During the long winter that reigns1 in the northern regions of America, the thermometer ranges, for many months together, from zero down to 20, 30, and 40 degrees below it. In different parts of the country the intensity2 of the frost varies a little, but not sufficiently3 to make any appreciable4 change in one’s sensation of cold. At York Fort, on the shores of Hudson’s Bay, where the winter is eight months long, the spirit-of-wine (mercury being useless in so cold a climate) sometimes falls so low as 50 degrees below zero; and away in the regions of Great Bear Lake it has been known to fall considerably5 lower than 60 degrees below zero of Fahrenheit6. Cold of such intensity, of course, produces many curious and interesting effects, which, although scarcely noticed by the inhabitants, make a strong impression upon the minds of those who visit the country for the first time. A youth goes out to walk on one of the first sharp, frosty mornings. His locks are brown and his face ruddy. In half an hour he returns with his face blue, his nose frost-bitten, and his locks white—the latter effect being produced by his breath congealing7 on his hair and breast, until both are covered with hoar-frost. Perhaps he is of a sceptical nature, prejudiced, it may be, in favour of old habits and customs; so that, although told by those who ought to know that it is absolutely necessary to wear moccasins in winter, he prefers the leather boots to which he has been accustomed at home, and goes out with them accordingly. In a few minutes the feet begin to lose sensation. First the toes, as far as feeling goes, vanish; then the heels depart, and he feels the extraordinary and peculiar8 and altogether disagreeable sensation of one who has had his heels and toes amputated, and is walking about on his insteps. Soon, however, these also fade away, and the unhappy youth rushes frantically9 home on the stumps10 of his anklebones—at least so it appears to him, and so in reality it would turn out to be if he did not speedily rub the benumbed appendages11 into vitality12 again.
The whole country during this season is buried in snow, and the prairies of Red River present the appearance of a sea of the purest white for five or six months of the year. Impelled13 by hunger, troops of prairie wolves prowl round the settlement, safe from the assault of man in consequence of their light weight permitting them to scamper14 away on the surface of the snow, into which man or horse, from their greater weight, would sink, so as to render pursuit either fearfully laborious15 or altogether impossible. In spring, however, when the first thaws16 begin to take place, and commence that delightful18 process of disruption which introduces this charming season of the year, the relative position of wolf and man is reversed. The snow becomes suddenly soft, so that the short legs of the wolf, sinking deep into it, fail to reach the solid ground below, and he is obliged to drag heavily along; while the long legs of the horse enable him to plunge19 through and dash aside the snow at a rate which, although not very fleet, is sufficient, nevertheless, to overtake the chase and give his rider a chance of shooting it. The inhabitants of Red River are not much addicted20 to this sport, but the gentlemen of the Hudson’s Bay Service sometimes practise it; and it was to a hunt of this description that our young friend Charley Kennedy was now so anxious to go.
The morning was propitious21. The sun blazed in dazzling splendour in a sky of deep, unclouded blue, while the white prairie glittered as if it were a sea of diamonds rolling out in an unbroken sheet from the walls of the fort to the horizon, and on looking at which one experienced all the pleasurable feelings of being out on a calm day on the wide, wide sea, without the disagreeable consequence of being very, very sick.
The thermometer stood at 39 in the shade, and “everythink,” as Tom White emphatically expressed it, “looked like a runnin’ of right away into slush.” That unusual sound, the trickling22 of water, so inexpressibly grateful to the ears of those who dwell in frosty climes, was heard all around, as the heavy masses of snow on the housetops sent a few adventurous23 drops gliding24 down the icicles which depended from the ewes and gables; and there was a balmy softness in the air that told of coming spring. Nature, in fact, seemed to have wakened from her long nap, and was beginning to think of getting up. Like people, however, who venture to delay so long as to think about it, Nature frequently turns round and goes to sleep again in her icy cradle for a few weeks after the first awakening25.
The scene in the courtyard of Fort Garry harmonised with the cheerful spirit of the morning. Tom Whyte, with that upright solemnity which constituted one of his characteristic features, was standing26 in the centre of a group of horses, whose energy he endeavoured to restrain with the help of a small Indian boy, to whom meanwhile he imparted a variety of useful and otherwise unattainable information.
“You see, Joseph,” said he to the urchin27, who gazed gravely in his face with a pair of very large and dark eyes, “ponies is often skittish28. Reason why one should be, an’ another not, I can’t comprehend. P’r’aps it’s nat’ral, p’r’aps not, but howsomediver so ’tis; an’ if it’s more nor above the likes o’ me, Joseph, you needn’t be surprised that it’s somethink haltogether beyond you.”
It will not surprise the reader to be told that Joseph made no reply to this speech, having a very imperfect acquaintance with the English language, especially the peculiar dialect of that tongue in which Tom Whyte was wont29 to express his ideas, when he had any.
He merely gave a grunt31, and continued to gaze at Tom’s fishy32 eyes, which were about as interesting as the face to which they belonged, and that might have been mistaken for almost anything.
“Yes, Joseph,” he continued, “that’s a fact. There’s the noo brown ’oss now, it’s a skittish ’un. And there’s Mr Kennedy’s gray mare33, wot’s a standin’ of beside me, she ain’t skittish a bit, though she’s plenty of spirit, and wouldn’t care hanythink for a five-barred gate. Now, wot I want to know is, wot’s the reason why?”
We fear that the reason why, however interesting it might prove to naturalists34, must remain a profound secret for ever; for just as the groom35 was about to entertain Joseph with one of his theories on the point, Charley Kennedy and Harry36 Somerville hastily approached.
“Ho, Tom!” exclaimed the former, “have you got the miller37’s pony38 for me?”
“Why, no, sir; ’e ’adn’t got his shoes on, sir, last night—”
“Oh, bother his shoes!” said Charley, in a voice of great disappointment. “Why didn’t you bring him up without shoes, man, eh?”
“Well, sir, the miller said ’e’d get ’em put on early this mornin’, an’ I ’xpect ’e’ll be ’ere in ’alf a hour at farthest, sir.”
“Oh, very well,” replied Charley, much relieved, but still a little nettled39 at the bare possibility of being late.—“Come along, Harry; let’s go and meet him. He’ll be long enough of coming if we don’t go to poke40 him up a bit.”
“You’d better wait,” called out the groom, as the boys hastened away. “If you go by the river, he’ll p’r’aps come by the plains; and if you go by the plains, he’ll p’r’aps come by the river.”
Charley and Harry stopped and looked at each other. Then they looked at the groom, and as their eyes surveyed his solemn, cadaverous countenance41, which seemed a sort of bad caricature of the long visages of the horses that stood around him, they burst into a simultaneous and prolonged laugh. “He’s a clever old lamp-post,” said Harry at last: “we had better remain, Charley.”
“You see,” continued Tom Whyte, “the pony’s ’oofs is in an ’orrible state. Last night w’en I seed ’im I said to the miller, says I, ‘John, I’ll take ’im down to the smith d’rectly.’ ‘Very good,’ said John. So I ’ad ’im down to the smith—”
The remainder of Tom’s speech was cut short by one of those unforeseen operations of the laws of nature which are peculiar to arctic climates. During the long winter repeated falls of snow cover the housetops with white mantles42 upwards43 of a foot thick, which become gradually thicker and more consolidated44 as winter advances. In spring the suddenness of the thaw17 loosens these from the sloping roofs, and precipitates45 them in masses to the ground. These miniature avalanches46 are dangerous, people having been seriously injured and sometimes killed by them. Now it happened that a very large mass of snow, which lay on and partly depended from the roof of the house near to which the horses were standing, gave way, and just at that critical point in Tom Whyte’s speech when he “’ad ’im down to the smith,” fell with a stunning47 crash on the back of Mr Kennedy’s gray mare. The mare was not “skittish”—by no means—according to Tom’s idea, but it would have been more than an ordinary mare to have stood the sudden descent of half a ton of snow without some symptoms of consciousness. No sooner did it feel the blow than it sent both heels with a bang against the wooden store, by way of preliminary movement, and then rearing up with a wild snort, it sprang over Tom Whyte’s head, jerked the reins48 from his hand, and upset him in the snow. Poor Tom never bent50 to anything. The military despotism under which he had been reared having substituted a touch of the cap for a bow, rendered it unnecessary to bend; prolonged drill, laziness, and rheumatism51 made it at last impossible. When he stood up, he did so after the manner of a pillar; when he sat down, he broke across at two points, much in the way in which a foot-rule would have done had it felt disposed to sit down; and when he fell, he came down like an overturned lamp-post. On the present occasion Tom became horizontal in a moment, and from his unfortunate propensity52 to fall straight, his head, reaching much farther than might have been expected, came into violent contact with the small Indian boy, who fell flat likewise, letting go the reins of the horses, which latter no sooner felt themselves free than they fled, curvetting and snorting round the court, with reins and manes flying in rare confusion.
The two boys, who could scarce stand for laughing, ran to the gates of the fort to prevent the chargers getting free, and in a short time they were again secured, although evidently much elated in spirit.
A few minutes after this Mr Grant issued from the principal house, leaning on Mr Kennedy’s arm, and followed by the senior clerk, Peter Mactavish, and one or two friends who had come to take part in the wolf-hunt. They were all armed with double or single barrelled guns or pistols, according to their several fancies. The two elderly gentlemen alone entered upon the scene without any more deadly weapons than their heavy riding-whips. Young Harry Somerville, who had been strongly advised not to take a gun, lest he should shoot himself or his horse or his companions, was content to take the field with a small pocket-pistol, which he crammed53 to the muzzle54 with a compound of ball and swan-shot.
“It won’t do,” said Mr Grant, in an earnest voice, to his friend, as they walked towards the horses—“it won’t do to check him too abruptly56, my dear sir.”
It was evident that they were recurring57 to the subject of conversation of the previous day, and it was also evident that the father’s wrath58 was in that very uncertain state when a word or a look can throw it into violent agitation59.
“Just permit me,” continued Mr Grant, “to get him sent to the Saskatchewan or Athabasca for a couple of years. By that time he’ll have had enough of a rough life, and be only too glad to get a berth60 at headquarters. If you thwart61 him now, I feel convinced that he’ll break through all restraint.”
“Humph!” ejaculated Mr Kennedy, with a frown.—“Come here, Charley,” he said, as the boy approached with a disappointed look to tell of his failure in getting a horse; “I’ve been talking with Mr Grant again about this business, and he says he can easily get you into the counting-room here for a year, so you’ll make arrangements—”
The old gentleman paused. He was going to have followed his wonted course by commanding instantaneous obedience62; but as his eye fell upon the honest, open, though disappointed face of his son, a gush63 of tenderness filled his heart. Laying his hand upon Charley’s head, he said, in a kind but abrupt55 tone, “There now, Charley, my boy, make up your mind to give in with a good grace. It’ll only be hard work for a year or two, and then plain sailing after that, Charley!”
Charley’s clear blue eyes filled with tears as the accents of kindness fell upon his ear.
It is strange that men should frequently be so blind to the potent64 influence of kindness. Independently of the Divine authority, which assures us that “a soft answer turneth away wrath,” and that “love is the fulfilling of the law,” who has not, in the course of his experience, felt the overwhelming power of a truly affectionate word; not a word which possesses merely an affectionate signification, but a word spoken with a gush of tenderness, where love rolls in the tone, and beams in the eye, and revels66 in every wrinkle of the face? And how much more powerfully does such a word or look or tone strike home to the heart if uttered by one whose lips are not much accustomed to the formation of honeyed words or sweet sentences! Had Mr Kennedy, senior, known more of this power, and put it more frequently to the proof, we venture to affirm that Mr Kennedy, junior, would have allowed his “flint to be fixed” (as his father pithily67 expressed it) long ago.
Ere Charley could reply to the question, Mr Grant’s voice, pitched in an elevated key, interrupted them.
“Eh! what?” said that gentleman to Tom Whyte. “No horse for Charley! How’s that?”
“No, sir,” said Tom.
“Where’s the brown pony?” said Mr Grant, abruptly.
“Cut ’is fetlock, sir,” said Tom slowly.
“And the new horse?”
“’Tain’t ’alf broke yet, sir.”
“Ah! that’s bad.—It wouldn’t do to take an unbroken charger, Charley; for although you are a pretty good rider, you couldn’t manage him, I fear. Let me see.”
“Please, sir,” said the groom, touching68 his hat, “I’ve borrowed the miller’s pony for ’im, and ’e’s sure to be ’ere in ’alf a hour at farthest.”
“Oh, that’ll do,” said Mr Grant; “you can soon overtake us. We shall ride slowly out, straight into the prairie, and Harry will remain behind to keep you company.”
So saying, Mr Grant mounted his horse and rode out at the back gate, followed by the whole cavalcade69.
“Now this is too bad!” said Charley, looking with a very perplexed70 air at his companion. “What’s to be done?”
Harry evidently did not know what was to be done, and made no difficulty of saying so in a very sympathising tone. Moreover, he begged Charley very earnestly to take his pony, but this the other would not hear of; so they came to the conclusion that there was nothing for it but to wait as patiently as possible for the arrival of the expected horse. In the meantime Harry proposed a saunter in the field adjoining the fort. Charley assented71, and the two friends walked away, leading the gray pony along with them.
To the right of Fort Garry was a small enclosure, at the extreme end of which commences a growth of willows72 and underwood, which gradually increases in size till it becomes a pretty thick belt of woodland, skirting up the river for many miles. Here stood the stable belonging to the establishment; and as the boys passed it, Charley suddenly conceived a strong desire to see the renowned74 “noo ’oss,” which Tom had said was only “’alf broke;” so he turned the key, opened the door, and went in.
There was nothing very peculiar about this horse, excepting that his legs seemed rather long for his body, and upon a closer examination, there was a noticeable breadth of nostril75 and a latent fire in his eye, indicating a good deal of spirit, which, like Charley’s own, required taming.
“Oh,” said Charley, “what a splendid fellow! I say, Harry, I’ll go out with him.”
“You’d better not.”
“Why not?”
“Why? just because if you do Mr Grant will be down upon you, and your father won’t be very well pleased.”
“Nonsense,” cried Charley. “Father didn’t say I wasn’t to take him. I don’t think he’d care much. He’s not afraid of my breaking my neck. And then, Mr Grant seemed to be only afraid of my being run off with—not of his horse being hurt. Here goes for it!” In another moment Charley had him saddled and bridled76, and led him out into the yard.
“Why, I declare he’s quite quiet; just like a lamb,” said Harry, in surprise.
“So he is,” replied Charley. “He’s a capital charger; and even if he does bolt, he can’t run five hundred miles at a stretch. If I turn his head to the prairies, the Rocky Mountains are the first things that will bring him up. So let him run if he likes, I don’t care a fig77.” And springing lightly into the saddle, he cantered out of the yard, followed by his friend.
The young horse was a well-formed, showy animal, with a good deal of bone—perhaps too much for elegance78. He was of a beautiful dark brown, and carried a high head and tail, with a high-stepping gait, that gave him a noble appearance. As Charley cantered along at a steady pace, he could discover no symptoms of the refractory79 spirit which had been ascribed to him.
“Let us strike out straight for the horizon now,” said Harry, after they had galloped80 half a mile or so along the beaten track. “See, here are the tracks of our friends.” Turning sharp round as he spoke65, he leaped his pony over the heap that lined the road, and galloped away through the soft snow.
At this point the young horse began to show his evil spirit. Instead of following the other, he suddenly halted and began to back.
“Hollo, Harry!” exclaimed Charley; “hold on a bit. Here’s this monster begun his tricks.”
“Hit him a crack with the whip,” shouted Harry.
Charley acted upon the advice, which had the effect of making the horse shake his head with a sharp snort, and back more vigorously than ever.
“There, my fine fellow, quiet now,” said Charley in a soothing81 tone, patting the horse’s neck. “It’s a comfort to know you can’t go far in that direction, anyhow!” he added, as he glanced over his shoulder, and saw an immense drift behind.
He was right. In a few minutes the horse backed into the snow-drift. Finding his hind-quarters imprisoned82 by a power that was too much even for his obstinacy83 to overcome, he gave another snort and a heavy plunge, which almost unseated his young rider.
“Hold on fast,” cried Harry, who had now come up.
“No fear,” cried Charley, as he clinched84 his teeth and gathered the reins more firmly.—“Now for it, you young villain85!” and raising his whip, he brought it down with a heavy slash86 on the horse’s flank.
Had the snow-drift been a cannon87, and the horse a bombshell, he could scarcely have sprung from it with greater velocity88. One bound landed him on the road; another cleared it; and in a second more he stretched out at full speed—his ears flat on his neck, mane and tail flying in the wind, and the bit tight between his teeth.
“Well done,” cried Harry, as he passed. “You’re off now, old fellow; good-bye.”
“Hurrah!” shouted Charley, in reply, leaving his cap in the snow as a parting souvenir; while, seeing that it was useless to endeavour to check his steed, he became quite wild with excitement; gave him the rein49; flourished his whip; and flew over the white plains, casting up the snow in clouds behind him like a hurricane.
While this little escapade was being enacted89 by the boys, the hunters were riding leisurely90 out upon the snowy sea in search of a wolf.
Words cannot convey to you, dear reader, an adequate conception of the peculiar fascination91, the exhilarating splendour of the scene by which our hunters were surrounded. Its beauty lay not in variety of feature in the landscape, for there was none. One vast sheet of white alone met the view, bounded all round by the blue circle of the sky, and broken in one or two places by a patch or two of willows, which, rising on the plain, appeared like little islands in a frozen sea. It was the glittering sparkle of the snow in the bright sunshine; the dreamy haziness92 of the atmosphere, mingling93 earth and sky as in a halo of gold; the first taste, the first smell of spring after a long winter, bursting suddenly upon the senses, like the unexpected visit of a long-absent, much-loved, and almost forgotten friend; the soft, warm feeling of the south wind, bearing on its wings the balmy influences of sunny climes, and recalling vividly94 the scenes, the pleasures, the bustling95 occupations of summer. It was this that caused the hunters’ hearts to leap within them as they rode along—that induced old Mr Kennedy to forget his years, and shout as he had been wont to do in days gone by, when he used to follow the track of the elk96 or hunt the wild buffalo97; and it was this that made the otherwise monotonous98 prairies on this particular day so charming.
The party had wandered about, without discovering anything that bore the smallest resemblance to a wolf, for upwards of an hour; Fort Garry had fallen astern (to use a nautical99 phrase) until it had become a mere30 speck100 on the horizon, and vanished altogether; Peter Mactavish had twice given a false alarm in the eagerness of his spirit, and had three times plunged101 his horse up to the girths in a snow-drift; the senior clerk was waxing impatient, and the horses restive102, when a sudden “Hollo!” from Mr Grant brought the whole cavalcade to a stand.
The object which drew his attention, and to which he directed the anxious eyes of his friends, was a small speck, rather triangular103 in form, which overtopped a little willow73 bush not more than five or six hundred yards distant.
“There he is!” exclaimed Mr Grant. “That’s a fact,” cried Mr Kennedy; and both gentlemen, instantaneously giving a shout, bounded towards the object; not, however, before the senior clerk, who was mounted on a fleet and strong horse, had taken the lead by six yards. A moment afterwards the speck rose up and discovered itself to be a veritable wolf. Moreover, he condescended104 to show his teeth, and then, conceiving it probable that his enemies were too numerous for him, he suddenly turned round and fled away. For ten minutes or so the chase was kept up at full speed, and as the snow happened to be shallow at the starting-point, the wolf kept well ahead of its pursuers—indeed, distanced them a little. But soon the snow became deeper, and the wolf plunged heavily, and the horses gained considerably. Although to the eye the prairie seemed to be a uniform level, there were numerous slight undulations, in which drifts of some depth had collected. Into one of these the wolf now plunged and laboured slowly through it. But so deep was the snow that the horses almost stuck fast. A few minutes, however, brought them out, and Mr Grant and Mr Kennedy, who had kept close to each other during the run, pulled up for a moment on the summit of a ridge105 to breathe their panting steeds.
“What can that be?” exclaimed the former, pointing with his whip to a distant object which was moving rapidly over the plain.
“Eh! what—where?” said Mr Kennedy, shading his eyes with his hand, and peering in the direction indicated. “Why, that’s another wolf, isn’t it? No; it runs too fast for that.”
“Strange,” said his friend; “what can it be?”
“If I hadn’t seen every beast in the country,” remarked Mr Kennedy, “and didn’t know that there are no such animals north of the equator, I should say it was a mad dromedary mounted by a ring-tailed roarer.”
“It can’t be, surely—not possible!” exclaimed Mr Grant. “It’s not Charley on the new horse!”
Mr Grant said this with an air of vexation, that annoyed his friend a little. He would not have much minded Charley’s taking a horse without leave, no matter how wild it might be; but he did not at all relish106 the idea of making an apology for his son’s misconduct, and for the moment did not exactly know what to say. As usual in such a dilemma107, the old man took refuge in a towering passion, gave his steed a sharp cut with the whip, and galloped forward to meet the delinquent108.
We are not acquainted with the general appearance of a “ring-tailed roarer;” in fact, we have grave doubts as to whether such an animal exists at all; but if it does, and is particularly wild, dishevelled, and fierce in deportment, there is no doubt whatever that when Mr Kennedy applied109 the name to his hopeful son, the application was singularly powerful and appropriate.
Charley had had a long run since we last saw him. After describing a wide curve, in which his charger displayed a surprising aptitude110 for picking out the ground that was least covered with snow, he headed straight for the fort again at the same pace at which he had started. At first Charley tried every possible method to check him, but in vain; so he gave it up, resolving to enjoy the race, since he could not prevent it. The young horse seemed to be made of lightning, with bones and muscles of brass111, for he bounded untiringly forward for miles, tossing his head and snorting in his wild career. But Charley was a good horseman, and did not mind that much, being quite satisfied that the horse was a horse, and not a spirit, and that therefore he could not run for ever. At last he approached the party, in search of which he had originally set out. His eyes dilated112 and his colour heightened as he beheld113 the wolf running directly towards him. Fumbling114 hastily for the pistol which he had borrowed from his friend Harry, he drew it from his pocket, and prepared to give the animal a shot in passing. Just at that moment the wolf caught sight of this new enemy in advance, and diverged115 suddenly to the left, plunging116 into a drift in his confusion, and so enabling the senior clerk to overtake him, and send an ounce of heavy shot into his side, which turned him over quite dead. The shot, however, had a double effect. At that instant Charley swept past; and his mettlesome117 steed swerved118 as it heard the loud report of the gun, thereby119 almost unhorsing his rider, and causing him unintentionally to discharge the conglomerate120 of bullets and swan-shot into the flank of Peter Mactavish’s horse—fortunately at a distance which rendered the shot equivalent to a dozen very sharp and particularly stinging blows. On receiving this unexpected salute121, the astonished charger reared convulsively, and fell back upon his rider, who was thereby buried deep in the snow, not a vestige122 of him being left, no more than if he had never existed at all. Indeed, for a moment it seemed to be doubtful whether poor Peter did exist or not, until a sudden upheaving of the snow took place, and his dishevelled head appeared, with the eyes and mouth wide open, bearing on them an expression of mingled123 horror and amazement124. Meanwhile the second shot acted like a spur on the young horse, which flew past Mr Kennedy like a whirlwind.
“Stop, you young scoundrel!” he shouted, shaking his fist at Charley as he passed.
Charley was past stopping, either by inclination125 or ability. This sudden and unexpected accumulation of disasters was too much for him. As he passed his sire, with his brown curls streaming straight out behind, and his eyes flashing with excitement, his teeth clinched, and his horse tearing along more like an incarnate126 fiend than an animal, a spirit of combined recklessness, consternation127, indignation, and glee took possession of him. He waved his whip wildly over his head, brought it down with a stinging cut on the horse’s neck, and uttered a shout of defiance128 that threw completely into the shade the loudest war-whoop that was ever uttered by the brazen129 lungs of the wildest savage130 between Hudson’s Bay and Oregon. Seeing and hearing this, old Mr Kennedy wheeled about and dashed off in pursuit with much greater energy than he had displayed in chase of the wolf.
The race bade fair to be a long one, for the young horse was strong in wind and limb; and the gray mare, though decidedly not the “better horse,” was much fresher than the other.
The hunters, who were now joined by Harry Somerville, did not feel it incumbent131 on them to follow this new chase; so they contented132 themselves with watching their flight towards the fort, while they followed at a more leisurely pace.
Meanwhile Charley rapidly neared Fort Garry, and now began to wonder whether the stable door was open, and if so, whether it were better for him to take his chance of getting his neck broken, or to throw himself into the next snow-drift that presented itself.
He had not to remain long in suspense133. The wooden fence that enclosed the stable-yard lay before him. It was between four and five feet high, with a beaten track running along the outside, and a deep snow-drift on the other. Charley felt that the young horse had made up his mind to leap this. As he did not at the moment see that there was anything better to be done, he prepared for it. As the horse bent on his haunches to spring, he gave him a smart cut with the whip, went over like a rocket, and plunged up to the neck in the snow-drift, which brought his career to an abrupt conclusion. The sudden stoppage of the horse was one thing, but the arresting of Master Charley was another and quite a different thing. The instant his charger landed, he left the saddle like a harlequin, described an extensive curve in the air, and fell head foremost into the drift, above which his boots and three inches of his legs alone remained to tell the tale.
On witnessing this climax134, Mr Kennedy, senior, pulled up, dismounted, and ran—with an expression of some anxiety on his countenance—to the help of his son; while Tom Whyte came out of the stable just in time to receive the “noo ’oss” as he floundered out of the snow.
“I believe,” said the groom, as he surveyed the trembling charger, “that your son has broke the noo ’oss, sir, better nor I could ’ave done myself.”
“I believe that my son has broken his neck,” said Mr Kennedy wrathfully. “Come here and help me to dig him out.”
In a few minutes Charley was dug out, in a state of insensibility, and carried up to the fort, where he was laid on a bed, and restoratives actively135 applied for his recovery.
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reigns
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| n.君主的统治( reign的名词复数 )；君主统治时期；任期；当政期 | |
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intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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appreciable
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| adj.明显的，可见的，可估量的，可觉察的 | |
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considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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Fahrenheit
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| n./adj.华氏温度；华氏温度计(的) | |
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congealing
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| v.使凝结，冻结( congeal的现在分词 )；（指血）凝结 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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frantically
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| ad.发狂地, 发疯地 | |
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stumps
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| （被砍下的树的）树桩( stump的名词复数 )； 残肢； （板球三柱门的）柱； 残余部分 | |
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appendages
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| n.附属物( appendage的名词复数 )；依附的人；附属器官；附属肢体（如臂、腿、尾等） | |
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vitality
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| n.活力，生命力，效力 | |
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13
impelled
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| v.推动、推进或敦促某人做某事( impel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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14
scamper
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| v.奔跑，快跑 | |
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15
laborious
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| adj.吃力的，努力的，不流畅 | |
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16
thaws
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| n.（足以解冻的）暖和天气( thaw的名词复数 )；（敌对国家之间）关系缓和v.（气候）解冻( thaw的第三人称单数 )；（态度、感情等）缓和；（冰、雪及冷冻食物）溶化；软化 | |
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17
thaw
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| v.（使）融化，（使）变得友善；n.融化，缓和 | |
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18
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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19
plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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20
addicted
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| adj.沉溺于....的，对...上瘾的 | |
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21
propitious
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| adj.吉利的；顺利的 | |
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22
trickling
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| n.油画底色含油太多而成泡沫状突起v.滴( trickle的现在分词 )；淌；使)慢慢走；缓慢移动 | |
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23
adventurous
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| adj.爱冒险的；惊心动魄的，惊险的，刺激的 | |
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24
gliding
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| v. 滑翔 adj. 滑动的 | |
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25
awakening
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| n.觉醒，醒悟 adj.觉醒中的；唤醒的 | |
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26
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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27
urchin
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| n.顽童；海胆 | |
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28
skittish
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| adj.易激动的，轻佻的 | |
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29
wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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30
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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31
grunt
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| v.嘟哝；作呼噜声；n.呼噜声，嘟哝 | |
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32
fishy
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| adj. 值得怀疑的 | |
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33
mare
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| n.母马，母驴 | |
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34
naturalists
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| n.博物学家( naturalist的名词复数 )；（文学艺术的）自然主义者 | |
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35
groom
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| vt.给（马、狗等）梳毛，照料，使...整洁 | |
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36
harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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37
miller
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| n.磨坊主 | |
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38
pony
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| adj.小型的；n.小马 | |
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39
nettled
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| v.拿荨麻打，拿荨麻刺（nettle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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40
poke
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| n.刺，戳，袋；vt.拨开，刺，戳；vi.戳，刺，捅，搜索，伸出，行动散慢 | |
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41
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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42
mantles
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| vt.&vi.覆盖（mantle的第三人称单数形式） | |
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43
upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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44
consolidated
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| a.联合的 | |
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45
precipitates
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| v.（突如其来地）使发生( precipitate的第三人称单数 )；促成；猛然摔下；使沉淀 | |
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46
avalanches
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| n.雪崩( avalanche的名词复数 ) | |
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47
stunning
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| adj.极好的；使人晕倒的 | |
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48
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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49
rein
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| n.疆绳，统治，支配；vt.以僵绳控制，统治 | |
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50
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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51
rheumatism
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| n.风湿病 | |
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52
propensity
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| n.倾向；习性 | |
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53
crammed
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| adj.塞满的，挤满的；大口地吃；快速贪婪地吃v.把…塞满；填入；临时抱佛脚( cram的过去式) | |
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54
muzzle
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| n.鼻口部；口套；枪(炮)口；vt.使缄默 | |
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55
abrupt
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| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
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56
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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57
recurring
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| adj.往复的，再次发生的 | |
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58
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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59
agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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60
berth
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| n.卧铺，停泊地，锚位；v.使停泊 | |
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61
thwart
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| v.阻挠，妨碍，反对；adj.横(断的) | |
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62
obedience
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| n.服从，顺从 | |
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63
gush
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| v.喷，涌；滔滔不绝(说话)；n.喷，涌流；迸发 | |
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64
potent
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| adj.强有力的，有权势的；有效力的 | |
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65
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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66
revels
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| n.作乐( revel的名词复数 )；狂欢；着迷；陶醉v.作乐( revel的第三人称单数 )；狂欢；着迷；陶醉 | |
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67
pithily
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| adv.有力地，简洁地 | |
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68
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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69
cavalcade
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| n.车队等的行列 | |
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70
perplexed
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| adj.不知所措的 | |
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71
assented
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| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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72
willows
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| n.柳树( willow的名词复数 )；柳木 | |
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73
willow
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| n.柳树 | |
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74
renowned
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| adj.著名的，有名望的，声誉鹊起的 | |
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75
nostril
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| n.鼻孔 | |
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76
bridled
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| 给…套龙头( bridle的过去式和过去分词 )； 控制； 昂首表示轻蔑（或怨忿等）； 动怒，生气 | |
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77
fig
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| n.无花果(树) | |
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78
elegance
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| n.优雅；优美，雅致；精致，巧妙 | |
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79
refractory
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| adj.倔强的，难驾驭的 | |
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80
galloped
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| （使马）飞奔，奔驰( gallop的过去式和过去分词 )； 快速做[说]某事 | |
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81
soothing
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| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
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82
imprisoned
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| 下狱，监禁( imprison的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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83
obstinacy
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| n.顽固；（病痛等）难治 | |
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84
clinched
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| v.（尤指两人）互相紧紧抱[扭]住( clinch的过去式和过去分词 )；解决（争端、交易），达成（协议） | |
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85
villain
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| n.反派演员，反面人物；恶棍；问题的起因 | |
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86
slash
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| vi.大幅度削减；vt.猛砍，尖锐抨击，大幅减少；n.猛砍，斜线，长切口，衣衩 | |
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87
cannon
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| n.大炮，火炮；飞机上的机关炮 | |
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88
velocity
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| n.速度，速率 | |
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89
enacted
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| 制定（法律），通过（法案）( enact的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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90
leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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91
fascination
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| n.令人着迷的事物，魅力，迷恋 | |
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92
haziness
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| 有薄雾，模糊； 朦胧之性质或状态； 零能见度 | |
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93
mingling
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| adj.混合的 | |
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94
vividly
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| adv.清楚地，鲜明地，生动地 | |
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95
bustling
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| adj.喧闹的 | |
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96
elk
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| n.麋鹿 | |
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97
buffalo
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| n.(北美)野牛；(亚洲)水牛 | |
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98
monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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99
nautical
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| adj.海上的，航海的，船员的 | |
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100
speck
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| n.微粒，小污点，小斑点 | |
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101
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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102
restive
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| adj.不安宁的，不安静的 | |
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103
triangular
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| adj.三角（形）的，三者间的 | |
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104
condescended
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| 屈尊，俯就( condescend的过去式和过去分词 )； 故意表示和蔼可亲 | |
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105
ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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106
relish
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| n.滋味，享受，爱好，调味品；vt.加调味料，享受，品味；vi.有滋味 | |
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107
dilemma
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| n.困境，进退两难的局面 | |
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108
delinquent
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| adj.犯法的，有过失的；n.违法者 | |
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109
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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110
aptitude
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| n.(学习方面的)才能，资质，天资 | |
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111
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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112
dilated
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| adj.加宽的，扩大的v.（使某物）扩大，膨胀，张大( dilate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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113
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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114
fumbling
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| n. 摸索,漏接 v. 摸索,摸弄,笨拙的处理 | |
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115
diverged
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| 分开( diverge的过去式和过去分词 )； 偏离； 分歧； 分道扬镳 | |
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116
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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117
mettlesome
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| adj.（通常指马等）精力充沛的，勇猛的 | |
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118
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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119
thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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120
conglomerate
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| n.综合商社，多元化集团公司 | |
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121
salute
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| vi.行礼，致意，问候，放礼炮；vt.向…致意，迎接，赞扬；n.招呼，敬礼，礼炮 | |
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122
vestige
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| n.痕迹，遗迹，残余 | |
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123
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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124
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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125
inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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126
incarnate
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| adj.化身的，人体化的，肉色的 | |
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127
consternation
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| n.大为吃惊，惊骇 | |
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128
defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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129
brazen
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| adj.厚脸皮的，无耻的，坚硬的 | |
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130
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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131
incumbent
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| adj.成为责任的，有义务的；现任的，在职的 | |
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132
contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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133
suspense
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| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
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134
climax
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| n.顶点；高潮；v.(使)达到顶点 | |
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135
actively
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| adv.积极地，勤奋地 | |
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