Many a Christmastide had now passed over the head of our blacksmith, John Thorogood, and his excellent wife Mary, but Time had touched them lightly in its flight. They both looked young and hale, and full of vigour1. The only difference in them was a wrinkle or two at the corners of the eyes, and a few grey hairs mingling2 with the brown. Perhaps John was a little more corpulent than when he was a youth; but he could wield3 the fore-hammer as easily and powerfully as ever.
A cloud, however, had been gathering4 over their happy home during the past year. Molly—the sweet active girl who had never known a day’s illness from her childhood—had fallen into bad health. Her step had lost its spring, but her cheerful spirit was unsubdued.
“You’re better to-day, Molly darling?” asked the smith, in a tone which showed he was not sure of the answer.
“Yes, father, much better.” Molly did not use endearing terms, but the sweetness of her looks and voice rendered such needless.
She was pale and thin, and could not check the touch of sadness in her tones.
“Fred is sure to come, darling,” said Mrs Thorogood, stopping in her preparations for supper to smooth her daughter’s fair head.
“Oh yes, mother, I know that Fred is sure to come,” returned Molly, with a laugh and a little blush. “No fear of him. I was not thinking of him, but of Jim. It is the first Christmas we shall have spent without him. Dear Jim! I wonder what company he will have to spend it with him in the backwoods.”
“Whatever company it may be,” returned the mother, “they’ll only have his body and mind—his spirit will be here.”
“Well said, old Moll; we shall have the best part of him to-night in spite of the Atlantic Ocean,” cried the blacksmith, who was seated on a stool making fun with the terrier, the cat, and the kitten—not the original animals, of course, but the lineal descendants of those which were introduced at the beginning of our tale.
“I hope they won’t be late,” remarked Mrs Thorogood, looking with some anxiety into a big pot which rested on the roaring fire.
“The boys are never late, Moll,” remarked the smith, giving the cat a sly poke7 on the nose, which it resented with a fuff, causing the terrier to turn its head on one side inquiringly.
As he spoke8 the front door opened, and feet were heard in the passage stamping off the snow.
“There they are!” exclaimed old Moll, slipping the lid on the big pot, and wiping her hands hastily.
“No, it is too soon for them yet; they’re always sharp to time. It is Fred,” said Molly with a quiet smile.
She was right. Fred Harper, a fine strapping9 young fellow—a carpenter—had met Molly in London, and got engaged to her. She offered to let him off when she became ill and delicate, but he would not be let off. “Molly,” this enthusiast10 had said, “if you were to become so thin that all your flesh were to disappear, I’d be proud to marry your skeleton!”
Fred sat down by her side, but had scarcely begun to make earnest inquiries11 after her health, when the outer door again opened, and another stamping of feet was heard in the passage. It was a tremendous stamping, and accompanied with strong, loud, manly12 voices.
“No mistake now!” said the smith, rising and opening the door, when in walked four such men as any father and mother might be proud of. It was not that they were big—plenty of blockheads are big: nor was it that they were handsome—plenty of nincompoops are well-favoured; but, besides being tall, and strong, and handsome, they were free, and hearty13, and sensible, and wise—even in their joviality—and so thorough-going in word, sentiment, and act, that it was quite a pleasure merely to sit still and watch them, and listen.
“I told ’ee they’d come in their togs, old woman,” said the smith, as his son Tom appeared, dusting the snow from his Coastguard uniform, on the breast of which was displayed the gold medal of the Royal National Lifeboat Institution.
“You might be sure of that, mother, seeing that we had promised,” said Dick, the blithe14 and hearty man-of-war’s man, as he printed a kiss on his mother’s cheek that might have been heard, as he truly said, “from the main truck to the keelson.” At the same time bushy-browed Harry15, with the blue coat and brass16 epaulettes of the fire-brigade, was paying a similar tribute of affection to his sister, while fiery17 Bob,—the old uniform on his back and the Victoria Cross on his breast,—seized his father’s hand in both of his with a grip that quite satisfied that son of Vulcan, despite the absence of two of the fingers.
They were all deep-chested, strong-voiced men in the prime of life; and what a noise they did make, to be sure!
“You’re not too soon, boys,” said the smith; “old Moll has been quite anxious about a mysterious something in the big pot there.”
“Let me help you to take it off the fire, mother,” said the gallant18 tar20, stepping forward.
“Nay, that’s my duty,” cried Harry, leaping to the front, and seizing the pot, which he dragged from the flames with professional ability.
When the something was displayed, it was found to be a gorgeous meat-pudding of the most tempting21 character—round and heavy like a cannon-ball. Of course it did not flourish alone. Old Moll had been mysteriously engaged the greater part of that day over the fire, and the result was a feast worthy22, as her husband said, “of the King of the Cannibal Islands.”
“Talking of Cannibal Islands,” said Dick, the sailor, during a pause in the feast, “you’ve no idea what a glorious place that Pacific Ocean is, with its coral islands, palm-groves, and sunshine. It would be just the place to make you well again, Molly. You’d grow fat in a month.”
“Ha; get fat, would she,” growled23 Bob, the soldier, “so as to be ready for the first nigger-chief that took a fancy to have her cooked for supper—eh? Never fear, Molly, we won’t let you go to the Cannibal Islands. Give us another cut o’ that cannon-ball, mother. It’s better eating than those I’ve been used to see skipping over the battlefield.”
“But they’re not all Cannibal Islands, man,” returned Dick; “why, wherever the missionaries24 go, there the niggers get to be as well-behaved as you are. D’you know, Molly, I’ve really been thinking of cutting the service, and emigrating somewhere, if you and Fred would go with me.”
“It would be charming!” replied Molly, with a sweet though languid smile. “We’d live in a wooden hut, roofed with palm-leaves, and while you and Fred were away hunting for dinner, I would milk the buffaloes25, and boil the cocoa-nuts!”
“Ah, Molly,” said Tom, the Coastguardsman, stroking his bushy beard, “the same idea has been running in my head, as well as in Dick’s, ever since we got that letter from Jim, telling us of the beauty of his new home, and urging us all to emigrate. I’ve more than half a mind to join him out there, if you and the old folk will consent to go.”
“You’re not serious, are you, Tom?” asked Harry, the fireman, laying down his knife and fork.
“Indeed I am.”
“Well, you might do worse. I would join you myself, if there were only houses enough to insure a fire or two every month.”
“Why, man,” said Fred Harper, “in these lands the whole forest goes on fire sometimes—surely that would suffice to keep your spirits up and your heart warm.”
“Let’s have a look at Jim’s last epistle, mother,” said Dick, when the feast was nearly over, and fragrant27 coffee smoked upon the board, (for you know the Thorogood Family were total abstainers), “and let Fred read it aloud. He’s by far the best reader amongst us.”
“Well, that’s not sayin’ much for him,” remarked the fireman, with a sly glance at his sister.
“Your lamp is not as powerful as it might be, mother,” said Fred, drawing his chair nearer to that of the fair invalid28, as he unfolded the letter. “Turn your eyes this way, Molly,—there, keep ’em steady on the page; I can see now!”
“Eagle’s Nest, Rocky Mountain Slopes, 5th October 18—,” began Fred. “Darling Mother,—You’ve no idea what a charming place God has given me here, with plenty of work to do of the most congenial kind. I have only an opportunity for a short letter this time, because the postboy has arrived unexpectedly, and won’t wait. Postboy! You would smile at that word if you saw him. He’s a six-foot man in leather, with a big beard, and a rifle and tomahawk. He was attacked by Indians on the way over the mountains, but escaped, and he attacked a grizzly29 bear afterwards which didn’t escape—but I must not waste time on him, Well, I must devote all my letter this post to urging you to come out. This is a splendid country for big, strong, hearty, willing men like father and my brothers. Of course it is no better than other countries—rather worse—for weak men, either in mind or body. Idlers go to the wall here as elsewhere; but for men willing and able to work—ready to turn their hands to anything—it is a splendid opening. For myself—I feel that my Heavenly Father has sent me here because there is work for me to do, and a climate which will give me health and strength to do it. My health is better now than it has ever been mince30 the day of that fall which damaged my constitution so much as to render me one of the confirmed cripples of the earth. But it was a blessed fall, nevertheless. I was cast down in order that I might be lifted up. You would smile, mother,—perhaps you’d laugh—if you saw me at my work. I’m a Jack-of-all-trades. Among other things I’m a farmer, a gardener, a carpenter, a schoolmaster, a shoemaker, and a missionary31! The last, you know, I consider my real calling. The others are but secondary matters, assumed in the spirit of Paul the tent-maker. You and dear Molly would rejoice with me if you saw my Bible Class on week-days, and my congregation on Sundays. It is a strange congregation to whom I have been sent to tell the old old story of Jesus and His love. There are farmers, miners, hunters, even painted savages32 among them. My church is usually a barn—sometimes a tent—often the open air. There are no denominations34 here, so that I belong to none. Only two sects35 exist—believers and unbelievers. But the place is growing fast. Doubtless there will be great changes ere long. Meanwhile it is my happy duty and privilege to scatter36 seed in the wilderness37.
“Now, I urge you to come, because there is health for Molly to be found on these sunny slopes of this grand Backbone38 of America. That is my strongest point. If that does not move you, nothing else will! One glance from the windows of my wooden house—this Eagle’s Nest on the Rocky Mountain Slopes—would be sufficient to begin the work of convalescence39. Woods, dells, knolls41, hills, plains, prairies, lakes, streams—with the blue mountains in the far, far distance. Oh! if I were a poet, what a flight I would make into the realms of—of—well, you understand me! I have no time for more. The big-bearded postboy is growing impatient. Only this much will I add,—do, do come, if you love me. My kindest love to you all. May God guide you in this matter.—Your affectionate son, Jim.
“P.S.—One of the members of my congregation is a celebrated42 hunter named Reuben Dale. His wife is also one of my flock, and so is his friend Jacob Strang. The manner in which Reuben got married is so curious that I have amused myself by writing an account of it for mother. I enclose it.”
“Read the story aloud, Fred,” said Molly. “What Jim thought interesting must be well worth reading.”
Thus urged, Fred took the manuscript and read as follows:—
The Hunter’s Wedding.
A Story of the Rocky Mountains.
On the summit of a green knoll40, in one of those beautiful valleys which open from the prairies—like inviting43 portals—into the dark recesses44 of the Rocky Mountains, there stands, or stood not long ago, a small blockhouse surrounded by a wooden palisade.
Although useless as a protection from artillery45, this building was found to be a sufficient defence against the bullets and arrows of the red men of North America, and its owner, Kenneth MacFearsome, a fiery Scotch46 Highlander47, had, up to the date on which our story opens, esteemed48 it a convenient and safe place for trade with the warlike savages who roamed, fought, and hunted in the regions around it. Some people, referring to its peaceful purposes, called it MacFearsome’s trading post. Others, having regard to its military aspect, styled it Mac’s Fort.
Reuben Dale stood at the front gate of the Fort conversing49 with a pretty, dark-haired, bright-faced girl of eighteen years or thereabouts: Reuben himself being twenty-eight, and as strapping a hunter of the Rocky Mountains as ever outwitted a redskin or circumvented50 a grizzly bear. But Reuben was naturally shy. He had not the courage of a rabbit when it came to making love.
“Loo,” said Reuben, resting his hand on the muzzle52 of his long rifle and his chin on his hands, as he gazed earnestly down into the quiet, soft little face at his elbow.
“Well, Reuben,” said Loo, keeping her eyes prudently53 fixed54 on the ground lest they should betray her.
The conversation stopped short at this interesting point, and was not resumed. Indeed, it was effectually checked by the sudden appearance of The MacFearsome.
“What, have ye not managed it yet, Reuben?” said the Highlander, as his daughter tripped quickly away.
“Not yet,” said the hunter despondingly.
“Man, you’re not worth a gunflint,” returned MacFearsome, with a twinkling glance from under his bushy grey eyebrows55; “if ye had not saved Loo’s life twice, and mine three times, I’d scorn to let you wed6 her. But you’ll have to settle it right off, for the parson won’t stop another day. He counted on spendin’ only one day here, on his way to the conference, and he has been two days already. You know it’ll take him all his time to get to Beaver56 Creek57 by the tenth.”
“But I’ll mount him on my best buffalo26-runner and guide him myself by a short cut,” said the hunter, “so that he shall still be in good time for the circumference58, and—”
“The conference, Reuben; don’t misuse59 the English language. But it’s of no use, I tell you. He won’t stop another day, so you must have it settled right off to-day, for it shall never be said that a MacFearsome was married without the benefit of the clergy60.”
“Well, I’ll do it—slick off;” said the hunter, shouldering his rifle, and striding away in the direction of a coppice into which he had observed Loo disappear, with the air of a man who meant to pursue and kill a dangerous creature.
We will not do Reuben Dale the injustice61 to lift the curtain at this critical point in his history. Suffice it to say that he went into that coppice pale and came out red—so red that his handsome sunburned countenance62 seemed on the point of catching63 fire. There was a pleased expression on it, however, which was eminently64 suggestive.
He went straight to a wigwam which stood near the fort, lifted the skin door, entered, and sat down beside the fire opposite to a hunter not unlike himself. The man was as tall and strong, though not quite so good-looking. He was at the time smoking one of those tomahawks which some Indians have made with pipe bowls in their heads, the handles serving for stems, so that, when not employed in splitting skulls65, they may be used for damaging stomachs—i.e. for smoking tobacco!
“I’ve done it, Jacob Strang,” said Reuben, with a grave nod, as he slowly filled his pipe.
These two hunters were knit together with somewhat of the love that David bore to Jonathan. Jacob gazed at his friend for some time in mute admiration66.
“Honour bright?” he asked at length.
“Honour bright,” replied Reuben.
“Well now,” said Jacob to the cloud that issued from his lips, “I couldn’t ha’ done that to save my scalp. I’ve tried it, off an’ on for the last six year, and alers stuck at the p’int—or raither just before it, for I never got quite the length o’ the p’int. But I’ve bin67 very near it, Reuben, more than once, uncommon68 near. One time I got so close to the edge o’ the precipice69 that another inch would have sent me right over. ‘My dear Liz,’ says I; but I stuck there, an’ the sweet little thing runned away, larfin’, an’ so I’m a bachelor still. But I’m right glad, Reuben, that you’ve got it over at last. How did it feel?”
“Feel!” echoed the hunter, “it felt as bad, or wuss, nor the time that grizzly bar up the Yellowstone River got his claws into the small o’ my back—only I hadn’t you to help me out o’ the difficulty this time. I had to do it all myself, Jacob, and hard work it was, I tell ’ee, boy. Hows’ever, it’s all over now, an’ we’re to be spliced70 this evenin’.”
“That’s raither sharp work, ain’t it, Reuben?” said Jacob, with a critical wrinkle of his eyebrows, and a remonstrative71 tone in his voice. “I ain’t much of an authority on sitch matters, but it do seem to me as if you might have given the poor gal19 a day or two to make sure whether her head or heels was uppermost.”
“You’re right, Jacob; you’re judgment72 was always sound, but, you see, I was forced to do it slick off because the parson won’t wait another day, an’ I’d like to have it done all ship-shape, for I’ve a respec’ for the parsons, you see. A man who’s come straight down from the Pilgrim Fathers, like me, behoves to act discreetly—so, the weddin’s to be this evenin’.”
“Well, you are the best judge, Reuben, an’ it’s as well that it should come off when old Fiddlestrings is here, for a weddin’ without a fiddle73 ain’t much of a spree. By good luck, too, there’s the lads from Buffalo Creek at the fort just now, so we’ll muster74 strong. No, I wouldn’t give much for a weddin’ without a good dance—not even yours, Reuben.”
That afternoon The MacFearsome arranged with the Reverend William Tucker to delay his departure for one day in order to unite his only daughter Loo to Reuben Dale.
“You must know, Mr Tucker,” he explained, in a slightly apologetic tone, “although Reuben is only a hunter, his parents were gentlefolks. They died when Reuben was quite a little fellow, so that he was allowed to run wild on a frontier settlement, and, as a matter of course, took to the wilderness as naturally as a young duck takes to the water. But Reuben is a superior person, Mr Tucker, I assure you, and as fine a disposition75 as you could wish. He’s as bold as a lion too, and has saved my girl’s life twice, and my own three times—so, you see, he—”
“He deserves a good wife,” said the Reverend William Tucker heartily76.
“Just so,” replied the old trader, wrinkling his fierce yet kindly77 face with a bland78 smile, “and you’ll confer a great favour on me if you will stay and perform the ceremony. Of course, according to Scotch law, we could marry them without your assistance, but I respect the church, Mr Tucker, and think it becoming to have a clergyman on occasions of this kind.”
Having settled this important piece of business, Kenneth MacFearsome went off to make arrangements for the indispensable dance, and the clergyman, being fond of equestrian79 exercise, went out alone for an afternoon ride.
That same afternoon a band of Indians belonging to the Blackfeet tribe encamped in a gloomy defile80 of the Rocky Mountains, not far from Mac’s Fort. It was easy to see that they were a war-party, for, besides being armed to the teeth, their faces were hideously81 painted, and they had no women or children with them.
They had stopped for the double purpose of eating a hasty meal and holding a council of war.
One of the warriors82 stood up in the midst of his brethren and made a speech, which, to judge from its effect on the others, must have been highly inflammatory and warlike. During the delivery of it he turned his ugly visage frequently, and pointed83, with his blue-striped nose, as it were, in the direction of Fort MacFearsome.
Whatever might have been the tendency of the speech, it was suddenly cut short by the sound of a horse’s hoofs84 clattering86 in the glen below. After bestowing87 a united eagle glance on the approaching horseman, the Blackfeet warriors turned a look of intelligence on each other, lay flat down in the long grass, and melted from the scene as completely and silently as snow-wreaths melt before the sun in spring.
The Reverend William Tucker was a muscular Christian88. That is to say, he believed that the body, as well as the soul, ought to be cultivated to the highest possible extent—both having the same origin—and held that physical health, strength, and vigour, if not absolutely necessary to the advancement89 of Christianity in the earth, were at least eminently conducive90 thereto. Holding such opinions, and being powerfully built, he threw himself heart and soul into whatever he did. Hence the clatter85 of his horse’s hoofs as he galloped91 swiftly up the glen.
But the Reverend William Tucker was also merciful, and not only drew rein93 when the path became too steep, but dismounted and led his steed by the bridle94 when he reached the rugged95 ground near the spot where the war-party had melted away.
Great and grand were the preparations made for the approaching festivities at Mac’s Fort. Michel, the cook, constructed a venison pie, the tin dish of which, (repaired expressly for the occasion that afternoon by the Fort blacksmith), might have served for a bath to an average baby. The carpenter arranged the hall, or large public room, cleared away the tables, fitted up a device in evergreens96 which was supposed to represent the words Loo and Reu, and otherwise garnished97 the ball-room with specimens98 of his originality99 and taste, while old Fiddlestrings, who was a self-taught half-breed, fitted to his violin a new string made by his wife that day from a deer-sinew.
When the hour arrived for the performance of the ceremony, Reuben Dale appeared among the men of the Fort, dressed, not like a gentleman in broadcloth, but, in hunter’s costume of the most approved cut and material—a yellow deerskin coat, ornamented100 with bead101 and quill102 work; blue cloth leggings, a small fur cap, moccasins garnished with silk flowers, fitting as tight to his feet as gloves fit the hands, and a crimson103 worsted sash round his waist. He also wore, slung104 on his shoulder by scarlet105 worsted cords, a powder-horn and shot-pouch—not that these implements106 of the chase were necessary to the occasion, but because he would as soon have thought of appearing at any time without them as without his nose. For the same reason his rifle accompanied him to the wedding.
A short time before the appointed hour the bride-elect adorned107 herself in simple yet tasteful costume, which, being peculiar108 to no particular nation or time, we prefer to leave to the reader’s imagination, merely remarking that as Loo was simple and pretty her garb109 corresponded to her appearance and character.
But the appointed hour passed, and the Reverend William Tucker did not appear. Hunters of the Rocky Mountains, however, are not an impatient race. Reuben quietly waited as he would have done for a good shot at game. Not so The MacFearsome. His Celtic blood fired, and he muttered a few uncomplimentary remarks about the reverend absentee, which it is well not to repeat.
As time passed, however, the dwellers110 in Mac’s Fort became anxious, then alarmed, and finally the wedding was postponed111, while a search for the lost one was organised; but they searched in vain, because tracks which might easily be traced in the wilderness get inextricably mixed up in the vicinity of a fort.
Next day Kenneth MacFearsome, coming rather hastily and angrily to the conclusion that Mr Tucker had given them the slip and gone off to his conference, determined112 himself to perform the marriage ceremony as directed in the Church of England Prayer-Book.
“You see, Reuben,” he said, “I have a great respect for the Church, and would fain have had this matter knocked off by one of its parsons, but as this parson appears to be little better than a wolf in sheep’s clothing—if as good—I’ll just do it myself, for I’ll not have my daughter’s wedding delayed another day for any man, woman, or beast alive.”
“Wouldn’t it be as well, sir,” suggested the hunter modestly, “to have a hunt after the parson by daylight first?”
“No, it wouldn’t,” said the old trader, with the air and decision of—we were going to say the great Mogul, but perhaps it would be more emphatic113 and appropriate to say—The MacFearsome.
Knowing that appeal from that decision would be in vain, Reuben once more arrayed himself in the wedding dress, (which he had changed when the search for Mr Tucker was undertaken), and once again presented himself before his admiring friends in the decorated hall of Mac’s Fort. The cook warmed up his gigantic pie, old Fiddlestrings re-tuned his home-made violin, and pretty little Loo at last appeared on the scene with two half-breed young women as bridesmaids, and two Indian females as backers-up.
“My friends,” said Kenneth MacFearsome, taking up the prayer-book, and commencing a speech which he had spent the entire forenoon in preparing, “I have a few words to say to you on this interesting occasion.”
The old gentleman’s usually stern and handsome countenance had relaxed, and assumed a bland, sweet expression, which was more consonant114 with the circumstances in which they were assembled. Before he could utter another word, however, he was interrupted, to his great surprise, by Reuben.
“Excuse me, Mr MacFearsome,” said that bold though bashful hunter, “but my friend and comrade, Jacob Strang, has not yet arrived, and it would grieve me to the heart if he was absent at such a time as this. Couldn’t we wait a bit? I wouldn’t ask you to do so for any other man alive, but I’ve hunted wi’ him since we were slips of boys, and—and I can’t help thinkin’ that somethin’s gone wrong wi’ him, for Jacob’s good and true, and trusty as steel, an’ wasn’t used to fail in his engagements.”
While the hunter was speaking the bland expression faded from the Highlander’s countenance, and a fierce look flashed from his blue eyes as he replied in stern, decided115 tones:—
“Reuben Dale, if your friend Jacob was the great Israel of Bible story, or even Moses himself, I would not wait for him. Don’t interrupt me again, lad.”
He turned to the assembled company with a wave of his hand, as if to dismiss the interruption from memory, and attempted to reassume the benignant expression, with only partial success.
“My friends,” he said, but said no more, for at that moment he was a second time interrupted. A shout was heard outside, the door of the hall burst open, and Jacob Strang himself strode in, bearing the Reverend William Tucker on his shoulders.
Depositing his burden on the floor, he said hurriedly, “He’s not dead, only stunned116. The reptiles117 did their best to kill him. They’re not far off, MacFearsome. We’d better go after them.”
The MacFearsome usually gave vent51 to his feelings in Gaelic when labouring under strong excitement. On this occasion his utterances118 were terrible in tone whatever their meaning might be.
“Go after them?” he cried, in a blaze of wrath119, “yes, we’ll go after them. Saddle my horse and fetch my gun. Arm yourself, boys! Some of you will remain to guard the Fort, and see that you keep the gates shut. Can you guide us to the villains120, Jacob?”
“I can at least follow up the trail.”
“Stay, I can guide you,” said a voice behind them.
It was the Reverend William Tucker himself, who had recovered, and was sitting up on the floor looking rather confused.
“No, sir; you will remain at the Fort and take care of the women,” said MacFearsome gruffly.
In a few minutes the Chief of the Fort was galloping121 over the prairie at the back of his establishment, followed by six of his best men, with Reuben Dale, and led by Jacob Strang.
In thus giving chase to the red men the Highlander did not act with his wonted caution. His wrath was too much for him.
Jacob the hunter, while out after deer, had come on the trail of the war-party of Blackfeet. Suspecting them of mischief123, he had followed them up and found them just at the time when they made prisoner of Mr Tucker. He saw them bind124 the unlucky pastor125 and carry him off, mounted behind a savage33 chief. Jacob chanced fortunately to be concealed126 in a rugged piece of ground where horses could not act. As the Indians were riding away he shot the horse that bore the pastor, and at the same time uttered a series of yells and extempore war-whoops so appalling127 that the savages gave him credit for being at least a dozen foes128, and fled over a ridge129 before turning to see what had happened. The fall of the horse had stunned the pastor, but the Indian leaped up and drew his knife. Fortunately Jacob’s rifle was a double-barrelled one. Uttering another ferocious130 yell he fired, and by good fortune hit the right arm of the Indian chief, who, dropping his knife, followed his companions like a hunted stag. Jacob immediately dashed out of his ambush131, lifted the reverend gentleman on his own horse, which he had left in a hollow close at hand, and brought him, as we have seen, safe back to the Fort.
Now, if the white men had been satisfied with this, all would have been well, but The MacFearsome had been roused, as we have said, and set off needlessly in pursuit of the savages. It chanced that the Blackfeet had arranged to attack the Fort in two bands that night—advancing on it from opposite directions. The consequence was that while MacFearsome and his men were away after one band, the other—a much larger band—ignorant of what had occurred to their comrades, advanced after dusk on the Fort, and gave the signal for attack. They were surprised at receiving no reply from their comrades, but did not delay the assault on that account.
The men who had been left in charge of the Fort were quite worthy of the trust. Stationing themselves a few yards apart all round the palisades inside, they kept guard. Mr Tucker, armed with an axe-handle as a bludgeon—for he objected to taking life if he could avoid it—mounted guard at the gate. Pretty little Loo kept him company. The other women were stationed so as to carry ammunition132 to the men, or convey orders from the blacksmith who had been left in command.
“This is a sad interruption to your wedding,” remarked the pastor, as he leaned against the Fort gate, and examined his weapon.
“It is,” assented133 Loo meekly134, “but you will marry us to-morrow. My father will return too late to have it done to-night, I fear.”
“However late he comes we must get the ceremony over to-night, Loo, for I positively135 cannot delay my journey another day. Indeed, even as it is, I shall be late for the conference of my brethren. Hark! What sound was that?”
“I heard nothing but the hoot136 of an owl,” said Loo.
As she spoke an arrow, entering between the palisades, whizzed past her. At the same moment a volley was fired from the other side of the Fort.
“Keep closer to the gate, Loo,” said Mr Tucker, grasping his club with a feeling that the girl’s safety depended on the use he made of that unclerical weapon.
“Come round to the east angle, all of you,” shouted the blacksmith.
All the men in the Fort obeyed the summons in time to repel137 a vigorous assault made on that point by what seemed to be the whole band of the enemy, but the bride and one of her maids remained at the front gate to keep watch there. Just as the victory was gained and the enemy were driven off at the east angle, a loud scream was given by the women. Mr Tucker heard it and was first to run to the rescue. He found that three of the Blackfeet, during the assault on the other side, had crept round to the front gate. One of these had placed his head against the stockade138, a second had mounted on his shoulders, and a third had thus gained the top of the pickets139.
Seeing at a glance how matters stood, Mr Tucker ran forward and thrust his bludgeon with a straight point between the posts, right into the painted face of the lower savage, who fell back at once, carrying the second savage along with him: but the third had already laid his hands on the top, and, vaulting140 over with monkey-like agility141, came down on the pastor’s shoulders with such violence that both rolled together on the ground. But the savage was no match for the athletic142 pastor, who compressed his throat with a grip that soon caused him to relax his hold.
“Here, give me your kerchief, Loo,” gasped143 the pastor; “I’ll tie his hands.”
“Why don’t you stick him?” asked one of Loo’s bridesmaids with great simplicity144.
“Because I won’t take life if I can help it,” replied Mr Tucker as he bound the Indian’s wrists.
At that moment there arose a wild war-whoop from another part of the Fort, and a volume of smoke and flame burst from the back of the chief dwelling-house which stood in the centre of the square. The Blackfeet had gained an entrance at another point, and set fire to the western wing of the building unperceived.
With a shout of rage the blacksmith and his men rushed to the scene of disaster.
“There’s father!” said Loo, with a cry of joy.
“Where?” exclaimed Mr Tucker, looking round with a bewildered air.
“Help to open the gate,” cried Loo.
The pastor did so at once, and, as he heaved at the bar which held it, he could hear the clatter of hoofs and the shouts of men outside.
The heavy gate swung back just as the cavalcade145 came up, and they dashed in at full gallop92.
“Open the back gate wide, Loo, and leave this one open, too,” shouted MacFearsome, as he flew past like an enraged146 thunderbolt.
Our bride possessed147 that most valuable quality, a tendency to prompt, unquestioning obedience148. Running lightly to the other side of the Fort she undid149 the fastenings and forced the back gate wide open. Meanwhile her father and our bridegroom, with his friend Jacob and the six men, charged down on the savages with wild yells of fury. The sight of them was sufficient! The Blackfeet turned and fled through the open gates in consternation150. As they coursed towards the woods like hares the blacksmith managed to turn on them a small ship’s-cannon loaded with buckshot, which awoke the echoes of the wilderness with a deafening151 roar. The horsemen also pursued and scattered152 them right and left. Then the gates were reclosed, while the bright flame of the burning buildings lit up the scene as at noon-day.
“Hold your hands now, boys,” shouted MacFearsome, drawing rein.
Those nearest to the chief obeyed, and the others, soon perceiving what was being done, rejoined their comrades.
“Where is Reuben?” asked MacFearsome, as they were turning towards the Fort.
Each looked at the other, but none could answer.
“I saw him down in the hollow, charging the Indians,” said one.
“And I saw him coming back by the stable-fence,” said another.
“Off with you to both places and look for him,” cried the chief, “and the rest of you follow me.”
They searched swiftly to and fro for some minutes, and soon found his riderless horse. Then a cry from one of their number was heard from the hollow. Galloping thither153 they found Reuben lying on his back, apparently154 dead, with an arrow in his chest.
In a moment Jacob was on his knees at his friend’s side, and soon the arrow was extracted, but it was found that blood gushed155 freely from the wound. Stanching156 this as best they could they bore the wounded man carefully to the Fort.
“Oh, father! I hope the fight is over now,” exclaimed Loo, as her sire rode through the gateway157.
“Yes, the fight is over,” replied the Highlander, sternly, “but it has cost us much. Our house is on fire and Reuben is—”
He did not finish the sentence. Indeed, there was no occasion to do so, for, while he spoke, the men advanced who bore Reuben’s all but lifeless body.
Loo did not scream or utter a word, but her white face and compressed lips told their own tale as she walked by her bridegroom’s side into the hall which had been so gaily158 fitted up, but was now a blackened and partially159 burned room.
While the hunter’s wound was being examined every one, save the pastor and the women, was sent from the hall to aid in extinguishing the fire, which had been nearly subdued5. MacFearsome was somewhat expert as an amateur doctor, and so was the Reverend William Tucker. Their united opinion was that the hunter’s case was a very grave one. They did all that could be done to stop the bleeding and sustain the strength of the wounded man, whose consciousness returned after a short time.
“Is it all over with me, father?” asked Reuben, in a faint voice, addressing The MacFearsome for the first time by that endearing title.
“I fear it is, my son,” replied the Chief. “You know it is not my habit to mince matters at any time, and I don’t think you are such a baby as to fear death when it is sent to you. However, I will not say that your case is hopeless till I have tried my medicine on you—so keep up your heart, Reuben.”
“Father,” said Reuben, “will you allow me to be alone with Loo, for a little?”
“Certainly, my dear boy, but you must have your medicine first.”
Reuben replied with a smile and a nod.
After taking the physic he was left alone with Loo. For some time neither could speak. At last Loo said, “Oh, Reuben dear! you are not going to die?”
“I hope not, dearest, but when the Lord’s time comes we must be ready to answer to our names. If I am to go now I would spend the few hours that remain to me listening to your sweet voice reading the Master’s Word.”
“Reuben,” said Loo, with sudden animation160, “will you grant me a favour?”
“You know I will, whatever it be,” replied the hunter, with a languid smile; “what is it?”
“That we may be married to-night—within this hour,” said Loo, with decision.
“Why? Of what use to wed a dying man?”
“Because I want to nurse you as your wife, to the end, if it be His will that you shall go, and I wish to be for ever after called by your dear name.”
“It is a strange notion—a sweet one to me, dearest Loo. It shall be as you wish. Call father.”
At first the Highlander strongly objected to the wish of his child, but Loo knew how to overcome her father’s objections! In the course of half-an-hour Reuben sent for Mr Tucker. The MacFearsome’s medicine, whatever it was, was potent161 as well as patent. Reuben was able to talk with considerable energy when the pastor appeared—summoned, as he fancied, to prepare the dying man for the great change. Great, therefore, was his amazement162 when Reuben begged of him to make arrangements for performing the interrupted marriage ceremony within half-an-hour.
“But you seem to be dying, friend?” said the perplexed163 pastor.
“That may be so,” replied the hunter quietly, “but Loo wants to be wed before I die, and we’d better waste no time about it.”
There was no resisting this, so the Reverend William Tucker made arrangements for the wedding, while The MacFearsome and his men were busied extinguishing the last sparks of the fire.
It was near midnight before these arrangements were completed. Then the men were summoned once more to the Hall, but how different were their feelings now from what they had been earlier on that day! The occupation of old Fiddlestrings was gone. Even the huge pie was dismissed from the scene. The wedding guests crept quietly in, their gay costumes torn and covered with charcoal164, and bearing other evidences of the recent conflict. They were very silent, too, and sad, for they were aware of the critical condition of the bridegroom.
When all was at last prepared a new and unexpected difficulty arose. It was found that Reuben had fallen into a sound sleep!
Thereupon a whispered but anxious conversation took place at the end of the hall farthest from the wounded man’s couch.
“We must waken him,” said MacFearsome, with stern look and tone.
“No, father,” said Loo, with a tearful smile, “we must wait.”
“Your daughter is right,” whispered Mr Tucker. “Whatever be the condition of Reuben, sleep is the best thing for him.”
“But you must start for your conference at four in the morning, and he may not awake before that,” objected MacFearsome.
Their perplexities were suddenly removed by Reuben himself, who awoke while they were consulting, and asked his friend Jacob—who watched at his side with the tenderness of a brother—where Loo had gone to.
“She’s here, Reuben, waitin’ to get married,” replied his friend.
The hunter roused himself, looked hastily round, raised himself one one elbow, and said in a strong voice, “Come, I’m ready now. Let’s get it over.”
Immediately Loo was at his side; the whole party assembled round his couch; the pastor opened his book, and in these exceptional circumstances Reuben Dale and Louisa MacFearsome were married!
“Now, Reuben dear,” whispered Loo, as she pressed his lips, “lie down again and go to sleep.”
“On one condition only,” said the wounded man, with something like a twinkle in his eye, “that you go on with the wedding feast. Jacob says a wedding is worth nothing without a dance. Now, as this wedding is worth all the world to me, Loo, I’m determined that it shall be worth something to my old friend and comrade.”
It was found that remonstrances165 were in vain, so, as resistance to his wishes might have proved hurtful to the invalid, the wedding feast was continued and carried through with far more vigour than might have been expected, Reuben himself being, apparently, one of the most interested spectators.
So Jacob had his dance, and he performed his part with unwonted energy,—for the sake of pleasing his friend rather than himself.
When the lights were waxing low, and the great pie had been eaten, and old Fiddlestrings had been used up, Reuben called his friend to his side.
“What with searchin’,” he said, “an’ fightin’, and fire-stoppin’ an’ dancin’ you’ve had a pretty stiff time of it, Jacob. But you’re a strong man—leastwise you used to be—an’ I daresay there’s plenty of go in you yet.”
“I’m fresh as a lark166, Reuben,” replied his friend. “What want ye wi’ me?”
“I just want ye go fetch your horse, an’ saddle my best buffalo-runner for the parson, an’ take him to Beaver Creek. Do it as fast as you can, Jacob, and by the short cut, and don’t spare the cattle.”
“I’ll do it, Reuben.”
Jacob was a man of few words. He did it, and thus it came to pass that when grey dawn began to break over Mac’s Fort, it found the Reverend William Tucker and his guide scouring167 over the western plains at the rate of thirty or forty miles an hour—more or less—while Reuben Dale lay sound asleep in his blood-stained wedding dress, his strong hand clasping that of pretty little Loo, who was also sound asleep, in an easy chair by his side.
About the same time The MacFearsome flung himself down on his half-burned bed, where in dreams—to judge from his snorting, snoring, and stertorous168 breathing—he waged war with the whole Blackfeet race single-handed!
When the pastor bade farewell to Reuben he had done so with the sad feelings of one who expected never to see his face again, but the pastor’s judgment was at fault. Reuben Dale lived—he lived to become as strong and able a hunter of the Rocky Mountains as ever he had been; he lived to take Loo to the western settlements, and squat169 down beside The MacFearsome’s new farm, as a species of hunting farmer; he lived to become a respected member of the Reverend William Tucker’s church in the wilderness, where he filled two pews with little Dales, which, as an Irish comrade remarked, was a dale more than he deserved; and last, but not least, he lived to urge, argue, badger170, bamboozle171, worry, and haul Jacob Strang up to that “p’int” at which he had so often stuck before, but over which he finally fell, and managed to secure that “dear Liz” who was destined172 to become the sunshine of his after-life.
In regard to this matter, Jacob was wont122 to say to his friend at times, when he was particularly confidential173, that “the catchin’ of Liz was the best bit of trappin’ he had done since he took to huntin’ in the Rocky Mountains, and that if it hadn’t bin for his chum Reuben Dale, he never would have bin able to come up to the p’int, much less git over it, though he had lived to the age of Methuselah and hunted for a wife all the time.”
“A good story,” said Dick Thorogood, as Fred folded up the manuscript; “but to return to matter of greater importance than this hunter’s wedding, curious though it be: what about emigrating?”
“I’ll go, for one!” exclaimed the blacksmith bringing his huge fist down with a heavy thud on the table.
“John, John, it’s not the anvil174 you’ve got before you,” said old Moll.
“No, nor yet is my fist the fore-hammer,” rejoined the smith, with sparkling eyes. “Nevertheless, I repeat that I’ll go—always supposing that you and Molly have no objections.”
It was one of the dearest wishes of the old woman’s heart to be near her crippled and favourite son, but she would not commit herself at once.
“What says Molly?” she asked, turning to her daughter.
Molly cast a sidelong glance at Fred, who gave the slightest possible nod, and then said, in her gentle voice, “The sooner we begin to pack the better!”
“Bravo, lass!” cried the young sailor, slapping his thigh175; “well said, and we’ll all go together. What say you, boys?”
“Agreed—agreed!” was the hearty reply.
And this was no idle talk. That night at worship, the father of the family spread Jim’s letter, as he said, before the Lord, and asked for guidance. The end of the whole matter was that, a few months later, the Thorogood family emigrated to the backwoods of America, and began that career of useful, energetic, patient, God-directed labour which ended in the formation of a happy garden in a part of the wilderness which had formerly176 been the haunt of wild beasts and wilder men.
And here, kind reader, we must close our little tale, for it would take a large book, if not two books, to tell the story of that thorough-going family’s adventures while endeavouring to spread the truth in the Far West. Suffice it to say, that they all found what they went in search of—health and happiness—because they sought for these blessings177 in accordance with the teachings of the blessed Word of God.
The End
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1
vigour
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| （=vigor）n.智力，体力，精力 | |
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mingling
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| adj.混合的 | |
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wield
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| vt.行使，运用，支配；挥，使用(武器等) | |
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gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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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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6
wed
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| v.娶，嫁，与…结婚 | |
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7
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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8
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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9
strapping
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| adj. 魁伟的, 身材高大健壮的 n. 皮绳或皮带的材料, 裹伤胶带, 皮鞭 动词strap的现在分词形式 | |
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10
enthusiast
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| n.热心人，热衷者 | |
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inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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12
manly
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| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
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13
hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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14
blithe
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| adj.快乐的，无忧无虑的 | |
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15
harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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gal
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| n.姑娘，少女 | |
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tar
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| n.柏油，焦油；vt.涂或浇柏油/焦油于 | |
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tempting
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| a.诱人的, 吸引人的 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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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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missionaries
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| n.传教士( missionary的名词复数 ) | |
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buffaloes
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| n.水牛（分非洲水牛和亚洲水牛两种）( buffalo的名词复数 )；（南非或北美的）野牛；威胁；恐吓 | |
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buffalo
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| n.(北美)野牛；(亚洲)水牛 | |
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fragrant
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| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
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invalid
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| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
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grizzly
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| adj.略为灰色的，呈灰色的；n.灰色大熊 | |
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mince
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| n.切碎物；v.切碎，矫揉做作地说 | |
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missionary
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| adj.教会的，传教(士)的；n.传教士 | |
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savages
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| 未开化的人，野蛮人( savage的名词复数 ) | |
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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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denominations
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| n.宗派( denomination的名词复数 )；教派；面额；名称 | |
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sects
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| n.宗派，教派( sect的名词复数 ) | |
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scatter
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| vt.撒，驱散，散开；散布/播；vi.分散，消散 | |
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wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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backbone
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| n.脊骨，脊柱，骨干；刚毅，骨气 | |
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convalescence
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| n.病后康复期 | |
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40
knoll
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| n.小山，小丘 | |
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knolls
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| n.小圆丘，小土墩( knoll的名词复数 ) | |
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celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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inviting
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| adj.诱人的，引人注目的 | |
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44
recesses
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| n.壁凹( recess的名词复数 )；（工作或业务活动的）中止或暂停期间；学校的课间休息；某物内部的凹形空间v.把某物放在墙壁的凹处( recess的第三人称单数 )；将（墙）做成凹形，在（墙）上做壁龛；休息，休会，休庭 | |
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45
artillery
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| n.(军)火炮，大炮；炮兵(部队) | |
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46
scotch
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| n.伤口，刻痕；苏格兰威士忌酒；v.粉碎，消灭，阻止；adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
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47
highlander
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| n.高地的人，苏格兰高地地区的人 | |
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48
esteemed
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| adj.受人尊敬的v.尊敬( esteem的过去式和过去分词 )；敬重；认为；以为 | |
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49
conversing
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| v.交谈，谈话( converse的现在分词 ) | |
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50
circumvented
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| v.设法克服或避免（某事物），回避( circumvent的过去式和过去分词 )；绕过，绕行，绕道旅行 | |
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51
vent
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| n.通风口，排放口；开衩；vt.表达，发泄 | |
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52
muzzle
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| n.鼻口部；口套；枪(炮)口；vt.使缄默 | |
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53
prudently
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| adv. 谨慎地，慎重地 | |
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54
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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55
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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56
beaver
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| n.海狸，河狸 | |
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57
creek
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| n.小溪，小河，小湾 | |
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circumference
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| n.圆周，周长，圆周线 | |
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59
misuse
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| n.误用，滥用；vt.误用，滥用 | |
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60
clergy
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| n.[总称]牧师，神职人员 | |
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61
injustice
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| n.非正义，不公正，不公平，侵犯（别人的）权利 | |
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62
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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63
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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64
eminently
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| adv.突出地；显著地；不寻常地 | |
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65
skulls
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| 颅骨( skull的名词复数 )； 脑袋； 脑子； 脑瓜 | |
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66
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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67
bin
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| n.箱柜；vt.放入箱内；[计算机] DOS文件名:二进制目标文件 | |
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68
uncommon
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| adj.罕见的，非凡的，不平常的 | |
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69
precipice
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| n.悬崖，危急的处境 | |
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70
spliced
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| adj.（针织品）加固的n.叠接v.绞接( splice的过去式和过去分词 )；捻接（两段绳子）；胶接；粘接（胶片、磁带等） | |
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71
remonstrative
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| adj.抗议的，忠告的 | |
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72
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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73
fiddle
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| n.小提琴；vi.拉提琴；不停拨弄，乱动 | |
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74
muster
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| v.集合，收集，鼓起，激起；n.集合，检阅，集合人员，点名册 | |
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75
disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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76
heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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77
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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78
bland
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| adj.淡而无味的，温和的，无刺激性的 | |
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79
equestrian
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| adj.骑马的；n.马术 | |
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80
defile
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| v.弄污，弄脏；n.(山间)小道 | |
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81
hideously
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| adv.可怕地，非常讨厌地 | |
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82
warriors
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| 武士，勇士，战士( warrior的名词复数 ) | |
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83
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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84
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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85
clatter
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| v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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86
clattering
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| 发出咔哒声（clatter的现在分词形式） | |
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87
bestowing
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| 砖窑中砖堆上层已烧透的砖 | |
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88
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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89
advancement
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| n.前进，促进，提升 | |
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90
conducive
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| adj.有益的，有助的 | |
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91
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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92
gallop
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| v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔；飞速发展 | |
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93
rein
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| n.疆绳，统治，支配；vt.以僵绳控制，统治 | |
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94
bridle
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| n.笼头，束缚；vt.抑制，约束；动怒 | |
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95
rugged
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| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
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96
evergreens
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| n.常青树，常绿植物，万年青( evergreen的名词复数 ) | |
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97
garnished
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| v.给（上餐桌的食物）加装饰( garnish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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98
specimens
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| n.样品( specimen的名词复数 )；范例；（化验的）抽样；某种类型的人 | |
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99
originality
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| n.创造力，独创性；新颖 | |
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100
ornamented
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| adj.花式字体的v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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101
bead
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| n.念珠；(pl.)珠子项链；水珠 | |
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102
quill
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| n.羽毛管；v.给（织物或衣服）作皱褶 | |
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103
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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104
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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105
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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106
implements
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| n.工具( implement的名词复数 )；家具；手段；[法律]履行（契约等）v.实现( implement的第三人称单数 )；执行；贯彻；使生效 | |
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107
adorned
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| [计]被修饰的 | |
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108
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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109
garb
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| n.服装，装束 | |
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110
dwellers
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| n.居民，居住者( dweller的名词复数 ) | |
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111
postponed
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| vt.& vi.延期，缓办，（使）延迟vt.把…放在次要地位；[语]把…放在后面（或句尾）vi.（疟疾等）延缓发作（或复发） | |
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112
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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113
emphatic
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| adj.强调的，着重的；无可置疑的，明显的 | |
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114
consonant
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| n.辅音；adj.[音]符合的 | |
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115
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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116
stunned
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| adj. 震惊的，惊讶的 动词stun的过去式和过去分词 | |
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117
reptiles
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| n.爬行动物，爬虫( reptile的名词复数 ) | |
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118
utterances
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| n.发声( utterance的名词复数 )；说话方式；语调；言论 | |
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119
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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120
villains
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| n.恶棍( villain的名词复数 )；罪犯；（小说、戏剧等中的）反面人物；淘气鬼 | |
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121
galloping
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| adj. 飞驰的, 急性的 动词gallop的现在分词形式 | |
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122
wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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123
mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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124
bind
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| vt.捆，包扎；装订；约束；使凝固；vi.变硬 | |
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125
pastor
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| n.牧师，牧人 | |
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126
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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127
appalling
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| adj.骇人听闻的，令人震惊的，可怕的 | |
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128
foes
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| 敌人，仇敌( foe的名词复数 ) | |
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129
ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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130
ferocious
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| adj.凶猛的，残暴的，极度的，十分强烈的 | |
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131
ambush
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| n.埋伏(地点)；伏兵；v.埋伏；伏击 | |
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132
ammunition
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| n.军火，弹药 | |
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133
assented
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| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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134
meekly
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| adv.温顺地，逆来顺受地 | |
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135
positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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136
hoot
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| n.鸟叫声，汽车的喇叭声； v.使汽车鸣喇叭 | |
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137
repel
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| v.击退，抵制，拒绝，排斥 | |
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138
stockade
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| n.栅栏，围栏；v.用栅栏防护 | |
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139
pickets
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| 罢工纠察员( picket的名词复数 ) | |
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140
vaulting
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| n.（天花板或屋顶的）拱形结构 | |
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141
agility
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| n.敏捷，活泼 | |
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142
athletic
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| adj.擅长运动的，强健的；活跃的，体格健壮的 | |
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143
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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144
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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145
cavalcade
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| n.车队等的行列 | |
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146
enraged
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| 使暴怒( enrage的过去式和过去分词 )； 歜； 激愤 | |
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147
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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148
obedience
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| n.服从，顺从 | |
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149
Undid
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| v. 解开, 复原 | |
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150
consternation
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| n.大为吃惊，惊骇 | |
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151
deafening
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| adj. 振耳欲聋的, 极喧闹的 动词deafen的现在分词形式 | |
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152
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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153
thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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154
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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155
gushed
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| v.喷，涌( gush的过去式和过去分词 )；滔滔不绝地说话 | |
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156
stanching
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| v.使（伤口）止血( stanch的现在分词 )；止（血）；使不漏；使不流失 | |
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157
gateway
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| n.大门口，出入口，途径，方法 | |
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158
gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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159
partially
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| adv.部分地，从某些方面讲 | |
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160
animation
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| n.活泼，兴奋，卡通片／动画片的制作 | |
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161
potent
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| adj.强有力的，有权势的；有效力的 | |
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162
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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163
perplexed
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| adj.不知所措的 | |
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164
charcoal
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| n.炭，木炭，生物炭 | |
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165
remonstrances
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| n.抱怨，抗议( remonstrance的名词复数 ) | |
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166
lark
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| n.云雀，百灵鸟；n.嬉戏，玩笑；vi.嬉戏 | |
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167
scouring
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| 擦[洗]净，冲刷，洗涤 | |
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168
stertorous
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| adj.打鼾的 | |
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169
squat
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| v.蹲坐，蹲下；n.蹲下；adj.矮胖的，粗矮的 | |
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170
badger
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| v.一再烦扰，一再要求，纠缠 | |
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171
bamboozle
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| v.欺骗，隐瞒 | |
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172
destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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173
confidential
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| adj.秘（机）密的，表示信任的，担任机密工作的 | |
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174
anvil
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| n.铁钻 | |
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175
thigh
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| n.大腿；股骨 | |
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176
formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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177
blessings
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| n.（上帝的）祝福( blessing的名词复数 )；好事；福分；因祸得福 | |
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