“O, he went through the usual formula,” answered Lieutenant1 Perkins. “He said he would be happy to surrender his captives if the white chief would give him and his warriors2 presents enough to make it an object for him to do so. The superintendent3 said he wouldn’t do that, but if the chief would give up the prisoners and come into camp to-morrow afternoon and dance for us, he would furnish him and his warriors with all the grub they could eat. The chief finally accepted the offer, and those two Indians who went out a little while ago are to bring in the captives.”
“Who comes there?” shouted the sentry4 at the bridge.
261“There they are now,” exclaimed the lieutenant. “Corporal, go out there.”
The corporal went, and presently returned accompanied by the two Indians and ten prisoners instead of eight. Bert and his companions moved up close to the gate to see who the prisoners were, and the former was astonished beyond measure to find that his brother and Sergeant5 Egan were marching with the squad6. The boys wanted to laugh at them, but they were on duty, and they knew that such a breach7 of discipline would not be allowed. Led by Lieutenant Perkins and his squad, they were marched to the big tent, where the ceremony of surrendering them was gone through with; after which the Indian delegation8 was escorted out of the camp, Captain Pomeroy and his men were ordered to their quarters, the sentries9 were posted, the ranks broken, and all the young soldiers who were off duty flocked into the big tent to talk over the incidents of the fight with their guests. Bert quickly found his way to a merry group consisting of his father, mother and brother, and Egan, Hopkins and Curtis, with their fathers and mothers, all of whom were listening with interest to what the deserters had 262to say regarding their experience among the Indians. When they had finished their story General Gordon said:—
“You missed it, boys. The members of your company covered themselves with glory and you have no share in it. The first company was so badly demoralized by the very first charge the Indians made that they couldn’t be rallied; while Pomeroy, with his raw recruits, as you might call them, drove the enemy from the field and saved the tents from capture.”
“It was really thrilling, Mr. Gordon,” said Egan’s pretty sister, to whom Don had just been introduced, “and I never before was so badly frightened. We were not expecting anything of the kind, you know, and I could not imagine what the matter was.”
“I wouldn’t have had those Indians get their hands on us for anything,” exclaimed Egan, who seemed to take the matter very much to heart. “I knew the fight was coming, and I wanted very much to take part in it. Well, it serves me right for deserting when I ought to have stayed in camp.”
It was growing late now—so late that the 263dancing was not resumed. The carriages, which had been ordered for eleven o’clock, began to arrive and the guests to take their departure for Bridgeport, whose two hotels and numerous boarding-houses were taxed to the utmost to find room for them.
The next morning passes were granted by wholesale13, and every boy who was able to secure one started at once for the Indian camp, which was located in a deep ravine about a mile away. The young braves drove a thriving trade in bows and arrows, and earned a snug14 sum of pocket money by shooting dimes15 and quarters out of split sticks; while the squaws sold moccasins, beaded purses and miniature birch-bark canoes by the bushel. At one o’clock the big tent was again crowded with guests, and an hour later the Indian warriors, who were all armed and freshly painted, filed silently into the works. The entertainment that followed, and which was much better than some the boys had paid twenty-five cents to witness, included the corn-dance, hunting-dance, war-dance and a scalping scene. By the time it was ended dinner had been served in the big tent. After the dancers had done full justice to it, and 264had exchanged courtesies with their late antagonists16 by giving an ear-splitting war-whoop in return for their three cheers and a tiger, they filed out of the works as silently as they had come into them, and the students once more settled down to business.
There were no more desertions after that. Some of their friends came to see them every day, and as there were many veterans among them who watched their movements with a critical eye, of course the boys were careful to perform all their duties in a prompt and soldier-like manner. In due time the camp was broken and the students marched back to the academy, which during their absence had been thoroughly17 renovated18. The examination was held, the members of the first class received their degrees and new officers were appointed for the coming year. Among the latter were Bert Gordon and Sam Arkwright—the former being made first sergeant of the fourth company, which was yet to be organized, and the other receiving a warrant as second corporal. Don Gordon stood head and shoulders above everybody in his class, and the only thing that prevented him from being commissioned lieutenant 265of the new company was his record as a soldier, which, as we know, was by no means perfect.
Contrary to Dick Henderson’s prediction, the school had not been disgraced by the presence of the New York boot-black. Its popularity seemed to be increasing, for the number of those who applied20 for admission was greater than it had ever been before; and when the examination was over, Bert found that he had a hundred and ten names on his company roster21. Dick would not have made such a prediction now, for he was different in every way from the boy we introduced to the reader at the beginning of this story. Having got out from under Clarence Duncan’s baneful22 influence, and having Don Gordon’s example and Tom Fisher’s to encourage him, he was in a fair way to make a man of himself.
At length the exercises were all ended, and one bright morning Hopkins, Egan and Curtis took leave of their friends, and in company with Don and Bert Gordon and their parents, set out for Rochdale. They went fully23 prepared to enjoy themselves. As soon as it was settled that they 266were to go home with the Gordons, they had written for their hunting rigs, which were duly forwarded to them. Walter Curtis’s favorite, in fact his only, weapon, was a light Stevens rifle, with which he had broken twenty-three out of twenty-five feather-filled glass balls thrown from a revolving24 trap. Hopkins took pride in a short double-barrel shotgun, of large calibre, that he had often used on horseback while following deer and foxes to the music of the hounds; while Egan, who lived on the Eastern Shore of Maryland, where canvas-backs and red-heads abound25, put all his faith in a ponderous26 ten-gauge Parker, which was so heavy that Don Gordon, strong and enduring as he was, declared that he wouldn’t carry it all day through the woods if his friend Egan would make him a present of it.
“Neither would I,” chimed in Hopkins.
“You!” exclaimed Egan, standing27 off and looking at the speaker’s rotund figure. “You’d look nice starting out for an all-day tramp, you would. Your legs are too short, and you carry too much weight around with you. You would get out of breath before you had gone half a mile. But as I am not going to Mississippi after squirrels, 267I don’t intend to tramp about the woods. Gordon promised me some duck-shooting.”
“As for myself,” Curtis remarked, “I always did despise a scatter-gun. A blind man ought to be able to hit a duck by sending a pound or two of shot at him——”
“Well, it’s not so easy, either,” interrupted Egan. “A duck, when flying down wind, moves at the rate of ninety miles an hour, old fellow, and it takes the best kind of a marksman to make a good bag.”
“A true sportsman never prides himself upon the number of birds he kills, but upon the superiority of his shots,” said Curtis. “When you can strike a rapidly moving object with a single ball from a rifle, then you can boast of your skill.”
During the journey down the Mississippi the boys were on deck almost all the time, listening to Don, who pointed19 out the various places of interest along the route, adding some entertaining scraps29 of the history of each. Over there, on the right bank, he said, was the battle-field of Belmont; and on the opposite shore was Columbus, from which came the Confederate reinforcements that had turned the union victory into defeat. 268This was Island No. 10, where the gunboat Cincinnati distinguished30 herself by running the batteries, and a young master’s mate, afterward31 the brave commander of the Champion, won his shoulder-straps by going ashore32 with a boat’s crew, spiking33 some of the guns, and bringing off the wipers and spongers that belonged to them. Over there on the bluff34 was Fort Pillow, where that terrible massacre35 took place under Forrest; and this was Memphis, the scene of the fight between the union and Confederate fleets, which resulted in the utter defeat of the latter, and in the capture of the Bragg, Price, and Little Rebel. This was Yazoo river. It was here that the Confederate ram28 Arkansas, after eluding36 the Cincinnati and whipping the Tyler, ran the fire of the whole union fleet and took refuge under the guns of Vicksburg. Having been repaired she started down the river to raise the siege of Port Hudson, but was met and destroyed by a single union gunboat, the Essex, under command of Captain Porter. And here was Rochdale at last. It had a history too, Don said, and he promised that he would relate it when they reached the shooting-box.
269Egan and Hopkins were Southern boys, and consequently life on a plantation37 was not new to them; but Curtis, who was from New England, found much to interest him, and showed himself to be a true Yankee by asking a thousand and one questions about everything he saw. Hopkins’s first exploit was riding a kicking mule38 that Fred and Joe Packard brought out for him to try his skill upon. To the surprise of everybody Hopkins mounted in regular Texas style, placing his left hand on the mule’s shoulder and throwing his right leg over his back. The moment he was firmly settled, his appearance changed as if by magic. His seat was easy and graceful39, and he kept his place on that mule’s back with as little trouble as he would have kept his place in a rocking chair. The animal could not move him an inch with all his kicking and plunging40. The performance effectually silenced Egan, who was himself a fine horseman, and he never had anything to say about Hopkins’s riding after that.
The ducks, geese, swans, and brant were already beginning to come into the lake, and on the morning of the third day following their arrival at the plantation, the young hunters, Fred and Joe 270Packard being included among the number, made ready to take up their abode41 at the shooting-box. The canoe and sail-boat, both of which had been securely housed during the absence of their owners, were put into the water and loaded to their utmost capacity with bedding, provisions, and camp furniture. There was just room enough left in the canoe to accommodate old Cuff42, the negro who was to act as cook and camp-keeper during their sojourn43 at the shooting-box; and when all the boys and Don’s two pointers had crowded into the sail-boat, the little craft seemed on the point of sinking. As an Irishman would have remarked, if the water in the lake had been two inches higher, she would have gone to the bottom beyond a doubt.
“We’ve got about three hundred pounds too much cargo44 aboard,” said Curtis, in his quiet way. “Hop10, suppose you get out and go afoot; there’s a good fellow.”
“Make Egan throw his artillery45 overboard and we shall get on well enough,” retorted Hopkins. “That’s what makes the boat sink so deep in the water.”
With much fun and chaffing the boys pulled 271toward the point on which the shooting-box was located, and by handling their heavily loaded craft in the most careful manner, they succeeded in beaching her in safety. As her bow touched the shore, old Cuff, who landed at the same moment, uttered an exclamation46 indicative of the greatest astonishment47. Don looked up and saw that the shooting-box was already occupied. A smoke was curling out of the stove-pipe that served for a chimney, and a rough-looking man, dressed in a tattered48 suit of brown jeans, stood in front of the open door, leaning on his axe12. From the cabin there came the sound of voices mingled49 with another sound that made old Cuff almost ready to boil over with indignation.
“’Fore Moses, Mr. Don,” he exclaimed. “Somebody in dar crackin’ all de nuts dat I done pick up for you an’ your frien’s.”
“We’ll soon put a stop to that,” answered Don. “Those people, whoever they are, have no business in there, and they must get out at once.”
“Did you ever hear of such impudence50?” exclaimed Bert, angrily. “Where did they come from, anyhow? They don’t belong in this part of the country.”
272The man with the axe seemed as much surprised to see Don and his party as the latter were to see him. He too uttered an exclamation which brought to the door the other occupants of the cabin, seven of them in all, including two more men and three women; and very disreputable looking persons the most of them were. The other two, one of whom seemed to be entirely51 out of place there, did not show themselves at the door as openly as their companions did, and consequently Don and Bert did not see them. They thrust their heads out very cautiously, and as soon as they saw who the new-comers were, they drew back and made all haste to effect their escape through the window on the other side of the cabin. By keeping the building between themselves and the beach they managed to reach the cover of the woods without being observed, Don and Bert would have been very much surprised if they had seen them, for they were our old acquaintances Lester Brigham and Dan Evans. They were now almost constant companions; and how they came to be so shall be told further on.
Squatter52 Sovereignty.
“What do you want here?” demanded the 273man with the axe, as Don walked up the bank followed by his companions.
“I think that is a proper question for me to ask you,” replied Don, who did not at all like the surly tone in which he had been addressed. “This house belongs to my brother and myself, and we would thank you to vacate it without the loss of a moment.”
“Wal, I reckon we shall do as we please about that,” drawled one of the men who stood in the door.
“Well, I reckon you won’t. You’ll do as I please about it. I want possession here, and I want it now. I see you broke the lock in order to gain admittance, and you had no business to do that.”
“Do you live here?” asked the man with the axe.
“I’m going to live here.”
“Wal, thar’s two rooms in the shantee, an’ why can’t you-uns take one of ’em an’ let we-uns——”
“We don’t want company,” exclaimed Don, who was fairly staggered by the proposition. “We want you to clear out bag and baggage, 274and to be quick about it, too. My father is a magistrate53, and this shooting-box is on his land.”
The word “magistrate” had a magical effect upon the members of the dirty group in the door-way. It put life into them, and at the same time set the women’s tongues in motion. They began packing up their scanty54 belongings55, declaring, with much vociferation, that it was a sin and a shame that they should be turned out of such snug quarters just to accommodate the whims56 of a party of young aristocrats57 who wanted to come there and shoot a few ducks. Why couldn’t they go elsewhere for their ducks and leave honest people alone? That was always the way with rich folks. They didn’t care how others suffered so long as they had their own pleasure. But it was a great comfort to know that it wouldn’t always be so. There was a time coming, and it wasn’t so very far distant either, when rich folks would be required to give up some of their ill-gotten gains.
“That sounds like communism, doesn’t it?” said Curtis.
“Yes; and that sounds very much like incendiarism,” answered Hopkins; and so it did, for 275just then one of the men in the cabin was heard to say:—
“Never mind, Luke. The old shantee is dry an’ fire’ll burn it.”
“Let them burn it if they dare,” said Bert, his slight form swelling58 with indignation. “I wouldn’t give a picayune for the life of the person who attempts it. Cuff,” he added, turning to the negro, “as soon as we get things straightened up here, I want you to go back to the plantation after Don’s hounds. It looks now as though we should need them.”
The tramps, if such they were, seemed to be in no hurry to leave the shooting-box. They bundled up their goods with great deliberation, abusing the boys roundly all the while, and finally came out and turned their faces toward the river. As soon as they were out of sight Don and Bert began an investigation59 of the premises60. The cabin looked as though it had been occupied for a long time. The wood which they had provided for their own use was all gone, the stove had been copiously61 bedewed with tobacco juice, the floor was littered with nut-shells, and everything was dingy62 and smoky.
276“We can’t live in any such looking hole as this,” said Don, in deep disgust. “Cuff, build up a good fire, put on the kettle and scrub out. Let’s have things neat and clean, as they used to be. Bert, suppose you take somebody with you and watch those people and see where they go”
Bert at once started off with Hopkins for a companion, and while they were gone the others employed themselves in setting things to rights. The bones, squirrel skins and turkey feathers that were scattered63 about in front of the door were raked into a pile and set on fire; a fresh supply of stove-wood was cut; and the boats were unloaded and their cargoes65 piled up outside of the cabin in readiness to be transferred to the interior as soon as the purifying process had been completed. By the time this work was done Bert and Hopkins came back.
“They’re n. g. on the books—no good,” said the former. “They have a little house-boat in the river——”
“That’s all we want to know,” interrupted Don. “They are thieves and vagabonds of the first water.”
“What makes you say that?” asked Curtis.
277“What’s a house-boat?” inquired Egan.
“I will answer the last question first,” said Don. “A house-boat is simply a scow twenty-five or thirty feet long and six or eight feet wide with a cabin amidships. This cabin takes up the whole of the boat with the exception of two or three feet at each end, where the crew stand when they are handling the lines and the steering66 oar11. These boats are generally the property of fishermen and hunters, who float about looking for a suitable place to ply64 their occupation. For example, there is a house-boat in the bayou above Mound67 City—that’s in Illinois, you know—which has been there four or five years, its solitary68 occupant making a good living by trapping minks69 and raccoons in the winter, and catching70 buffalo71 and catfish72 the rest of the year.”
“Buffalo!” repeated Egan.
“Yes. I didn’t say bison.”
“What’s the difference?” asked Hopkins, who, although he was a splendid fox-hunter, was not very well posted in natural history.
“There’s a good deal of difference, the first thing you know. A buffalo is a fish, somewhat resembling a black-bass in shape, but possessing 278none of his game qualities, while a bison is an animal.”
“But there are such animals as buffaloes,” said Egan.
“Yes, in Africa and Asia, but not in this country. There are no partridges, pheasants, or wild rabbits here, either. As I was going on to say, this man will probably stay at Mound City until the fish and game begin to grow scarce, and then he will paddle his boat out into the current and float down the river until he finds another place that suits him. If he gets hard up for grub, he will not hesitate to visit anybody’s corn-field, potato-patch, or hen-roost.”
“No honest, industrious73 man ever lives in that way,” said Bert. “The planters along the river are suspicious of these house-boats, and when they find one tied up on their premises, they always order it off.”
“If these people had a shelter of their own, why did they take possession of your shooting-box?” asked Egan.
“O, for the sake of variety, probably,” answered Don. “Perhaps their house was too small for them; or it may be that the roof leaked, or that 279the scow was full of water. They always like to live ashore when they have the chance.”
There was much to be done about the shooting-box, and the boys were kept busy all the forenoon. Old Cuff grumbled74 lustily while he scrubbed, declaring over and over again that Don ought to set fire to the cabin and destroy it, for it never could be made fit for white folks to live in again. After eating a substantial lunch, which was served under the trees, Egan, Hopkins, and Curtis took their guns, and, accompanied by Bert and Fred Packard, strolled along the shore of the lake to see if they could find anything for supper, while Don and Joe remained behind to assist Cuff at his work. When Egan and Curtis returned at dark, they declared that they were more than satisfied with their prospects76 for sport. The lower end of the lake was full of ducks, they said, and Egan had astonished his companions by bringing fourteen of them down with a single discharge of his heavy double-barrel, while Curtis had showed his skill with the rifle by shooting four ducks on the wing, and killing77 a swan at the distance of more than two hundred yards. They were tired as well as hungry, and glad to see the inside of 280the shooting-box, which did not look now as it did when they first came there in the morning. A cheerful fire was burning in the stove, which had been blacked and polished until one could almost see his face in it; the room was brilliantly lighted by two lamps that were suspended from the ceiling; the floor was covered with rugs; pictures of hunting and fishing scenes adorned78 the walls, and camp chairs and stools were scattered about.
In the next apartment, which was used principally as a sleeping and sitting-room79, the same scene of neatness and order was presented. The wide fire-place, which occupied nearly the whole of one end of it, was piled high with blazing logs, and comfortable beds were made up in the bunks80. There were pictures on the walls of this room also, rugs on the floor (some of these rugs at once attracted the attention of Egan and his friends, for they were made of the skins of bears and deer that had fallen to Don’s rifle), and there were camp-chairs enough to accommodate all the boys that could crowd about the fire-place. The room looked cosey and comfortable, and the visitors no longer wondered why it was that Don thought so much of his shooting-box.
281“I am going to have one of my own,” said Curtis, “and it shall be modeled after this one. I shall build it this fall, so as to have it in readiness to receive you fellows when you go home with me next vacation. Now, then, where are those quails81 that Hop brought in? Can your darkey serve them up on toast in good shape?”
“Of course he can,” answered Don. “No one can do it better; but Hop hasn’t brought in any quails yet. Where did you leave him? I wondered why he didn’t come home with you.”
“Hasn’t he returned?” exclaimed Egan. “Then he’s lost. We haven’t seen him since two o’clock, when he coaxed82 your pointers away from us—we owe him a grudge83 for that, for we wanted the dogs to stay by us and retrieve84 the ducks we shot—and went over into a field after a flock of quails he had marked down there. We heard him shoot several times after that, and as he is a good marksman, we made up our minds that we were to have quails for supper. There he is now,” added Egan, as an impatient yelp85 sounded at the door.
“I am afraid you are mistaken,” replied Don, and the sequel proved that he was; for just then 282the door was thrown open, and Don’s hounds, which Cuff, in obedience86 to Bert’s orders, had brought up to guard the shooting-box, came bounding in. There were six of them, and the one which held the foremost place in Don’s estimation was Carlo, the dog that had been the first to respond to his whistle when he was tied up in Godfrey Evans’s potato-hole. He was an immense brute87, as well as a savage88 one, and when he raised himself on his hind75 feet and placed his paws on Don’s shoulders, his head was higher than his master’s.
“We will keep them in here with us until Hop comes; for as they are not very well acquainted with him, they might object to his coming to the house,” said Bert. “Now, Cuff, dish up a couple of those ducks in your very best style. Be in a hurry, for we are hungry.”
Curtis and Egan, having exchanged their high-top boots for easy-fitting shoes, and their heavy shooting-coats for others of lighter89 material, set to work to clean their guns, while the rest of the boys drew their chairs up in front of the fire, and asked one another what it was that was detaining Hopkins. He couldn’t get lost; they were sure 283of that, for all he had to do when he wanted to come home, was to follow the shore of the lake, and he would find the shooting-box without the least trouble.
“Do you suppose he would be in any danger from those vagabond friends of ours, if he should chance to stumble upon them in the woods?” said Curtis, as he pointed his breech-loader toward the lamp and looked through the barrel to make sure that it was perfectly90 clean. “I must confess that I didn’t quite like the looks of them.”
“I never thought of them,” said Don, jumping up and taking his double-barrel down from the antlers on which it rested. “I believe he would be in danger if he should meet one of those fellows in the woods, for he wears a splendid gold watch and chain, and I noticed that the man who was chopping wood when we came here this morning, looked at the chain very frequently. I think it would be a good plan to signal to him.”
“Better let me do it,” said Egan. “He can hear my gun farther than he can yours.”
Accompanied by all the boys Egan went out on the shore of the lake and fired both barrels of his 284heavy piece in quick succession; but there was no response. Again and again the duck-gun roared, awaking a thousand echoes along the shore, but still the missing boy did not reply. When Egan had fired away all the cartridges91 he had brought out with him, the boys went back into the cabin and sat down and looked at one another. They began to fear that their friend’s ill-luck had followed him from Bridgeport to Rochdale, and that he had got himself into some kind of a scrape.
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lieutenant
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| n.陆军中尉，海军上尉；代理官员，副职官员 | |
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warriors
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| 武士，勇士，战士( warrior的名词复数 ) | |
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superintendent
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| n.监督人，主管，总监；(英国)警务长 | |
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sentry
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| n.哨兵，警卫 | |
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sergeant
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| n.警官，中士 | |
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squad
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| n.班，小队，小团体；vt.把…编成班或小组 | |
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breach
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| n.违反，不履行；破裂；vt.冲破，攻破 | |
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delegation
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sentries
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| 哨兵，步兵( sentry的名词复数 ) | |
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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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oar
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| n.桨，橹，划手；v.划行 | |
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axe
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| n.斧子；v.用斧头砍，削减 | |
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wholesale
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snug
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| adj.温暖舒适的，合身的，安全的；v.使整洁干净，舒适地依靠，紧贴；n.（英）酒吧里的私房 | |
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dimes
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| n.（美国、加拿大的）10分铸币( dime的名词复数 ) | |
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antagonists
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thoroughly
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renovated
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| 翻新，修复，整修( renovate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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pointed
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applied
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roster
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baneful
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fully
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revolving
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abound
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ponderous
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standing
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ram
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| (random access memory)随机存取存储器 | |
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29
scraps
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| 油渣 | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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ashore
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| adv.在(向)岸上，上岸 | |
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spiking
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| n.尖峰形成v.加烈酒于( spike的现在分词 )；偷偷地给某人的饮料加入（更多）酒精（ 或药物）；把尖状物钉入；打乱某人的计划 | |
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bluff
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| v.虚张声势，用假象骗人；n.虚张声势，欺骗 | |
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massacre
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| n.残杀，大屠杀；v.残杀，集体屠杀 | |
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eluding
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| v.（尤指机敏地）避开( elude的现在分词 )；逃避；躲避；使达不到 | |
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plantation
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| n.种植园，大农场 | |
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mule
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| n.骡子，杂种，执拗的人 | |
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graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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plunging
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| adj.跳进的，突进的v.颠簸( plunge的现在分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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cuff
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| n.袖口；手铐；护腕；vt.用手铐铐；上袖口 | |
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sojourn
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| v./n.旅居，寄居；逗留 | |
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cargo
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| n.(一只船或一架飞机运载的)货物 | |
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artillery
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| n.(军)火炮，大炮；炮兵(部队) | |
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exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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tattered
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| adj.破旧的，衣衫破的 | |
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mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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impudence
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| n.厚颜无耻；冒失；无礼 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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squatter
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| n.擅自占地者 | |
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magistrate
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| n.地方行政官，地方法官，治安官 | |
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scanty
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| adj.缺乏的，仅有的，节省的，狭小的，不够的 | |
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belongings
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| n.私人物品，私人财物 | |
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WHIMS
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| 虚妄，禅病 | |
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aristocrats
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| n.贵族( aristocrat的名词复数 ) | |
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58
swelling
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| n.肿胀 | |
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investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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premises
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| n.建筑物，房屋 | |
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copiously
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| adv.丰富地，充裕地 | |
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dingy
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| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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ply
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| v.(搬运工等)等候顾客，弯曲 | |
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cargoes
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| n.（船或飞机装载的）货物( cargo的名词复数 )；大量，重负 | |
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steering
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| n.操舵装置 | |
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mound
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| n.土墩，堤，小山；v.筑堤，用土堆防卫 | |
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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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minks
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| n.水貂( mink的名词复数 )；水貂皮 | |
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catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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buffalo
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| n.(北美)野牛；(亚洲)水牛 | |
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catfish
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| n.鲶鱼 | |
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industrious
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| adj.勤劳的，刻苦的，奋发的 | |
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grumbled
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| 抱怨( grumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 发牢骚； 咕哝； 发哼声 | |
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hind
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| adj.后面的，后部的 | |
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prospects
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| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
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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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adorned
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| [计]被修饰的 | |
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sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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bunks
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| n.（车、船等倚壁而设的）铺位( bunk的名词复数 )；空话，废话v.（车、船等倚壁而设的）铺位( bunk的第三人称单数 )；空话，废话 | |
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81
quails
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| 鹌鹑( quail的名词复数 )； 鹌鹑肉 | |
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82
coaxed
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| v.哄，用好话劝说( coax的过去式和过去分词 )；巧言骗取；哄劝，劝诱 | |
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83
grudge
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| n.不满，怨恨，妒嫉；vt.勉强给，不情愿做 | |
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84
retrieve
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| vt.重新得到，收回；挽回，补救；检索 | |
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85
yelp
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| vi.狗吠 | |
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86
obedience
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| n.服从，顺从 | |
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brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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88
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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89
lighter
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| n.打火机，点火器；驳船；v.用驳船运送；light的比较级 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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cartridges
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| 子弹( cartridge的名词复数 )； （打印机的）墨盒； 录音带盒； （唱机的）唱头 | |
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