Ovid never accomplished1 a metamorphosis more striking or complete than that effected by Captain Bunting upon his own proper person. We have said, elsewhere, that the worthy2 captain was a big, broad man, with a shaggy head of hair, and red whiskers. Moreover, when he landed in San Francisco, he wore a blue coat, with clear brass3 buttons, blue vest, blue trousers, and a glazed4 straw hat; but in the course of a week he effected such a change in his outward man, that his most intimate friend would have failed to recognise him.
No brigand5 of the Pyrenees ever looked more savage—no robber of the stage ever appeared more outrageously6 fierce. We do not mean to say that Captain Bunting “got himself up” for the purpose of making himself conspicuous7. He merely donned the usual habiliments of a miner; but these habiliments were curious, and the captain’s figure in them was unusually remarkable9.
In order that the reader may have a satisfactory view of the captain, we will change the scene, and proceed at once to that part of the road to the gold-fields which has now been reached by our adventurers.
It is a wide plain, or prairie, on which the grass waves like the waters of the sea. On one side it meets the horizon, on another it is bounded by the faint and far-distant range of the Sierra Nevada. Thousands of millions of beautiful wild-flowers spangle and beautify the soft green carpet, over which spreads a cloudless sky, not a whit10 less blue and soft than the vaunted sky of Italy. Herds11 of deer are grazing over the vast plain, like tame cattle. Wild geese and other water-fowl wing their way through the soft atmosphere, and little birds twitter joyously12 among the flowers. Everything is bright, and green, and beautiful; for it is spring, and the sun has not yet scorched13 the grass to a russet-brown, and parched14 and cracked the thirsty ground, and banished15 animal and vegetable life away, as it will yet do, ere the hot summer of those regions is past and gone.
There is but one tree in all that vast plain. It is a sturdy oak, and near it bubbles a cool, refreshing16 spring, over which, one could fancy, it had been appointed guardian17. The spot is hundreds of miles from San Francisco, on the road to the gold-mines of California. Beneath that solitary18 oak a party of weary travellers have halted, to rest and refresh themselves and their animals; or, as the diggers have it, to take their “nooning.” In the midst of that party sits our captain, on the back of a long-legged mule19.
On his head is, or, rather, was—for he has just removed it, in order to wipe the perspiration20 from his forehead—a brown felt wide-awake, very much battered21 in appearance, suggesting the idea that the captain had used it constantly as a night-cap, which, indeed, is the fact. Nothing but a flannel22 shirt, of the brightest possible scarlet23, clothes the upper portion of his burly frame, while brown corduroys adorn24 the lower. Boots of the most ponderous25 dimensions engulf26, not only his feet, but his entire legs, leaving only a small part of the corduroys visible. On his heels, or, rather, just above his heels, are strapped27 a pair of enormous Mexican spurs, with the frightful28 prongs of which he so lacerated the sides of his unfortunate mule, during the first part of the journey, as to drive that animal frantic29, and cause it to throw him off at least six times a day. Dire30 necessity has now, however, taught the captain that most difficult and rarely-accomplished feat31 of horsemanship, to ride with the toes well in, and the heels well out.
Round Captain Bunting’s waist is a belt, which is of itself quite a study. It is made of tough cow-hide, full two and a half inches broad, and is fastened by a brass buckle32 that would cause the mouth of a robber-chief to water. Attached to it in various ways and places are the following articles:— A bowie-knife of the largest size—not far short of a small cutlass; a pair of revolving33 pistols, also large, and having six barrels each; a stout34 leathern purse; and a leathern bag of larger dimensions for miscellaneous articles. As the captain has given up shaving for many weeks past, little of his face is visible, except the nose, eyes, and forehead. All besides is a rugged35 mass of red hair, which rough travel has rendered an indescribable and irreclaimable waste. But the captain cares not: as long as he can clear a passage through the brushwood to his mouth, he says, his mind is easy.
Such is Captain Bunting, and such, with but trifling36 modifications37, is every member of his party. On Ned Sinton and his almost equally stalwart and handsome friend, Tom Collins, the picturesque38 costume of the miner sits well; and it gives a truly wild, dashing look to the whole party, as they stand beneath the shade of that lovely oak, preparing to refresh themselves with biscuit and jerked beef, and pipes of esteemed39 tobacco.
Besides those we have mentioned, Larry O’Neil is there,—busy carrying water in a bucket to the horses, and as proud of his Mexican spurs as if they were the golden spurs of the days of chivalry40. Bill Jones is there, with a blue instead of a red-flannel shirt, and coarse canvas ducks in place of corduroys. Bill affects the sailor in other respects, for he scorns heavy boots, and wears shoes and a straw hat; but he is compelled to wear the spurs, for reasons best known to his intensely obstinate41 mule. There is also among them a native Californian,—a vaquero, or herd,—who has been hired to accompany the party to the diggings, to look after the pack-mules42, of which there are two, and to assist them generally with advice and otherwise. He is a fine athletic43 fellow—Spanish-like, both in appearance and costume; and, in addition to bad Spanish, gives utterance44 to a few sounds, which he calls “Encleesh.” The upper part of his person is covered by the serape, or Mexican cloak, which is simply a blanket, with a hole in its centre, through which the head of the wearer is thrust, the rest being left to fall over the shoulders.
Our travellers had reached the spot on which we now find them by means of a boat voyage of more than a hundred miles, partly over the great bay of San Francisco, and partly up the Sacramento River, until they reached the city of Sacramento. Here they purchased mules and provisions for the overland journey to the mines—a further distance of about a hundred and fifty miles,—and also the picks, shovels45, axes, pewter plates, spoons, pans, and pannikins, and other implements46 and utensils47 that were necessary for a campaign among the golden mountains of the Sierra Nevada. For these the prices demanded were so enormous, that when all was ready for a start they had only a few dollars left amongst them. But being on their way to dig for gold, they felt little concern on this head.
As the Indians of the interior had committed several murders a short time before, and had come at various times into collision with the gold-diggers, it was deemed prudent48 to expend49 a considerable sum on arms and ammunition50. Each man, therefore, was armed with a rifle or carbine, a pistol of some sort, and a large knife or short sword. Captain Bunting selected a huge old bell-mouthed blunderbuss, having, as he said, a strong partiality for the weapons of his forefathers51. Among other things, Ned, by advice of Tom Collins, purchased a few simple medicines; he also laid in a stock of drawing-paper, pencils, and water-colours, for his own special use, for which he paid so large a sum that he was ashamed to tell it to his comrades; but he was resolved not to lose the opportunity of representing life and scenery at the diggings, for the sake of old Mr Shirley, as well as for his own satisfaction. Thus equipped they set forth52.
Before leaving San Francisco, the captain, and Ned, and Tom Collins had paid a final visit to their friend the merchant, Mr Thompson, and committed their property to his care—i.e. the hull53 of the good ship Roving Bess—the rent of which he promised to collect monthly—and Ned’s curious property, the old boat and the little patch of barren sand on which it stood. The boat itself he made over, temporarily, to a poor Irishman who had brought out his wife with him, and was unable to proceed to the diggings in consequence of the said wife having fallen into a delicate state of health. He gave the man a written paper empowering him to keep possession until his return, and refused to accept of any rent whereat the poor woman thanked him earnestly, with the tears running down her pale cheeks.
It was the hottest part of an exceedingly hot day when the travellers found themselves, as we have described, under the grateful shade of what Larry termed the “lone oak.”
“Now our course of proceeding54 is as follows,” said Ned, at the conclusion of their meal—“We shall travel all this afternoon, and as far into the night as the mules can be made to go. By that time we shall be pretty well off the level ground, and be almost within hail of the diggings—”
“I don’t belave it,” said Larry O’Neil, knocking the ashes out of his pipe in an emphatic55 manner; “sure av there was goold in the country we might have seed it by this time.”
Larry’s feelings were a verification of the words, “hope deferred56 maketh the heart sick.” He had started enthusiastically many days before on this journey to the gold regions, under the full conviction that on the first or second day he would be, as he expressed it, “riding through fields of goold dust;” instead of which, day after day passed, and night after night, during which he endured all the agonies inseparable from a first journey on horseback, and still not a symptom of gold was to be seen, “no more nor in owld Ireland itself.” But Larry bore his disappointments like an Irishman, and defied “fortin’ to put him out of timper by any manes wotiver.”
“Patience,” said Bill Jones, removing his pipe to make room for the remark, “is a wirtue—that’s wot I says. If ye can’t make things better, wot then? why, let ’em alone. W’en there’s no wind, crowd all canvas and ketch wot there is. W’en there is wind, why then, steer57 yer course; or, if ye can’t, steer as near it as ye can. Anyhow, never back yer fore-topsail without a cause—them’s my sentiments.”
“And very good sentiments they are, Bill,” said Tom Collins, jumping up and examining the girth of his horse; “I strongly advise you to adopt them, Larry.”
“Wot a bottle o’ wisdom it is,” said O’Neil, with a look of affected58 contempt at his messmate. “Wos it yer grandmother, now, or yer great wan59, that edicated ye?—Arrah, there ye go! Oh, morther, ye’ll break me heart!”
The latter part of this remark was addressed to his mule, which at that moment broke its laryat, and gambolled60 gaily61 away over the flowering plain. Its owner followed, yelling like a madman. He might as well have chased the wind; and it is probable that he would never have mounted his steed again had not the vaquero come to his aid. This man, leaping on his own horse, which was a very fine one, dashed after the runaway62, with which he came up in a few minutes; then grasping the long coil of line that hung at his saddle-bow, he swung it round once or twice, and threw the lasso, or noose63, adroitly64 over the mule’s head, and brought it up.
“Yer a cliver fellow,” said Larry, as he came up, panting; “sure ye did it be chance?”
The man smiled, and without deigning65 a reply, rode back to the camp, where the party were already in the saddle. In a few minutes they were trotting66 rapidly over the prairie.
Before evening closed, the travellers arrived at one of the road-side inns, or, as they were named, ranches67, which were beginning at this time to spring up in various parts of the country, for the accommodation of gold-hunters on their way to the mines. This ranche belonged to a man of the name of Dawson, who had made a few hundred dollars by digging, and then set up a grog-shop and house of entertainment, being wise enough to perceive that he could gain twice as much gold by supplying the diggers with the necessaries of life than he could hope to procure68 by digging. His ranche was a mere8 hovel, built of sun-dried bricks, and he dealt more in drinks than in edibles69. The accommodation and provisions were of the poorest description, but, as there was no other house of entertainment near, mine host charged the highest possible prices. There was but one apartment in this establishment, and little or no furniture. Several kegs and barrels supported two long pine planks70 which constituted at different periods of the day the counter, the gaming-table, and the table d’h?te. A large cooking stove stood in the centre of the house, but there were no chairs; guests were expected to sit on boxes and empty casks, or stand. Beds there were none. When the hour for rest arrived, each guest chose the portion of the earthen floor that suited him best, and, spreading out his blankets, with his saddle for a pillow, lay down to dream of golden nuggets, or, perchance, of home, while innumerable rats—the bane of California—gambolled round and over him.
The ranchero, as the owner of such an establishment is named, was said to be an escaped felon71. Certainly he might have been, as far as his looks went. He was surly and morose72, but men minded this little, so long as he supplied their wants. There were five or six travellers in the ranche when our party arrived, all of whom were awaiting the preparation of supper.
“Here we are,” cried the captain, as they trotted73 into the yard, “ready for supper, I trow; and, if my nose don’t deceive me, supper’s about ready for us.”
“I hope they’ve got enough for us all,” said Ned, glancing at the party inside, as he leaped from the saddle, and threw the bridle74 to his vaquero. “Halloo, Boniface! have ye room for a large party in there?”
“Come in an’ see,” growled75 Dawson, whose duties at the cooking stove rendered him indifferent as to other matters.
“Ah, thin, ye’ve got a swate voice,” said Larry O’Neil, sarcastically76, as he led his mule towards a post, to which Bill Jones was already fastening his steed. “I say, Bill,” he added, pointing to a little tin bowl which stood on an inverted77 cask outside the door of the ranche, “wot can that be for?”
“Dunno,” answered Bill; “s’pose it’s to wash in.”
At that moment a long, cadaverous miner came out of the hut, and rendered further speculation78 unnecessary, by turning up his shirt sleeves to the elbow, and commencing his ablutions in the little tin bowl, which was just large enough to admit both his hands at once.
“Faix, yer mouth and nose ought to be grateful,” said Larry, in an undertone, as he and Jones stood with their arms crossed, admiring the proceedings79 of the man.
This remark had reference to the fact that the washer applied80 the water to the favoured regions around his nose and mouth, but carefully avoided trespassing81 on any part of the territory lying beyond.
“Oh! morther, wot nixt?” exclaimed Larry.
Well might he inquire, for this man, having combed his hair with a public comb, which was attached to the door-post by a string, and examined himself carefully in a bit of glass, about two inches in diameter, proceeded to cleanse82 his teeth with a public tooth-brush which hung beside the comb. All these articles had been similarly used by a miner ten minutes previously83; and while this one was engaged with his toilet, another man stood beside him awaiting his turn!
“W’en yer in difficulties,” remarked Bill Jones, slowly, as he entered the ranche, and proceeded to fill his pipe, “git out of ’em, if ye can. If ye can’t, why wot then? circumstances is adwerse, an’ it’s o’ no use a-tryin’ to mend ’em. Only my sentiments is, that I’ll delay washin’ till I comes to a river.”
“You’ve come from San Francisco, stranger?” said a rough-looking man, in heavy boots, and a Guernsey shirt, addressing Captain Bunting.
“Maybe I have,” replied the captain, regarding his interrogator84 through the smoke of his pipe, which he was in the act of lighting85.
“Goin’ to the diggin’s, I s’pose?”
“Yes.”
“Bin there before?”
“No.”
“Nor none o’ your party, I expect?”
“None, except one.”
“You’ll be goin’ up to the bar at the American Forks now, I calc’late?”
“Don’t know that I am.”
“Perhaps you’ll try the northern diggin’s?”
“Perhaps.”
How long this pertinacious86 questioner might have continued his attack on the captain is uncertain, had he not been suddenly interrupted by the announcement that supper was ready, so he swaggered off to the corner of the hut where an imposing87 row of bottles stood, demanded a “brandy-smash,” which he drank, and then, seating himself at the table along with the rest of the party, proceeded to help himself largely to all that was within his reach.
The fare was substantial, but not attractive. It consisted of a large junk of boiled salt beef, a mass of rancid pork, and a tray of broken ship-biscuit. But hungry men are not particular, so the viands88 were demolished89 in a remarkably90 short space of time.
“I’m a’most out o’ supplies,” said the host, in a sort of apologetic tone, “an’ the cart I sent down to Sacramento some weeks ago for more’s not come back.”
“Better than nothin’,” remarked a bronzed, weatherbeaten hunter, as he helped himself to another junk of pork. “If ye would send out yer boy into the hills with a rifle now an’ again, ye’d git lots o’ grizzly91 bars.”
“Are grizzly-bears eaten here?” inquired Ned Sinton, pausing in the act of mastication92, to ask the question.
“Eaten!” exclaimed the hunter, in surprise, “in coorse they is. They’re uncommon93 good eatin’ too, I guess. Many a one I’ve killed an’ eaten myself; an’ I like ’em better than beef—I do. I shot one up in the hills there two days agone, an’ supped off him; but bein’ in a hurry, I left the carcase to the coyotes.” (Coyotes are small wolves.)
The men assembled round the rude table d’h?te were fifteen in number, including our adventurers, and represented at least six different nations—English, Scotch94, Irish, German, Yankee, and Chinese. Most of them, however, were Yankees, and all were gold-diggers; even the hunter just referred to, although he had not altogether forsaken95 his former calling, devoted96 much of his time to searching for gold. Some, like our friends, were on their way to the diggings for the first time; others were returning with provisions, which they had travelled to Sacramento city to purchase; and one or two were successful diggers who had made their “piles,”—in other words, their fortunes—and were returning home with heavy purses of gold-dust and nuggets.
Good humour was the prevailing97 characteristic of the party, for each man was either successful or sanguinely98 hopeful, and all seemed to be affected by a sort of undercurrent of excitement, as they listened to, or related, their adventures at the mines. There was only one serious drawback to the scene, and that was, the perpetual and terrible swearing that mingled99 with the conversation. The Americans excelled in this wicked practice. They seemed to labour to invent oaths, not for the purpose of venting101 angry feelings, but apparently102 with the view of giving emphasis to their statements and assertions. The others swore from habit. They had evidently ceased to be aware that they were using oaths—so terribly had familiarity with sinful practices blunted the consciences of men who, in early life, would probably have trembled in this way to break the law of God.
Yes, by the way, there was one other drawback to the otherwise picturesque and interesting group, and this was the spitting propensity103 of the Yankees. All over the floor—that floor, too, on which other men besides themselves were to repose—they discharged tobacco-juice and spittle. The nation cannot be too severely104 blamed and pitied for this disgusting practice, yet we feel a tendency, not to excuse, but to deal gently with individuals, most of whom, having been trained to spitting from their infancy105, cannot be expected even to understand the abhorrence106 with which the practice is regarded by men of other nations.
Nevertheless, brother Jonathan, it is not too much to expect that you ought to respect the universal condemnation107 of your spitting propensities—by travellers from all lands—and endeavour to believe that ejecting saliva108 promiscuously109 is a dirty practice, even although you cannot feel it. We think that if you had the moral courage to pass a law in Congress to render spitting on floors and carpets a capital offence, you would fill the world with admiration111 and your own bosoms112 with self-respect, not to mention the benefit that would accrue113 to your digestive powers in consequence thereof!
All of the supper party were clad and armed in the rough-and-ready style already referred to, and most of them were men of the lower ranks, but there were one or two who, like Ned Sinton, had left a more polished class of mortals to mingle100 in the promiscuous110 crowd. These, in some cases, carried their manners with them, and exerted a modifying influence on all around. One young American, in particular, named Maxton, soon attracted general attention by the immense fund of information he possessed114, and the urbane115, gentlemanly manner in which he conveyed it to those around him. He possessed in an eminent116 degree those qualities which attract men at once, and irresistibly117 good nature, frankness, manliness118, considerable knowledge of almost every subject that can be broached119 in general conversation, united with genuine modesty120. When he sat down to table he did not grasp everything within his reach; he began by offering to carve and help others, and when at length he did begin to eat, he did not gobble. He “guessed” a little, it is true, and “calculated” occasionally, but when he did so, it was in a tone that fell almost as pleasantly on the ear as the brogue of old Ireland.
Ned happened to be seated beside Maxton, and held a good deal of conversation with him.
“Forgive me, if I appear inquisitive,” said the former, helping121 himself to a handful of broken biscuit, “but I cannot help expressing a hope that our routes may lie in the same direction—are you travelling towards Sacramento city or the mines?”
“Towards the mines; and, as I observed that your party came from the southward, I suppose you are going in the same direction. If so, I shall be delighted to join you.”
“That’s capital,” replied Ned, “we shall be the better of having our party strengthened, and I am quite certain we could not have a more agreeable addition to it.”
“Thank you for the compliment. As to the advantage of a strong party, I feel it a safeguard as well as a privilege to join yours, for, to say truth, the roads are not safe just now. Several lawless scoundrels have been roving about in this part of the country committing robberies and even murder. The Indians, too, are not so friendly as one could wish. They have been treated badly by some of the unprincipled miners; and their custom is to kill two whites for every red-man that falls. They are not particular as to whom they kill, consequently the innocent are frequently punished for the guilty.”
“This is sad,” replied Ned. “Are, then, all the Indian tribes at enmity with the white men?”
“By no means. Many tribes are friendly, but some have been so severely handled, that they have vowed122 revenge, and take it whenever they can with safety. Their only weapons, however, are bows and arrows, so that a few resolute123 white men, with rifles, can stand against a hundred of them, and they know this well. I spent the whole of last winter on the Yuba River; and, although large bands were in my neighbourhood, they never ventured to attack us openly, but they succeeded in murdering one or two miners who strayed into the woods alone.”
“And are these murders passed over without any attempt to bring the murderers to justice?”
“I guess they are not,” replied Maxton, smiling; “but justice is strangely administered in these parts. Judge Lynch usually presides, and he is a stern fellow to deal with. If you listen to what the hunter, there, is saying just now, you will hear a case in point, if I mistake not.”
“How did it happen?” cried several.
“Ay, an’ don’t spin it too tight, or, faix, ye’ll burst the strands,” cried Larry O’Neil, who, during the last half-hour, had been listening, open-mouthed, to the marvellous anecdotes127 of grizzlies128 and red-skins, with which the hunter entertained his audience.
“Wall, boys, it happened this ways,” began the man, tossing off a gin-sling, and setting down the glass with a violence that nearly smashed it. “Ye see I wos up in the mountains, near the head waters o’ the Sacramento, lookin’ out for deer, and gittin’ a bit o’ gold now an’ again, when, one day, as I was a-comin’ down a gully in the hills, I comes all of a suddint on two men. One wos an Injun, as ugly a sinner as iver I seed; t’other wos a Yankee lad, in a hole diggin’ gold. Before my two eyes were well on them, the red villain129 lets fly an arrow, and the man fell down with a loud yell into the hole. Up goes my rifle like wink130, and the red-skin would ha’ gone onder in another second, but my piece snapped—cause why? the primin’ had got damp; an’ afore I could prime agin, he was gone.
“I went up to the poor critter, and sure enough it wos all up with him. The arrow went in at the back o’ his neck. He niver spoke again. So I laid him in the grave he had dug for himself, and sot off to tell the camp. An’ a most tremendous row the news made. They got fifty volunteers in no time, and went off, hot-fut, to scalp the whole nation. As I had other business to look after, and there seemed more than enough o’ fightin’ men, I left them, and went my way. Two days after, I had occasion to go back to the same place, an’ when I comed in sight o’ the camp, I guess there was a mighty131 stir.
“‘Wot’s to do?’ says I to a miner in a hole, who wos diggin’ away for gold, and carin’ nothin’ about it.
“‘Only scraggin’ an Injun,’ he said, lookin’ up.
“‘Oh,’ says I, ‘I’ll go and see.’
“So off I sot, and there wos a crowd o’ about two hundred miners round a tree; and, jest as I come up, they wos puttin’ the rope round the neck of a poor wretch132 of an old grey-haired red-skin, whose limbs trembled so that they wos scarce able to hold him up.
“‘Heave away now, Bill,’ cried the man as tied the noose.
“But somethin’ was wrong with the hitch133 o’ the rope round the branch o’ the tree, an’ it wouldn’t draw, and some time wos spent in puttin’ it right. I felt sorter sorry for the old man, for his grave face was bold enough, and age more than fear had to do with the tremblin’ o’ his legs. Before they got it right again, my eye fell on a small band o’ red-skins, who were lookin’ quietly on; and foremost among them the very blackguard as shot the man in the galley134. I knew him at once by his ugly face. Without sayin’ a word, I steps for’ard to the old Injun, and takes the noose off his neck.
“‘Halloo!’ cried a dozen men, jumpin’ at me. ‘Wot’s that for?’ ‘Scrag the hunter,’ cries one. ‘Howld yer long tongues, an’ hear what he’s got to say,’ shouts an Irishman.
“‘Keep your minds easy,’ says I, mountin’ a stump135, ‘an’ seize that Injun, or I’ll have to put a ball into him before he gits off’—for, ye see, I obsarved the black villain took fright, and was sneakin’ away through the crowd. They had no doubt who I meant, for I pinted straight at him; and, before ye could wink, he was gripped, and led under the tree, with a face paler than ever I saw the face o’ a red-skin before.
“‘Now,’ says I, ‘wot for are ye scraggin’ this old man?’ So they told me how the party that went off to git the murderer met a band o’ injuns comin’ to deliver him up to be killed, they said, for murderin’ the white man. An’ they gave up this old Injun, sayin’ he wos the murderer. The diggers believed it, and returned with the old boy and two or three others that came to see him fixed136 off.
“‘Very good,’ says I, ‘ye don’t seem to remimber that I’m the man what saw the murder, and told ye of it. By good luck, I’ve come in time to point him out—an’ this is him.’ An’ with that I put the noose round the villain’s neck and drawed it tight. At that he made a great start to shake it off, and clear away; but before you could wink, he was swingin’ at the branch o’ the tree, twinty feet in the air.
“Sarved him right,” cried several of the men, emphatically, as the hunter concluded his anecdote126.
“Ay,” he continued, “an’ they strung up his six friends beside him.”
“Sarved ’em right too,” remarked the tall man, whose partiality for the tin wash-hand basin and the tooth-brush we have already noticed. “If I had my way, I’d shoot ’em all off the face o’ the ’arth, I would, right away.”
“I’m sorry to hear they did that,” remarked Larry O’Neil looking pointedly137 at the last speaker, “for it only shewed they was greater mortherers nor the Injuns—the red-skins morthered wan man, but the diggers morthered six.
“An’ who are you that finds fault wi’ the diggers?” inquired the tall man, turning full round upon the Irishman, with a tremendous oath.
“Be the mortial,” cried the Irishman, starting up like a Jack-in-the-box, and throwing off his coat, “I’m Larry O’Neil, at yer sarvice. Hooroo! come on, av’ ye want to be purtily worked off.”
Instantly the man’s hand was on the hilt of his revolver; but, before he could draw it, the rest of the company started up and overpowered the belligerents138.
“Come, gentlemen,” said the host of the ranche, stepping forward, “it’s not worth while quarrelling about a miserable139 red-skin.”
“Put on your coat, Larry, and come, let’s get ready for a start,” said Ned; “you can’t afford to fight till you’ve made your fortune at the diggings. How far is it to the next ranche, landlord?”
This cool attempt to turn the conversation was happily successful. The next ranche, he was told, was about ten miles distant, and the road comparatively easy; so, as it was a fine moonlight night, and he was desirous of reaching the first diggings on the following day as early as possible, the horses and mules were saddled, and the bill called for.
When the said bill was presented, or rather, announced to them, our travellers opened their eyes pretty wide; they had to open their purses pretty wide too, and empty them to such an extent that there was not more than a dollar left among them all!
The supper, which we have described, cost them two and a half dollars—about ten shillings and sixpence a head, including a glass of bad brandy; but not including a bottle of stout which Larry, in the ignorance and innocence140 of his heart, had asked for, and which cost him three dollars extra! An egg, also, which Ned had obtained, cost him a shilling.
“Oh, morther!” exclaimed Larry, “why didn’t ye tell us the price before we tuck them?”
“Why didn’t ye ax?” retorted the landlord.
“It’s all right,” remarked Maxton. “Prices vary at the diggings, as you shall find ere long. When provisions run short, the prices become exorbitant141; when plentiful142, they are more moderate, but they are never low. However, men don’t mind much, for most diggers have plenty of gold.”
Captain Bunting and Bill Jones were unable to do more than sigh out their amazement143 and shake their heads, as they left the ranche and mounted their steeds; in doing which the captain accidentally, as usual, drove both spurs into the sides of his mule, which caused it to execute a series of manoeuvres and pirouettes that entertained the company for a quarter of an hour, after which they rode away over the plain.
It was a beautiful country through which they now ambled144 pleasantly. Undulating and partially145 wooded, with fine stretches of meadow land between, from which the scent146 of myriads147 of wild-flowers rose on the cool night air. The moon sailed low in a perfectly148 cloudless sky, casting the shadows of the horsemen far before them as they rode, and clothing hill and dale, bush and tree, with a soft light, as if a cloud of silver gauze had settled down upon the scene. The incident in the ranche was quickly banished, and each traveller committed himself silently to the full enjoyment149 of the beauties around him—beauties which appeared less like reality than a vision of the night.
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adj.有才艺的;有造诣的;达到了的 | |
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2 worthy | |
adj.(of)值得的,配得上的;有价值的 | |
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3 brass | |
n.黄铜;黄铜器,铜管乐器 | |
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4 glazed | |
adj.光滑的,像玻璃的;上过釉的;呆滞无神的v.装玻璃( glaze的过去式);上釉于,上光;(目光)变得呆滞无神 | |
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5 brigand | |
n.土匪,强盗 | |
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6 outrageously | |
凶残地; 肆无忌惮地; 令人不能容忍地; 不寻常地 | |
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7 conspicuous | |
adj.明眼的,惹人注目的;炫耀的,摆阔气的 | |
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8 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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9 remarkable | |
adj.显著的,异常的,非凡的,值得注意的 | |
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10 whit | |
n.一点,丝毫 | |
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11 herds | |
兽群( herd的名词复数 ); 牧群; 人群; 群众 | |
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12 joyously | |
ad.快乐地, 高兴地 | |
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13 scorched | |
烧焦,烤焦( scorch的过去式和过去分词 ); 使(植物)枯萎,把…晒枯; 高速行驶; 枯焦 | |
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14 parched | |
adj.焦干的;极渴的;v.(使)焦干 | |
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15 banished | |
v.放逐,驱逐( banish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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16 refreshing | |
adj.使精神振作的,使人清爽的,使人喜欢的 | |
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17 guardian | |
n.监护人;守卫者,保护者 | |
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18 solitary | |
adj.孤独的,独立的,荒凉的;n.隐士 | |
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19 mule | |
n.骡子,杂种,执拗的人 | |
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20 perspiration | |
n.汗水;出汗 | |
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21 battered | |
adj.磨损的;v.连续猛击;磨损 | |
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22 flannel | |
n.法兰绒;法兰绒衣服 | |
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23 scarlet | |
n.深红色,绯红色,红衣;adj.绯红色的 | |
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24 adorn | |
vt.使美化,装饰 | |
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25 ponderous | |
adj.沉重的,笨重的,(文章)冗长的 | |
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26 engulf | |
vt.吞没,吞食 | |
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27 strapped | |
adj.用皮带捆住的,用皮带装饰的;身无分文的;缺钱;手头紧v.用皮带捆扎(strap的过去式和过去分词);用皮带抽打;包扎;给…打绷带 | |
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28 frightful | |
adj.可怕的;讨厌的 | |
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29 frantic | |
adj.狂乱的,错乱的,激昂的 | |
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30 dire | |
adj.可怕的,悲惨的,阴惨的,极端的 | |
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31 feat | |
n.功绩;武艺,技艺;adj.灵巧的,漂亮的,合适的 | |
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32 buckle | |
n.扣子,带扣;v.把...扣住,由于压力而弯曲 | |
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33 revolving | |
adj.旋转的,轮转式的;循环的v.(使)旋转( revolve的现在分词 );细想 | |
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35 rugged | |
adj.高低不平的,粗糙的,粗壮的,强健的 | |
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36 trifling | |
adj.微不足道的;没什么价值的 | |
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37 modifications | |
n.缓和( modification的名词复数 );限制;更改;改变 | |
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38 picturesque | |
adj.美丽如画的,(语言)生动的,绘声绘色的 | |
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39 esteemed | |
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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40 chivalry | |
n.骑士气概,侠义;(男人)对女人彬彬有礼,献殷勤 | |
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41 obstinate | |
adj.顽固的,倔强的,不易屈服的,较难治愈的 | |
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42 mules | |
骡( mule的名词复数 ); 拖鞋; 顽固的人; 越境运毒者 | |
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43 athletic | |
adj.擅长运动的,强健的;活跃的,体格健壮的 | |
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44 utterance | |
n.用言语表达,话语,言语 | |
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45 shovels | |
n.铲子( shovel的名词复数 );锹;推土机、挖土机等的)铲;铲形部份v.铲子( shovel的第三人称单数 );锹;推土机、挖土机等的)铲;铲形部份 | |
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46 implements | |
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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47 utensils | |
器具,用具,器皿( utensil的名词复数 ); 器物 | |
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48 prudent | |
adj.谨慎的,有远见的,精打细算的 | |
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49 expend | |
vt.花费,消费,消耗 | |
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50 ammunition | |
n.军火,弹药 | |
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51 forefathers | |
n.祖先,先人;祖先,祖宗( forefather的名词复数 );列祖列宗;前人 | |
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52 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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53 hull | |
n.船身;(果、实等的)外壳;vt.去(谷物等)壳 | |
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54 proceeding | |
n.行动,进行,(pl.)会议录,学报 | |
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55 emphatic | |
adj.强调的,着重的;无可置疑的,明显的 | |
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56 deferred | |
adj.延期的,缓召的v.拖延,延缓,推迟( defer的过去式和过去分词 );服从某人的意愿,遵从 | |
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57 steer | |
vt.驾驶,为…操舵;引导;vi.驾驶 | |
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58 affected | |
adj.不自然的,假装的 | |
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59 wan | |
(wide area network)广域网 | |
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60 gambolled | |
v.蹦跳,跳跃,嬉戏( gambol的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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61 gaily | |
adv.欢乐地,高兴地 | |
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62 runaway | |
n.逃走的人,逃亡,亡命者;adj.逃亡的,逃走的 | |
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63 noose | |
n.绳套,绞索(刑);v.用套索捉;使落入圈套;处以绞刑 | |
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64 adroitly | |
adv.熟练地,敏捷地 | |
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65 deigning | |
v.屈尊,俯就( deign的现在分词 ) | |
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66 trotting | |
小跑,急走( trot的现在分词 ); 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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67 ranches | |
大农场, (兼种果树,养鸡等的)大牧场( ranch的名词复数 ) | |
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68 procure | |
vt.获得,取得,促成;vi.拉皮条 | |
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69 edibles | |
可以吃的,可食用的( edible的名词复数 ); 食物 | |
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70 planks | |
(厚)木板( plank的名词复数 ); 政纲条目,政策要点 | |
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71 felon | |
n.重罪犯;adj.残忍的 | |
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72 morose | |
adj.脾气坏的,不高兴的 | |
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73 trotted | |
小跑,急走( trot的过去分词 ); 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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74 bridle | |
n.笼头,束缚;vt.抑制,约束;动怒 | |
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75 growled | |
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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76 sarcastically | |
adv.挖苦地,讽刺地 | |
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77 inverted | |
adj.反向的,倒转的v.使倒置,使反转( invert的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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78 speculation | |
n.思索,沉思;猜测;投机 | |
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79 proceedings | |
n.进程,过程,议程;诉讼(程序);公报 | |
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80 applied | |
adj.应用的;v.应用,适用 | |
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81 trespassing | |
[法]非法入侵 | |
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82 cleanse | |
vt.使清洁,使纯洁,清洗 | |
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83 previously | |
adv.以前,先前(地) | |
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84 interrogator | |
n.讯问者;审问者;质问者;询问器 | |
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85 lighting | |
n.照明,光线的明暗,舞台灯光 | |
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86 pertinacious | |
adj.顽固的 | |
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87 imposing | |
adj.使人难忘的,壮丽的,堂皇的,雄伟的 | |
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88 viands | |
n.食品,食物 | |
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89 demolished | |
v.摧毁( demolish的过去式和过去分词 );推翻;拆毁(尤指大建筑物);吃光 | |
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90 remarkably | |
ad.不同寻常地,相当地 | |
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91 grizzly | |
adj.略为灰色的,呈灰色的;n.灰色大熊 | |
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92 mastication | |
n.咀嚼 | |
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93 uncommon | |
adj.罕见的,非凡的,不平常的 | |
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94 scotch | |
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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95 Forsaken | |
adj. 被遗忘的, 被抛弃的 动词forsake的过去分词 | |
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96 devoted | |
adj.忠诚的,忠实的,热心的,献身于...的 | |
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97 prevailing | |
adj.盛行的;占优势的;主要的 | |
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98 sanguinely | |
乐观的,充满希望的; 面色红润的; 血红色的 | |
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99 mingled | |
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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100 mingle | |
vt.使混合,使相混;vi.混合起来;相交往 | |
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101 venting | |
消除; 泄去; 排去; 通风 | |
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102 apparently | |
adv.显然地;表面上,似乎 | |
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103 propensity | |
n.倾向;习性 | |
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104 severely | |
adv.严格地;严厉地;非常恶劣地 | |
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105 infancy | |
n.婴儿期;幼年期;初期 | |
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106 abhorrence | |
n.憎恶;可憎恶的事 | |
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107 condemnation | |
n.谴责; 定罪 | |
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108 saliva | |
n.唾液,口水 | |
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109 promiscuously | |
adv.杂乱地,混杂地 | |
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110 promiscuous | |
adj.杂乱的,随便的 | |
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111 admiration | |
n.钦佩,赞美,羡慕 | |
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112 bosoms | |
胸部( bosom的名词复数 ); 胸怀; 女衣胸部(或胸襟); 和爱护自己的人在一起的情形 | |
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113 accrue | |
v.(利息等)增大,增多 | |
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114 possessed | |
adj.疯狂的;拥有的,占有的 | |
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115 urbane | |
adj.温文尔雅的,懂礼的 | |
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116 eminent | |
adj.显赫的,杰出的,有名的,优良的 | |
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117 irresistibly | |
adv.无法抵抗地,不能自持地;极为诱惑人地 | |
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118 manliness | |
刚毅 | |
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119 broached | |
v.谈起( broach的过去式和过去分词 );打开并开始用;用凿子扩大(或修光);(在桶上)钻孔取液体 | |
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120 modesty | |
n.谦逊,虚心,端庄,稳重,羞怯,朴素 | |
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121 helping | |
n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的,辅助的 | |
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122 vowed | |
起誓,发誓(vow的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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123 resolute | |
adj.坚决的,果敢的 | |
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124 spoke | |
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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125 yarn | |
n.纱,纱线,纺线;奇闻漫谈,旅行轶事 | |
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126 anecdote | |
n.轶事,趣闻,短故事 | |
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127 anecdotes | |
n.掌故,趣闻,轶事( anecdote的名词复数 ) | |
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128 grizzlies | |
北美洲灰熊( grizzly的名词复数 ) | |
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129 villain | |
n.反派演员,反面人物;恶棍;问题的起因 | |
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130 wink | |
n.眨眼,使眼色,瞬间;v.眨眼,使眼色,闪烁 | |
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131 mighty | |
adj.强有力的;巨大的 | |
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132 wretch | |
n.可怜的人,不幸的人;卑鄙的人 | |
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133 hitch | |
v.免费搭(车旅行);系住;急提;n.故障;急拉 | |
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134 galley | |
n.(飞机或船上的)厨房单层甲板大帆船;军舰舰长用的大划艇; | |
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135 stump | |
n.残株,烟蒂,讲演台;v.砍断,蹒跚而走 | |
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136 fixed | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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137 pointedly | |
adv.尖地,明显地 | |
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138 belligerents | |
n.交战的一方(指国家、集团或个人)( belligerent的名词复数 ) | |
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139 miserable | |
adj.悲惨的,痛苦的;可怜的,糟糕的 | |
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140 innocence | |
n.无罪;天真;无害 | |
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141 exorbitant | |
adj.过分的;过度的 | |
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142 plentiful | |
adj.富裕的,丰富的 | |
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143 amazement | |
n.惊奇,惊讶 | |
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144 ambled | |
v.(马)缓行( amble的过去式和过去分词 );从容地走,漫步 | |
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145 partially | |
adv.部分地,从某些方面讲 | |
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146 scent | |
n.气味,香味,香水,线索,嗅觉;v.嗅,发觉 | |
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147 myriads | |
n.无数,极大数量( myriad的名词复数 ) | |
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148 perfectly | |
adv.完美地,无可非议地,彻底地 | |
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149 enjoyment | |
n.乐趣;享有;享用 | |
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