The parting of the ways was reached. On the morning of July 12, the different outfits1 in charge of Lovell's drive in '84 started on three angles of the compass for their final destination. The Rosebud3 Agency, where Flood's herd4 was to be delivered on September 1, lay to the northeast in Dakota. The route was not direct, and the herd would be forced to make quite an elbow, touching5 on the different forks of the Loup in order to secure water. The Rebel and my brother would follow up on the south side of the North Platte until near old Fort Laramie, when their routes would separate, the latter turning north for Montana, while Priest would continue along the same watercourse to within a short distance of his destination. The Buford herds7 would strike due north from the first tributary8 putting in from above, which we would intercept9 the second morning out.
An early start was the order of the day. My beeves were pushed from the bed-ground with the first sign of dawn, and when the relief overtook them, they were several miles back from the river and holding a northwest course. My camp being the lowest one on the North Fork, Forrest and Sponsilier, also starting at daybreak, naturally took the lead, the latter having fully10 a five-mile start over my outfit2. But as we left the valley and came up on the mesa, there on an angle in our front, Flood's herd snailed along like an army brigade, anxious to dispute our advance. The point-men veered11 our cattle slightly to the left, and as the drag-end of Flood's beeves passed before us, standing12 in our stirrups we waved our hats in farewell to the lads, starting on their last tack13 for the Rosebud Agency. Across the river were the dim outlines of two herds trailing upstream, being distinguishable from numerous others by the dust-clouds which marked the moving from the grazing cattle. The course of the North Platte was southwest, and on the direction which we were holding, we would strike the river again during the afternoon at a bend some ten or twelve miles above.
Near the middle of the forenoon we were met by Hugh Morris. He was discouraged, as it was well known now that his cattle would be tendered in competition with ours at Fort Buford. There was no comparison between the beeves, ours being much larger, more uniform in weight, and in better flesh. He looked over both Forrest's and Sponsilier's herds before meeting us, and was good enough judge of cattle to know that his stood no chance against ours, if they were to be received on their merits. We talked matters over for fully an hour, and I advised him never to leave Keith County until the last dollar in payment for his beeves was in hand. Morris thought this was quite possible, as information had reached him that the buyers had recently purchased a remuda, and now, since they had failed to take possession of two of Lovell's herds, it remained to be seen what the next move would be. He thought it quite likely, though, that a settlement could be effected whereby he would be relieved at Ogalalla. Mutually hoping that all would turn out well, we parted until our paths should cross again.
We intercepted14 the North Fork again during the afternoon, watering from it for the last time, and the next morning struck the Blue River, the expected tributary. Sponsilier maintained his position in the lead, but I was certain when we reached the source of the Blue, David would fall to the rear, as thenceforth there was neither trail nor trace, map nor compass. The year before, Forrest and I had been over the route to the Pine Ridge15 Agency, and one or the other of us must take the lead across a dry country between the present stream and tributaries16 of the Niobrara. The Blue possessed17 the attributes of a river in name only, and the third day up it, Sponsilier crossed the tributary to allow either Forrest or myself to take the lead. Quince professed18 a remarkable19 ignorance and faulty memory as to the topography of the country between the Blue and Niobrara, and threw bouquets20 at me regarding my ability always to find water. It is true that I had gone and returned across this arid21 belt the year before, but on the back trip it was late in the fall, and we were making forty miles a day with nothing but a wagon22 and remuda, water being the least of my troubles. But a compromise was effected whereby we would both ride out the country anew, leaving the herds to lie over on the head waters of the Blue River. There were several shallow lakes in the intervening country, and on finding the first one sufficient to our needs, the herds were brought up, and we scouted23 again in advance. The abundance of antelope24 was accepted as an assurance of water, and on recognizing certain landmarks25, I agreed to take the lead thereafter, and we turned back. The seventh day out from the Blue, the Box Buttes were sighted, at the foot of which ran a creek26 by the same name, and an affluent27 of the Niobrara. Contrary to expectations, water was even more plentiful28 than the year before, and we grazed nearly the entire distance. The antelope were unusually tame; with six-shooters we killed quite a number by flagging, or using a gentle horse for a blind, driving the animal forward with the bridle29 reins30, tacking31 frequently, and allowing him to graze up within pistol range.
The Niobrara was a fine grazing country. Since we had over two months at our disposal, after leaving the North Platte, every advantage was given the cattle to round into form. Ten miles was a day's move, and the different outfits kept in close touch with each other. We had planned a picnic for the crossing of the Niobrara, and on reaching that stream during the afternoon, Sponsilier and myself crossed, camping a mile apart, Forrest remaining on the south side. Wild raspberries had been extremely plentiful, and every wagon had gathered a quantity sufficient to make a pie for each man. The cooks had mutually agreed to meet at Sponsilier's wagon and do the baking, and every man not on herd was present in expectation of the coming banquet. One of Forrest's boys had a fiddle32, and bringing it along, the festivities opened with a stag dance, the "ladies" being designated by wearing a horse-hobble loosely around their necks. While the pies were baking, a slow process with Dutch ovens, I sat on the wagon-tongue and played the violin by the hour. A rude imitation of the gentler sex, as we had witnessed in dance-halls in Dodge33 and Ogalalla, was reproduced with open shirt fronts, and amorous34 advances by the sterner one.
The dancing ceased the moment the banquet was ready. The cooks had experienced considerable trouble in restraining some of the boys from the too free exercise of what they looked upon as the inalienable right of man to eat his pie when, where, and how it best pleased him. But Sponsilier, as host, stood behind the culinary trio, and overawed the impetuous guests. The repast barely concluded in time for the wranglers36 and first guard from Forrest's and my outfit to reach camp, catch night-horses, bed the cattle, and excuse the herders, as supper was served only at the one wagon. The relieved ones, like eleventh-hour guests, came tearing in after darkness, and the tempting37 spread soon absorbed them. As the evening wore on, the loungers gathered in several circles, and the raconteur38 held sway. The fact that we were in a country in which game abounded39 suggested numerous stories. The delights of cat-hunting by night found an enthusiast40 in each one present. Every dog in our memory, back to early boyhood, was properly introduced and his best qualities applauded. Not only cat-hounds but coon-dogs had a respectful hearing.
"I remember a hound," said Forrest's wrangler35, "which I owned when a boy back in Virginia. My folks lived in the foot-hills of the Blue Ridge Mountains in that state. We were just as poor as our poorest neighbors. But if there was any one thing that that section was rich in it was dogs, principally hounds. This dog of mine was four years old when I left home to go to Texas. Fine hound, swallow marked, and when he opened on a scent41 you could always tell what it was that he was running. I never allowed him to run with packs, but generally used him in treeing coon, which pestered42 the cornfields during roasting-ear season and in the fall. Well, after I had been out in Texas about five years, I concluded to go back on a little visit to the old folks. There were no railroads within twenty miles of my home, and I had to hoof43 it that distance, so I arrived after dark. Of course my return was a great surprise to my folks, and we sat up late telling stories about things out West. I had worked with cattle all the time, and had made one trip over the trail from Collin County to Abilene, Kansas.
"My folks questioned me so fast that they gave me no show to make any inquiries44 in return, but I finally eased one in and asked about my dog Keiser, and was tickled45 to hear that he was still living. I went out and called him, but he failed to show up, when mother explained his absence by saying that he often went out hunting alone now, since there was none of us boys at home to hunt with him. They told me that he was no account any longer; that he had grown old and gray, and father said he was too slow on trail to be of any use. I noticed that it was a nice damp night, and if my old dog had been there, I think I'd have taken a circle around the fields in the hope of hearing him sing once more. Well, we went back into the house, and after talking awhile longer, I climbed into the loft46 and went to bed. I didn't sleep very sound that night, and awakened47 several times. About an hour before daybreak, I awoke suddenly and imagined I heard a hound baying faintly in the distance. Finally I got up and opened the board window in the gable and listened. Say, boys, I knew that hound's baying as well as I know my own saddle. It was old Keiser, and he had something treed about a mile from the house, across a ridge over in some slashes48. I slipped on my clothes, crept downstairs, and taking my old man's rifle out of the rack, started to him.
"It was as dark as a stack of black cats, but I knew every path and byway by heart. I followed the fields as far as I could, and later, taking into the timber, I had to go around a long swamp. An old beaver50 dam had once crossed the outlet51 of this marsh52, and once I gained it, I gave a long yell to let the dog know that some one was coming. He answered me, and quite a little while before day broke I reached him. Did he know me? Why, he knew me as easy as the little boy knew his pap. Right now, I can't remember any simple thing in my whole life that moved me just as that little reunion of me and my dog, there in those woods that morning. Why, he howled with delight. He licked my face and hands and stood up on me with his wet feet and said just as plain as he could that he was glad to see me again. And I was glad to meet him, even though he did make me feel as mellow53 as a girl over a baby.
"Well, when daybreak came, I shot a nice big fat Mr. Zip Coon out of an old pin-oak, and we started for home like old pardners. Old as he was, he played like a puppy around me, and when we came in sight of the house, he ran on ahead and told the folks what he had found. Yes, you bet he told them. He came near clawing all the clothing off them in his delight. That's one reason I always like a dog and a poor man--you can't question their friendship."
A circus was in progress on the other side of the wagon. From a large rock, Jake Blair was announcing the various acts and introducing the actors and actresses. Runt Pickett, wearing a skirt made out of a blanket and belted with a hobble, won the admiration54 of all as the only living lady lion-tamer. Resuming comfortable positions on our side of the commissary, a lad named Waterwall, one of Sponsilier's boys, took up the broken thread where Forrest's wrangler had left off.
"The greatest dog-man I ever knew," said he, "lived on the Guadalupe River. His name was Dave Hapfinger, and he had the loveliest vagabond temperament55 of any man I ever saw. It mattered nothing what he was doing, all you had to do was to give old Dave a hint that you knew where there was fish to be caught, or a bee-course to hunt, and he would stop the plow56 and go with you for a week if necessary. He loved hounds better than any man I ever knew. You couldn't confer greater favor than to give him a promising57 hound pup, or, seeking the same, ask for one of his raising. And he was such a good fellow. If any one was sick in the neighborhood, Uncle Dave always had time to kill them a squirrel every day; and he could make a broth6 for a baby, or fry a young squirrel, in a manner that would make a sick man's mouth water.
"When I was a boy, I've laid around many a camp-fire this way and listened to old Dave tell stories. He was quite a humorist in his way, and possessed a wonderful memory. He could tell you the day of the month, thirty years before, when he went to mill one time and found a peculiar58 bird's nest on the way. Colonel Andrews, owner of several large plantations59, didn't like Dave, and threatened to prosecute60 him once for cutting a bee-tree on his land. If the evidence had been strong enough, I reckon the Colonel would. No doubt Uncle Dave was guilty, but mere62 suspicion isn't sufficient proof.
"Colonel Andrews was a haughty63 old fellow, blue-blooded and proud as a peacock, and about the only way Dave could get even with him was in his own mild, humorous way. One day at dinner at a neighboring log-rolling, when all danger of prosecution64 for cutting the bee-tree had passed, Uncle Dave told of a recent dream of his, a pure invention. 'I dreamt,' said he, 'that Colonel Andrews died and went to heaven. There was an unusually big commotion65 at St. Peter's gate on his arrival. A troop of angels greeted him, still the Colonel seemed displeased66 at his reception. But the welcoming hosts humored him forward, and on nearing the throne, the Almighty67, recognizing the distinguished68 arrival, vacated the throne and came down to greet the Colonel personally. At this mark of appreciation69, he relaxed a trifle, and when the Almighty insisted that he should take the throne seat, Colonel Andrews actually smiled for the first time on earth or in heaven.'
"Uncle Dave told this story so often that he actually believed it himself. But finally a wag friend of Colonel Andrews told of a dream which he had had about old Dave, which the latter hugely enjoyed. According to this second vagary70, the old vagabond had also died and gone to heaven. There was some trouble at St. Peter's gate, as they refused to admit dogs, and Uncle Dave always had a troop of hounds at his heels. When he found that it was useless to argue the matter, he finally yielded the point and left the pack outside. Once inside the gate he stopped, bewildered at the scene before him. But after waiting inside some little time unnoticed, he turned and was on the point of asking the gate-keeper to let him out, when an angel approached and asked him to stay. There was some doubt in Dave's mind if he would like the place, but the messenger urged that he remain and at least look the city over. The old hunter goodnaturedly consented, and as they started up one of the golden streets Uncle Dave recognized an old friend who had once given him a hound pup. Excusing himself to the angel, he rushed over to his former earthly friend and greeted him with warmth and cordiality. The two old cronies talked and talked about the things below, and finally Uncle Dave asked if there was any hunting up there. The reply was disappointing.
"Meanwhile the angel kept urging Uncle Dave forward to salute71 the throne. But he loitered along, meeting former hunting acquaintances, and stopping with each for a social chat. When they finally neared the throne, the patience of the angel was nearly exhausted72; and as old Dave looked up and saw Colonel Andrews occupying the throne, he rebelled and refused to salute, when the angel wrathfully led him back to the gate and kicked him out among his dogs."
Jack73 Splann told a yarn74 about the friendship of a pet lamb and dog which he owned when a boy. It was so unreasonable75 that he was interrupted on nearly every assertion. Long before he had finished, Sponsilier checked his narrative76 and informed him that if he insisted on doling77 out fiction he must have some consideration for his listeners, and at least tell it within reason. Splann stopped right there and refused to conclude his story, though no one but myself seemed to regret it. I had a true incident about a dog which I expected to tell, but the audience had become too critical, and I kept quiet. As it was evident that no more dog stories would be told, the conversation was allowed to drift at will. The recent shooting on the North Platte had been witnessed by nearly every one present, and was suggestive of other scenes.
"I have always contended," said Dorg Seay, "that the man who can control his temper always shoots the truest. You take one of these fellows that can smile and shoot at the same time--they are the boys that I want to stand in with. But speaking of losing the temper, did any of you ever see a woman real angry,--not merely cross, but the tigress in her raging and thirsting to tear you limb from limb? I did only once, but I have never forgotten the occasion. In supreme78 anger the only superior to this woman I ever witnessed was Captain Cartwright when he shot the slayer79 of his only son. He was as cool as a cucumber, as his only shot proved, but years afterward80 when he told me of the incident, he lost all control of himself, and fire flashed from his eyes like from the muzzle81 of a six-shooter. 'Dorg,' said he, unconsciously shaking me like a terrier does a rat, his blazing eyes not a foot from my face, 'Dorg, when I shot that cowardly ---- -- -- ----, I didn't miss the centre of his forehead the width of my thumb nail.'
"But this woman defied a throng82 of men. Quite a few of the crowd had assisted the night before in lynching her husband, and this meeting occurred at the burying-ground the next afternoon. The woman's husband was a well-known horse-thief, a dissolute, dangerous character, and had been warned to leave the community. He lived in a little village, and after darkness the evening before, had crept up to a window and shot a man sitting at the supper-table with his family. The murderer had harbored a grudge83 against his victim, had made threats, and before he could escape, was caught red-handed with the freshly fired pistol in his hand. The evidence of guilt61 was beyond question, and a vigilance committee didn't waste any time in hanging him to the nearest tree.
"The burying took place the next afternoon. The murdered man was a popular citizen, and the village and country turned out to pay their last respects. But when the services were over, a number of us lingered behind, as it was understood that the slayer as well as his victim would be interred84 in the same grounds. A second grave had been prepared, and within an hour a wagon containing a woman, three small children, and several Mexicans drove up to the rear side of the inclosure. There was no mistaking the party, the coffin85 was carried in to the open grave, when every one present went over to offer friendly services. But as we neared the little group the woman picked up a shovel86 and charged on us like a tigress. I never saw such an expression of mingled87 anger and anguish88 in a human countenance89 as was pictured in that woman's face. We shrank from her as if she had been a lioness, and when at last she found her tongue, every word cut like a lash49. Livid with rage, the spittle frothing from her mouth, she drove us away, saying:
"'Oh, you fiends of hell, when did I ask your help? Like the curs you are, you would lick up the blood of your victim! Had you been friends to me or mine, why did you not raise your voice in protest when they were strangling the life out of the father of my children? Away, you cowardly hounds! I've hired a few Mexicans to help me, and I want none of your sympathy in this hour. Was it your hand that cut him down from the tree this morning, and if it was not, why do I need you now? Is my shame not enough in your eyes but that you must taunt90 me further? Do my innocent children want to look upon the faces of those who robbed them of a father? If there is a spark of manhood left in one of you, show it by leaving me alone! And you other scum, never fear but that you will clutter91 hell in reward for last night's work. Begone, and leave me with my dead!'"
The circus had ended. The lateness of the hour was unobserved by any one until John Levering asked me if he should bring in my horse. It lacked less than half an hour until the guards should change, and it was high time our outfit was riding for camp. The innate92 modesty93 of my wrangler, in calling attention to the time, was not forgotten, but instead of permitting him to turn servant, I asked him to help our cook look after his utensils94. On my return to the wagon, Parent was trying to quiet a nervous horse so as to allow him to carry the Dutch oven returning. But as Levering was in the act of handing up the heavy oven, one of Forrest's men, hoping to make the animal buck95, attempted to place a briar stem under the horse's tail. Sponsilier detected the movement in time to stop it, and turning to the culprit, said: "None of that, my bully96 boy. I have no objection to killing97 a cheap cow-hand, but these cooks have won me, hands down. If ever I run across a girl who can make as good pies as we had for supper, she can win the affections of my young and trusting heart."
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outfits
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| n.全套装备( outfit的名词复数 )；一套服装；集体；组织v.装备，配置设备，供给服装( outfit的第三人称单数 ) | |
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outfit
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| n.（为特殊用途的）全套装备，全套服装 | |
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rosebud
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| n.蔷薇花蕾，妙龄少女 | |
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herd
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| n.兽群，牧群；vt.使集中，把…赶在一起 | |
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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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broth
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| n.原(汁)汤(鱼汤、肉汤、菜汤等) | |
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herds
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| 兽群( herd的名词复数 )； 牧群； 人群； 群众 | |
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tributary
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| n.支流；纳贡国；adj.附庸的；辅助的；支流的 | |
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intercept
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| vt.拦截，截住，截击 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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veered
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| v.（尤指交通工具）改变方向或路线( veer的过去式和过去分词 )；（指谈话内容、人的行为或观点）突然改变；（指风） （在北半球按顺时针方向、在南半球按逆时针方向）逐渐转向；风向顺时针转 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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tack
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| n.大头钉；假缝，粗缝 | |
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intercepted
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| 拦截( intercept的过去式和过去分词 )； 截住； 截击； 拦阻 | |
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ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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tributaries
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| n. 支流 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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professed
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| 公开声称的，伪称的，已立誓信教的 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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bouquets
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| n.花束( bouquet的名词复数 )；（酒的）芳香 | |
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arid
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| adj.干旱的；(土地)贫瘠的 | |
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wagon
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| n.四轮马车，手推车，面包车；无盖运货列车 | |
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scouted
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| 寻找，侦察( scout的过去式和过去分词 )； 物色（优秀运动员、演员、音乐家等） | |
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antelope
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| n.羚羊；羚羊皮 | |
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landmarks
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| n.陆标( landmark的名词复数 )；目标；（标志重要阶段的）里程碑 ~ (in sth)；有历史意义的建筑物（或遗址） | |
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creek
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| n.小溪，小河，小湾 | |
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affluent
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| adj.富裕的，富有的，丰富的，富饶的 | |
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plentiful
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| adj.富裕的，丰富的 | |
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bridle
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| n.笼头，束缚；vt.抑制，约束；动怒 | |
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reins
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| 感情，激情； 缰( rein的名词复数 )； 控制手段； 掌管； （成人带着幼儿走路以防其走失时用的）保护带 | |
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tacking
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| （帆船）抢风行驶，定位焊[铆]紧钉 | |
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fiddle
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| n.小提琴；vi.拉提琴；不停拨弄，乱动 | |
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dodge
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| v.闪开，躲开，避开；n.妙计，诡计 | |
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amorous
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| adj.多情的；有关爱情的 | |
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wrangler
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| n.口角者，争论者；牧马者 | |
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wranglers
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| n.争执人( wrangler的名词复数 )；在争吵的人；（尤指放马的）牧人；牛仔 | |
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tempting
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| a.诱人的, 吸引人的 | |
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raconteur
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| n.善讲故事者 | |
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abounded
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| v.大量存在，充满，富于( abound的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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enthusiast
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| n.热心人，热衷者 | |
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scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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pestered
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| 使烦恼，纠缠( pester的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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hoof
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| n.(马，牛等的)蹄 | |
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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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tickled
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| （使）发痒( tickle的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）愉快，逗乐 | |
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loft
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| n.阁楼，顶楼 | |
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awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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slashes
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| n.（用刀等）砍( slash的名词复数 )；（长而窄的）伤口；斜杠；撒尿v.挥砍( slash的第三人称单数 )；鞭打；割破；削减 | |
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lash
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| v.系牢；鞭打；猛烈抨击；n.鞭打；眼睫毛 | |
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beaver
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| n.海狸，河狸 | |
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outlet
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| n.出口/路；销路；批发商店；通风口；发泄 | |
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marsh
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| n.沼泽，湿地 | |
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mellow
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| adj.柔和的；熟透的；v.变柔和；(使)成熟 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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plow
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| n.犁，耕地，犁过的地；v.犁，费力地前进[英]plough | |
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promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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plantations
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| n.种植园，大农场( plantation的名词复数 ) | |
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prosecute
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| vt.告发；进行；vi.告发，起诉，作检察官 | |
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guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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haughty
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| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
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prosecution
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| n.起诉，告发，检举，执行，经营 | |
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commotion
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| n.骚动，动乱 | |
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displeased
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| a.不快的 | |
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almighty
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| adj.全能的，万能的；很大的，很强的 | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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vagary
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| n.妄想，不可测之事，异想天开 | |
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salute
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| vi.行礼，致意，问候，放礼炮；vt.向…致意，迎接，赞扬；n.招呼，敬礼，礼炮 | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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yarn
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| n.纱，纱线，纺线；奇闻漫谈，旅行轶事 | |
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unreasonable
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| adj.不讲道理的，不合情理的，过度的 | |
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narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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doling
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| 救济物( dole的现在分词 )； 失业救济金 | |
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supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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slayer
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| n. 杀人者，凶手 | |
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afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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81
muzzle
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| n.鼻口部；口套；枪(炮)口；vt.使缄默 | |
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throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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83
grudge
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| n.不满，怨恨，妒嫉；vt.勉强给，不情愿做 | |
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interred
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| v.埋，葬( inter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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coffin
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| n.棺材，灵柩 | |
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shovel
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| n.铁锨，铲子，一铲之量；v.铲，铲出 | |
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mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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taunt
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| n.辱骂，嘲弄；v.嘲弄 | |
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91
clutter
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| n.零乱，杂乱；vt.弄乱，把…弄得杂乱 | |
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innate
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| adj.天生的，固有的，天赋的 | |
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modesty
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| n.谦逊，虚心，端庄，稳重，羞怯，朴素 | |
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utensils
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| 器具，用具，器皿( utensil的名词复数 )； 器物 | |
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buck
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| n.雄鹿，雄兔；v.马离地跳跃 | |
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96
bully
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| n.恃强欺弱者，小流氓；vt.威胁，欺侮 | |
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killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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