from the soul, and which mocked and insulted and was like the cold mirth of Satan. And yet, in some vague way which she was all at loss to plumb77, and which troubled her strangely, Lynette Brooke knew that this corsair of a man was laughing because there was cold anger in his heart and because, for some mysterious reason of his own, he was set on holding his anger hidden. It troubled her so that, within herself, she cried out passionately78 against
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knowing through leaping instinct anything of what might be going on within the dark caverns80 of the Timber-Wolf's mind and heart. She wanted him and herself to be as far apart as north and south; she meant them to be. And all the while that compelling interest which he awoke within her tugged81 mightily82 and she yielded to it in that, keeping out of his sight, she lost nothing of the play of expressions upon his face.
As yet she knew nothing of that one thing which Bruce Standing, forthright83 exponent84 of untrammelled manhood, held to be his greatest weakness; the one and only thing of which he was bitterly ashamed. A trifle, it amounted to; and a trifle he would have accounted it in any other strong man. Yet within his hard breast it awoke the intensest feeling of shame. And it was a thing which invariably sprang forth upon him and humiliated85 him whenever once he let his passions fly. A laughable thing, and yet one that put tears into his bright blue eyes. But, on guard against it, he strove to curb his anger.
Of all this and the thing itself she knew nothing. But she felt and she knew that the Timber-Wolf, laughing into Jim Taggart's gloomy face, was fighting down his own anger, as a man may fight wild beasts. She awaited, scarcely breathing, the answer he would make to that question from Taggart: "Are we still friends?"
"No!" shouted Standing, and laughed at him. "No, by God!"
That was man talk! Straight, simple words—words that left little enough to be said. But Taggart, though his face grew hotter and his eyes seemed burning in their sockets86, demanded further:
"And why not, Bruce Standing? You and me have been pardners. You know and I know and a thousand men know what sort of a bond and an understanding has
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always, for more than a dozen years, been between us. And now, if that is busted87 and wiped out, I ask you, as man to man: 'Why?'"
"And as man to man," cried Timber-Wolf, his eyes brightening, "I'll answer you, Jim Taggart. When I knew you for a man who played his game he-man style and stood up and fought hard and took his chances, I was for you! And I went out and shaped things up for you and made you sheriff. And, when men got to know you and wanted no more of you as master of law here in the mountains, I lifted you over their heads and made you sheriff again and again. And now that you are done for and are on your last legs, I would have done the same thing once more. But when you got panicky, thinking that this was your last term of office, and began to feather your dirty nest by running with the breed of this Young Gallup and his crowd, and when I found the sort of contemptible88, hide-in-the-brush jobs you were pulling off, I got a bellyful of you and your new kind of ways. And you double-crossed me, thinking I wouldn't know! And on top of everything else, running neck and neck with Gallup, you threw Mexicali Joe into jail ... knowing that Joe, puny89 blackbird as he is, had been a friend of mine. For that I've done two things, Jim Taggart: I've smashed your damned jail door off its hinges and I've thrown you over. And there, until I'm sick of talk about it, you've got your answer!"
Taggart, too, and with his own ulterior reasons, kept his head cool. He said ponderously90:
"You broke the law, Bruce, when you let Joe go. For that I could run you in. But all Joe done was steal a pocketful of nuggets, and we got them back. And there's bigger things than that, anyway. You and me has been friends and so I'll go slow. But we got to have
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another talk. You've got me down wrong, old-timer."
Never had Lynette Brooke seen such utter contempt as that which now filled Bruce Standing's eyes. But he made no answer. At this moment the man Ricky came in with a gallon earthen jug91 and began to pour out the glasses set upon a table. Here was the Timber-Wolf's hundred-dollar treat. Standing himself waved it aside and:
"I drink no poison in this house," he said briefly. And as he spoke92 he saw for the first time Babe Deveril standing just inside the door, not two steps behind him.
"By the Lord, Babe, I'm glad to see you! Shake!" he shouted, thrusting out his big hand.
But now it was Deveril's turn to be cool and contemptuous.
"You and I, Bruce Standing," he said in that clear, insolent voice of his, "have gone a long way beyond the point of shaking hands."
Standing frowned as he muttered:
"Don't be a young ass51, Babe."
But Deveril only shook his head, retorting:
"I have come, according to promise, for a word with you. Suppose we make it snappy."
"The same little Baby Devil!" Standing jeered at him, making Deveril stiffen93 with that look of his eyes. "I'll give you a new dance tune94 before I'm through with you. Come ahead!"—and with a suddenness which took Lynette Brooke by surprise he struck back the door leading to the room where she was and led the way in, Deveril at his heels.
But, though there were three or four coal-oil lamps burning in the room which he had just quitted, there was but one here where she was. And because its chimney was smoky and the flame burned crookedly95 and she was in
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a dim corner, he could make nothing of the look of her. Had she remained perfectly96 still he would scarcely have noted97 her presence. But now she was suddenly impatient to be gone, and went hurrying to a door which led into a hallway, the hallway in turn leading to her room at the back of the house.
"A woman," growled98 Timber-Wolf disgustedly, getting only a glimpse of a hastily departing figure. "It begins to look as though a man couldn't pick him a spot in the wilderness99 that the female didn't crowd in."
Lynette heard, and knew with a flash of resentment100 that he did not care whether she had heard or not, and that with the last word he would be turning to Deveril and forgetting that he had seen her. She went slowly down the hall, three or four paces only. There she paused and lingered; it was no such pale incentive101 as curiosity which held her now, but a peculiar102 fascination103. Two men like those two, by far the strongest-willed and most dynamic men she had ever known, with the business which lay between them, made her ignore and give no thought to the convention of shut ears against the talk of others. So she stood here in the dim hallway, poised104 for instant flight if need be to her own door, a couple of yards farther on.
"Now," said Deveril impatiently, "what is it?"
Timber-Wolf's mood softened105 and the old bright laughter welled up in his dancing blue eyes.
"I pass it to you, Kid," he chuckled. "You've grown a man since last we met. We'll not forget, either one of us ... will we?... that night in my cabin?"
"I'll not forget," returned Deveril coolly. "And some day I'll square the count."
"You'll square the count?" The keen eyes twinkled like bits of deep-blue glass on a frosty morning. "I was under the impression that always you have held that I
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was the man to square things. Accusing me, as you did, of so wicked a deed!"
"It was a treacherous106 thing at best," muttered Deveril, his own eyes bleak107 with that bitter hatred108 which never slept. "I didn't know then that you were, among other things, a damned thief."
Timber-Wolf's sudden laughter boomed out joyously109, and he smote110 his thigh111 so that the sound was sharp and loud, like a gunshot.
"But you knew that always and always and once again always I take what I want! I asked you for the money, and I made you a fair proposition: I would guarantee that you doubled your dinky three thousand, and I'd see you had interest on top of it. And you hadn't the nerve to chip in...."
"Wasn't the fool, you mean!"
"And so ... I went and took it! And I took from other quarters the same way. What I wanted I took. And when they all said I was busted in two, like a rotten stick, I fooled 'em, and laughed at the whole crowd. And now I'm whole again—and I've got what I want. That's me, Baby Devil! A man who goes his way and blazes his trail wide. A man you can't stop!"
"A cursed, insufferable, conceited112 ass, rather than wolf," snapped Deveril.
And still, in the rarest of high good humor, Timber-Wolf laughed, and his rich, deep voice went rumbling113 through the house.
"You're sore, Baby Devil. And you're envious114."
"Not of you, Bruce Standing! You...."
"Let's chop out the Sunday-school stuff, Kid!" cried Standing impatiently. "I don't need your lecturings. Maybe I'm not what your puling moralists call a good man, and maybe I'm not 'clean-hearted and pure' and all that drivel. But, by God, I'm a man who's got his
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own code and who sticks to it, blow high, blow low! A code that, if more men followed it, would give us a world with more men in it and fewer mollycoddle115 pups!"
"It would appear," sneered116 Deveril, "that you remain well contented117 with yourself!"
"Like the rest of humanity—he, she, and it!" said Timber-Wolf equably. "And so much for friendly chatter118. Now a word whispered in your pretty ear, since the Lord knoweth how many busybodies are straining their own ears to listen-in on us."
Lynette, in the hallway, stiffened119 and felt her face grow hot. But, with a strange new-born stubbornness, she remained where she was.
Timber-Wolf came a step closer to Deveril, and, lowering his voice so that Lynette lost the words, he muttered:
"I am under obligations to you, my dear kinsman, and since there is a tough crowd in town, any man of whom would whack120 you over the head for a handful of silver, I am keeping this between us." He took his wallet from his pocket the second time, and drew from it several bank-notes. These he proffered121 to Deveril, his eyes still bright with his cold mirth.
"Count it and stick it in your jeans," he said softly. "There's your three thousand. With it is another three thousand, the double of the bet which I promised you. And with that is another two thousand, which is a gain of ten per cent for you for six years, all rough figuring. In all eight thousand in coin of the realm ... and I'm much obliged," he ended mockingly, "for your generous loan!"
Babe Deveril, taken off his feet by the unexpectedness of this, stared at the bank-notes in the great hard palm, and from them to the grinning face. And slowly, from a conflicting tumult122 of emotions, in which, strangely
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enough, anger surged highest, Deveril's face went violently red.
"Damn you and your eternal posings!" Lynette caught those words, clear and high. But she missed the eloquence123 of the shrug60 into which Timber-Wolf's shoulders lifted.
"It's up to you, Kid," said Standing, and still he kept his voice low and quiet. The money lay in his outstretched palm. "The minute I make my offer I consider my obligation fulfilled. If you are too proud to take it ... well, then, the devil take you for a fool, and I'll use the money elsewhere."
Deveril put out his hand, selecting from the several bills.
"My three thousand, I take," he said, "because it is mine. And the two thousand with it, judging that fair interest, considering the risks my money took. As for the rest—" he whipped back, and his voice, because of the emotions near choking him, was little more than a harsh whisper—"you can keep it and go to hell with it! I want none of your cursed charity!"
Timber-Wolf's thick eyebrows lifted, and a new look dawned in his eyes.
"By thunder, Baby Devil, you've the makings of a man in you!" he exclaimed. "You and I could be friends!"
"Don't fool yourself. We won't be!"
"I didn't say we would!" And Bruce Standing glared at him angrily. "I only said we could. There's a difference there, Kid. I could eat tripe124, but I'm damned if I ever will!"
As the two men eyed each other, it was impossible to conceive of any earthly happening bringing them within the warm enclosure of man's friendship.
But there was money in sight, and money in the hands
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of Timber-Wolf was habitually125 offered to fate as free money. And always, in the heart of Babe Deveril, when there was money in his pocket and money in sight, there was the impulse to hazard, to win or lose, and know the wild moment of a gambler's pleasure. And so he said swiftly:
"Just the same, I have a claim on that three thousand of yours!"
"Yes?" And again the heavy eyebrows were lifted as Timber-Wolf's interest was snared.
"If it's mine, it comes to me. If it's yours, you keep it and take three thousand from me to boot. I'll flip126 a coin with you!"
"Baby Devil!" laughed Standing softly. "Oh, Baby Devil, if your mamma could only see you now!"
"Are you on?" demanded Deveril, in a suppressed voice.
"On? With bells, Baby Devil! Heads or tails, and let her flicker127!"
Lynette Brooke could catch only enough of all this to set her wondering. The two men were agreeing upon something, and all the while jeering128 at each other, and, though they checked their words and subdued129 their voices, anger was directing whatever they did or meant to do.
Both men were eager and tense. For both made of life a game of hazard. With Babe Deveril three thousand dollars, to be won or lost in the flicker of an eyelid130, was a large sum of money; to Bruce Standing, a man of millions, it was no great thing. Yet neither of them was more tense and eager than the other. The game was the thing.
Automatically, perhaps subconsciously131 intending to have a free hand, since his rifle was still held in his left, Bruce Standing stuffed his spurned132 bank-notes into his
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pocket. But it was Deveril who, having conceived the idea, was first to produce a coin; a silver dollar, and mate to those other silver dollars which he had presented to the girl, Maria.
"Heads or tails, Standing?" he demanded, holding the coin ready to toss ceilingward.
"Throw it," said Timber-Wolf, with his characteristic grin, "and I name it while it's in the air. For I don't know what sleight-of-hand you may have acquired these later years, and I don't trust you, my sweet kinsman! And shoot fast, as some one's coming."
For both had heard the rattle133 of hoofs134 in the road outside, as some horseman came racing up to the door.
"Name it, then," cried Deveril, and shot the coin, spinning, upward.
"Heads!" Timber-Wolf named it. "Always heads. My motto there, Kid!"
The silver dollar, with such zest135 had it been pitched upward, struck the ceiling and dropped to the floor, rolling. It rolled half across the room, both men springing after it, stooping to watch and know how fate decided136 matters between them. And in the end there was no decision at all. For the coin rolled half-way into a crack between the boards and stood thus, on edge, neither heads nor tails.
"Flip her again," growled Bruce Standing, deep in his throat. "And step lively!"
Already the horse's hoofs, as its rider plucked at the reins137, were sliding outside. Deveril caught up the coin and tossed it again. And this time, true to his word, and not trusting the other, Bruce Standing called before the silver dollar struck the floor:
"Tails!"
And as the silver dollar struck and rolled and stopped, and at last lay flat, and the two stooped over it so close
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that almost the black hair of one and the reddish hair of the other brushed, they saw that it was heads. And that Timber-Wolf, repudiating138 his motto, "Always heads!" had lost three thousand dollars. And at the instant their intruder burst in upon them from the road.
Here, after his own strange fashion, came Billy Winch, Timber-Wolf's one-legged retainer. An able-bodied man and agile139 had been Billy Winch all of his hard life until, after a horse had fallen on him, the doctor had cut his leg off above the knee. "You'll go on crutches140 the rest of your life," they told him that day. And Billy Winch, weak and pale and sick and haggard-eyed, muttered at them: "You're a pack of damn liars141! I'll cut my throat before I'll be a crutch-man." And he had kept his oath. Seldom did he stir save on the back of his horse. And when needs must that he go horseless some few steps, he went "like a man, one-leg style, hopping142!" Now, hopping on his one foot so that, with his pinched, weazened face and small bright eyes, he resembled some uncouth143 bird, he bounced into the room.
"I got word for you, Bruce Standing!" he cried excitedly.
"Clear out, you fool...."
"I won't clear out! This is the real thing. Listen: A man, and it was a man paid by Young Gallup, has just went down the road with a double-barrel shotgun, and the dirty skunk144 has shot your horse, good old Sunlight ... dead!" By now Billy Winch was whimpering; tears, whether of rage or grief, filled his bright eyes and streamed down his face. And all the while, to maintain his balance, he was hopping unsteadily about, his outflung hand groping for the wall.
And now at last Timber-Wolf's anger, a devastating145, all-engulfing rage which mastered him utterly, was unleashed146. And with its release came inevitably147 that
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one condition of which he was so terribly ashamed. He cried out aloud, in a great, roaring voice ... and in the fierce grip of his wrath65 his utterance148 was so affected149 that his speech came enunciated150 in the most incongruous of fashions. For it was Timber-Wolf's burning mortification151 that he, the strongest man of these mountains, when in the clutch of his mightiest152 passions ... lisped like an affected school-girl!
"Thunlight dead!" he stormed. "You thay that to me? Yeth? Then, by God, juth ath thure as I live, I'll...."
He cut himself short; his face, instantly red with rage, grew redder with shame. He snapped his great jaws153 shut, and across the room Deveril heard the grinding of his teeth. He swerved154 about, charging toward the door, which gave entrance to the room where Gallup was.
But a far more critical moment than Timber-Wolf knew was ticking in the clock of his life. In the hall stood the girl, Lynette. She had heard all of these words of Billy Winch, and she had heard Bruce Standing's bellowed155 rejoinder. And she, already taut-nerved and keyed up, what with fatigue156 and a strenuous157 night, was so struck by the absurdity158 of a strong man lisping his passionate79 utterance, that she broke out into uncontrollable laughter. And when Lynette Brooke's laughter caught her unawares, it rang out as clearly as the chiming of silver bells. Now, with nerves quivering, she was almost hysterical159....
Timber-Wolf came to as dead a halt as though it had been a bullet instead of the mockery of a girl's laughter which cut into his heart. For only mockery he made of it, he who upon this one point, as upon no other, was so sensitive. And to have a human female laugh at him!
His rage threatened to choke him. But now, even
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as he had forgotten his lost bet with Babe Deveril, so did he forget a dead horse and Young Gallup. The entire violence of his anger was deflected160, turned upon a woman who had eavesdropped161 upon his ignominy and then assailed162 him with the mockery of her mirth. He who held all womankind in such high scorn, to be now a woman's laughing-stock! He, Bruce Standing, Timber-Wolf! He snatched at the hall door, and under his attack one of the ancient hinges broke, and the door, flung back, leaned crazily against the wall. And all the while, though he kept his teeth so hard set that his jaws bulged163 with the strain, he was muttering curses in his throat. He burst into the dim hallway, his brain on fire.
She heard him coming. More than that, and before, it seemed to her that her instinct told her that he would come, bearing down upon her like a hurricane, in such violence as would stamp her into the earth. She had not meant to laugh at him; she did not want to laugh. And yet now all that she could do was clap her hands over her mouth and run before him as a blown leaf races before the storm. She sped down the hall, plunged164 into her room, slammed the door after her.
... And in the hallway she heard the pounding of his heavy boots. Already he was at her door. Before she could shoot the bolt, he had gripped the knob. When he flung his weight against the panel, it flew back, and under the impact she was thrown backward, and would have fallen had it not been that she brought up against her bed. Here she half fell, but was erect165 before he had stormed across the threshold.
"You...."
Why had she run from him? She was not afraid of him and she was not afraid of anything on earth. Or, at least, making a sort of religion out of it, that was the
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thing which she had always told herself. Just at hand, on the little table by the open window, was her revolver. And she could shoot and shoot true to the mark. She had told Babe Deveril that she could take care of herself. She stood, rigid166 and defiant167, and in her heart unafraid.
On a bracketed shelf over her bed was a kerosene168 lamp which she had left burning when she had gone out. She could see the working of his lips. And he saw her.
Now those who knew Timber-Wolf best knew this about him—that he had no use for womankind; that he held all of the female of the human race to be weaklings and worse, leeches169 upon the strength of man, mere170 outwardly glossed171 tricks of a scheming nature; things contemptible. And at this moment, surely, Timber-Wolf was in no mood to revise for the better his sweeping172 and deep-based opinion. But now, despite all trumped-up reasonings, no matter how sincere, his first clear view of this girl gave him pause.
She was superb. Physically173, if not otherwise. For the first thing, her hair snared him. Strong men are always caught by films; a big brute of a man who may break his triumphant174 way through iron bands grows powerless under a frail175 wisp of a frail woman's hair. In the hall she had held her hat in her hands; her hair, loosely upgathered and insecurely and hastily confined, had tumbled all about her face as she bolted into her room. He saw that first of all. And then he saw her eyes. At the moment, already in her room with the door slammed shut behind him and his back against it, he looked, glowering176, into her eyes. And he found them at once soft and still amazingly unafraid; those daring eyes of Lynette Brooke, daughter of a dancing-girl and of the dare-all miner, Brooke. Unafraid, though
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he who might have choked the life out of her between finger and thumb, turned his furious face upon her.
He paid her tribute with a flash of his shining blue eyes. That was for the physical beauty of her; that said, "Outwardly, girl, you are superb!" Yet it remained that, his one weakness shaming him, she had laughed at him. For the first time in his life a girl had laughed at him....
She saw the sudden changing fires in his eyes and stepped closer to the table on which lay that small, high-powered implement177 which puts the weak on a level with the strong....
"By God, girl...."
There came a sudden sharp rapping at the door against which his broad back leaned. There was Babe Deveril, who had lunged after him. Timber-Wolf, growling savagely178, flung himself about, for the second ignoring the girl and facing the door. Deveril, just without, heard the bolt shot home. And then he heard the second, the sinister179 sound. A revolver shot, muffled180 by the four walls of a room. And he heard Timber-Wolf, whose back had been turned to Lynette Brooke and the gun upon the table, curse deep down in his throat, and heard almost simultaneously181 the scraping of the heavy boots and the crashing fall of the big body. Deveril shook fiercely at the door. Then he turned and ran back down the hall, meaning to go through the room he had just quitted and on through so as to come to Lynette's room by the rear.
But in the sitting-room Billy Winch, teetering on his one foot, grasped him by the arm, demanding to know what had happened. Deveril savagely shook him off, and Winch, raising the echoes with a shrilling182 voice, toppled over and fell. But little time had been wasted, and yet, before Deveril could free himself and run on,
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Lynette Brooke ran in upon him. Her eyes were wild and staring; in her hand was her revolver, so lately fired that the last wisp of smoke had not cleared from the barrel.
"Babe Deveril," she gasped. "They are after me!"
It was Sheriff Taggart who was after her. He was almost at her heels, shouting:
"Stop! In the name of the law! You are under arrest for killing183 Bruce Standing...."
Babe Deveril carried no weapon upon him. And he saw Taggart's pistols dragging at his belt, the heavy forty-fives which, as sheriff, he was entitled to carry openly. Taggart's hands were almost upon her.
Deveril did the one thing. He caught at the gun in Lynette's hand and wrenched184 it free, and, having no time for accurate aim, did not fire, but hurled the revolver itself, with all of his might, full into Taggart's face. And Taggart, as though a thunderbolt had struck him, went down, with a steel barrel driven against his skull185, near the temple, and lay a crumpled186, still heap.
"The house is full of Taggart's friends!" Deveril cried sharply, warning her and, at the same time, thinking for himself.
But already she was running again. She ran out into the road; but there the brisk-burning bonfires made night into day. She dodged187 back into the shadow cast by the corner of the house, and ran about to the rear. Deveril hesitated only an instant; men were already rushing in from the room where they had been drinking. He followed her through the door, and here again he paused. Men were already stooping over the sheriff; he heard one cry out the single word, "Dead!" His brain caught fire. The girl had killed Timber Wolf; he had killed Jim Taggart. He and she were fugitives188.
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He followed her again into the shadows, running to the back of the house.
And as he ran one thing angered him: He had won three thousand dollars from Bruce Standing, and that three thousand dollars was at this moment in Standing's pocket. And being Babe Deveril, who dared at least as far as most men dare, he meant to have what fortune allowed him.
And so, when he came to an open and lighted window, and looked in and saw the sprawling189 body of Timber-Wolf, Babe Deveril unhesitatingly threw his leg over the sill and went in. In his judgment190 Standing was as good as dead, shot in the back. Well, that was no affair of his, and certainly he was not the man to grieve. Let "Serve him right" be his epitaph. Deveril, in a feverish191 haste, began to feel in the fallen man's pockets.
He found the bank-notes and stuffed them into his own pocket. At the window, as he turned back to it, while he heard men hammering at the locked door, he saw Lynette Brooke's white face. She had been watching him. Yet even that, in the present need for haste, made no impression. He slipped through, hearing a discordant192 shouting of many voices.
"We are in for it now," he panted. "Run!"
He caught her hand, and, holding it tight, the two raced into the darkness under the pines.
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收听单词发音
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1
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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exulted
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| 狂喜，欢跃( exult的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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jeered
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| v.嘲笑( jeer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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4
overrode
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| 越控( override的过去式 )； （以权力）否决； 优先于； 比…更重要 | |
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5
spat
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| n.口角，掌击；v.发出呼噜呼噜声 | |
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6
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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7
feudal
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| adj.封建的，封地的，领地的 | |
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8
lesser
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| adj.次要的，较小的；adv.较小地，较少地 | |
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9
winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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10
taunt
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| n.辱骂，嘲弄；v.嘲弄 | |
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11
aloof
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| adj.远离的；冷淡的，漠不关心的 | |
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12
thronged
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| v.成群，挤满( throng的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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14
insolent
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| adj.傲慢的，无理的 | |
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15
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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rein
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| n.疆绳，统治，支配；vt.以僵绳控制，统治 | |
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17
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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18
hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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19
briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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slung
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| 抛( sling的过去式和过去分词 )； 吊挂； 遣送； 押往 | |
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loomed
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| v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的过去式和过去分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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axe
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| n.斧子；v.用斧头砍，削减 | |
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butt
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| n.笑柄；烟蒂；枪托；臀部；v.用头撞或顶 | |
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dictate
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| v.口授；(使)听写；指令，指示，命令 | |
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hurled
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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27
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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28
clattered
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| 发出咔哒声（clatter的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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29
rumbled
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| 发出隆隆声，发出辘辘声( rumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 轰鸣着缓慢行进； 发现…的真相； 看穿（阴谋） | |
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placid
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| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
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darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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33
chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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34
racing
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| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
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35
hop
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| n.单脚跳，跳跃；vi.单脚跳，跳跃；着手做某事；vt.跳跃，跃过 | |
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36
yelping
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| v.发出短而尖的叫声( yelp的现在分词 ) | |
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37
hips
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| abbr.high impact polystyrene 高冲击强度聚苯乙烯，耐冲性聚苯乙烯n.臀部( hip的名词复数 )；[建筑学]屋脊；臀围（尺寸）；臀部…的 | |
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38
kinsman
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| n.男亲属 | |
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39
grunted
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| （猪等）作呼噜声( grunt的过去式和过去分词 )； （指人）发出类似的哼声； 咕哝着说 | |
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40
exultation
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| n.狂喜，得意 | |
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41
brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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42
squat
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| v.蹲坐，蹲下；n.蹲下；adj.矮胖的，粗矮的 | |
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43
sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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44
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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45
dice
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| n.骰子；vt.把（食物）切成小方块，冒险 | |
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46
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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47
hawk
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| n.鹰，骗子；鹰派成员 | |
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48
bucks
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| n.雄鹿( buck的名词复数 )；钱；（英国十九世纪初的）花花公子；（用于某些表达方式）责任v.（马等）猛然弓背跃起( buck的第三人称单数 )；抵制；猛然震荡；马等尥起后蹄跳跃 | |
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49
sneer
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| v.轻蔑；嘲笑；n.嘲笑，讥讽的言语 | |
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50
cupidity
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| n.贪心，贪财 | |
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51
ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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52
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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53
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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54
tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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55
gibed
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| v.嘲笑，嘲弄( gibe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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56
snared
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| v.用罗网捕捉，诱陷，陷害( snare的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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57
guts
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| v.狼吞虎咽，贪婪地吃，飞碟游戏（比赛双方每组5人，相距15码，互相掷接飞碟）；毁坏（建筑物等）的内部( gut的第三人称单数 )；取出…的内脏n.勇气( gut的名词复数 )；内脏；消化道的下段；肠 | |
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58
besmirched
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| v.弄脏( besmirch的过去式和过去分词 )；玷污；丑化；糟蹋（名誉等） | |
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59
haggle
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| vi.讨价还价，争论不休 | |
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60
shrug
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| v.耸肩(表示怀疑、冷漠、不知等) | |
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61
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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62
growling
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| n.吠声, 咆哮声 v.怒吠, 咆哮, 吼 | |
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63
semblance
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| n.外貌，外表 | |
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64
liar
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| n.说谎的人 | |
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65
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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66
privately
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| adv.以私人的身份，悄悄地，私下地 | |
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67
dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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68
ominous
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| adj.不祥的，不吉的，预兆的，预示的 | |
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69
scowl
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| vi.(at)生气地皱眉，沉下脸，怒视；n.怒容 | |
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70
shuffled
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| v.洗（纸牌）( shuffle的过去式和过去分词 )；拖着脚步走；粗心地做；摆脱尘世的烦恼 | |
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71
curb
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| n.场外证券市场，场外交易；vt.制止，抑制 | |
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72
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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73
overflowed
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| 溢出的 | |
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74
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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75
tremor
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| n.震动，颤动，战栗，兴奋，地震 | |
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76
jot
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| n.少量；vi.草草记下；vt.匆匆写下 | |
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77
plumb
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| adv.精确地，完全地；v.了解意义，测水深 | |
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78
passionately
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| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
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79
passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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80
caverns
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| 大山洞，大洞穴( cavern的名词复数 ) | |
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81
tugged
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| v.用力拉，使劲拉，猛扯( tug的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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82
mightily
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| ad.强烈地；非常地 | |
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83
forthright
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| adj.直率的，直截了当的 [同]frank | |
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84
exponent
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| n.倡导者，拥护者；代表人物；指数，幂 | |
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85
humiliated
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| 感到羞愧的 | |
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86
sockets
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| n.套接字，使应用程序能够读写与收发通讯协定(protocol)与资料的程序( Socket的名词复数 )；孔( socket的名词复数 )；（电器上的）插口；托座；凹穴 | |
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87
busted
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|
| adj. 破产了的，失败了的，被降级的，被逮捕的，被抓到的 动词bust的过去式和过去分词 | |
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88
contemptible
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| adj.可鄙的，可轻视的，卑劣的 | |
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89
puny
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| adj.微不足道的，弱小的 | |
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90
ponderously
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91
jug
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| n.(有柄，小口，可盛水等的)大壶，罐，盂 | |
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92
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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93
stiffen
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| v.(使)硬，(使)变挺，(使)变僵硬 | |
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94
tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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95
crookedly
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| adv. 弯曲地，不诚实地 | |
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96
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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97
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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98
growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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99
wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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100
resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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101
incentive
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| n.刺激；动力；鼓励；诱因；动机 | |
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102
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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103
fascination
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| n.令人着迷的事物，魅力，迷恋 | |
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104
poised
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| a.摆好姿势不动的 | |
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105
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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106
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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107
bleak
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| adj.(天气)阴冷的；凄凉的；暗淡的 | |
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108
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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109
joyously
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| ad.快乐地, 高兴地 | |
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110
smote
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| v.猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去式 ) | |
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111
thigh
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| n.大腿；股骨 | |
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112
conceited
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| adj.自负的，骄傲自满的 | |
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113
rumbling
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| n. 隆隆声, 辘辘声 adj. 隆隆响的 动词rumble的现在分词 | |
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114
envious
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| adj.嫉妒的，羡慕的 | |
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115
mollycoddle
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| v.溺爱，娇养 | |
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116
sneered
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| 讥笑，冷笑( sneer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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117
contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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118
chatter
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| vi.／n.喋喋不休；短促尖叫；(牙齿)打战 | |
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119
stiffened
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| 加强的 | |
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120
whack
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| v.敲击，重打，瓜分；n.重击，重打，尝试，一份 | |
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121
proffered
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| v.提供，贡献，提出( proffer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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122
tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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123
eloquence
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| n.雄辩；口才，修辞 | |
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124
tripe
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| n.废话，肚子, 内脏 | |
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125
habitually
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| ad.习惯地，通常地 | |
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126
flip
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| vt.快速翻动；轻抛；轻拍；n.轻抛；adj.轻浮的 | |
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127
flicker
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| vi./n.闪烁，摇曳，闪现 | |
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128
jeering
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| adj.嘲弄的，揶揄的v.嘲笑( jeer的现在分词 ) | |
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129
subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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130
eyelid
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| n.眼睑，眼皮 | |
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131
subconsciously
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| ad.下意识地，潜意识地 | |
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132
spurned
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| v.一脚踢开，拒绝接受( spurn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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133
rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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134
hoofs
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| n.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的名词复数 )v.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的第三人称单数 ) | |
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135
zest
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| n.乐趣；滋味，风味；兴趣 | |
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136
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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137
reins
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| 感情，激情； 缰( rein的名词复数 )； 控制手段； 掌管； （成人带着幼儿走路以防其走失时用的）保护带 | |
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138
repudiating
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| v.（正式地）否认( repudiate的现在分词 )；拒绝接受；拒绝与…往来；拒不履行（法律义务） | |
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139
agile
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| adj.敏捷的，灵活的 | |
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140
crutches
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| n.拐杖, 支柱 v.支撑 | |
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141
liars
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| 说谎者( liar的名词复数 ) | |
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142
hopping
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| n. 跳跃 动词hop的现在分词形式 | |
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143
uncouth
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| adj.无教养的，粗鲁的 | |
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144
skunk
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| n.臭鼬，黄鼠狼；v.使惨败，使得零分；烂醉如泥 | |
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145
devastating
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| adj.毁灭性的，令人震惊的，强有力的 | |
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146
unleashed
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| v.把（感情、力量等）释放出来，发泄( unleash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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147
inevitably
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| adv.不可避免地；必然发生地 | |
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148
utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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149
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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150
enunciated
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| v.（清晰地）发音( enunciate的过去式和过去分词 )；确切地说明 | |
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151
mortification
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| n.耻辱，屈辱 | |
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152
mightiest
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| adj.趾高气扬( mighty的最高级 )；巨大的；强有力的；浩瀚的 | |
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153
jaws
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| n.口部；嘴 | |
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154
swerved
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| v.（使）改变方向，改变目的( swerve的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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155
bellowed
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| v.发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的过去式和过去分词 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫 | |
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fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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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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absurdity
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| n.荒谬，愚蠢；谬论 | |
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hysterical
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| adj.情绪异常激动的，歇斯底里般的 | |
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deflected
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| 偏离的 | |
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eavesdropped
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| 偷听（别人的谈话）( eavesdrop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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assailed
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| v.攻击( assail的过去式和过去分词 )；困扰；质问；毅然应对 | |
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bulged
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| 凸出( bulge的过去式和过去分词 )； 充满； 塞满（某物） | |
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plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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defiant
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| adj.无礼的，挑战的 | |
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kerosene
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| n.(kerosine)煤油，火油 | |
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leeches
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| n.水蛭( leech的名词复数 )；蚂蟥；榨取他人脂膏者；医生 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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glossed
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| v.注解( gloss的过去式和过去分词 )；掩饰（错误）；粉饰；把…搪塞过去 | |
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sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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physically
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| adj.物质上，体格上，身体上，按自然规律 | |
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triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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frail
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| adj.身体虚弱的；易损坏的 | |
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glowering
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| v.怒视( glower的现在分词 ) | |
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implement
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| n.(pl.)工具，器具；vt.实行，实施，执行 | |
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savagely
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| adv. 野蛮地，残酷地 | |
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sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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simultaneously
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| adv.同时发生地，同时进行地 | |
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shrilling
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| （声音）尖锐的，刺耳的，高频率的( shrill的现在分词 )； 凄厉 | |
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killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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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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skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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crumpled
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| adj. 弯扭的, 变皱的 动词crumple的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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dodged
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| v.闪躲( dodge的过去式和过去分词 )；回避 | |
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fugitives
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| n.亡命者，逃命者( fugitive的名词复数 ) | |
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sprawling
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| adj.蔓生的，不规则地伸展的v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的现在分词 )；蔓延；杂乱无序地拓展；四肢伸展坐着（或躺着） | |
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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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discordant
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| adj.不调和的 | |
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