The Indian jungles were showing Skag deep secrets about wild animals—knowledge beyond his hopes. Some things that he thought he knew in the old days as a circus-trainer were beginning to look curious and obsolete2, but much still held good, even became more and more significant. The things he had known intuitively did not diminish. These had to do with mysterious talents of his own, and dated back to the moment he stood for the first time before one of the "big cat" cages at the Lincoln Park Zoo in Chicago. That was his initiation-day in a craft in which he had since gone very far as white men go—even into the endless fascination3 of the cobra-craft.
Skag was meeting now from time to time in his jungle work some of the big hunters of India, men whose lives were a-seethe with tales of adventure. When they talked, however, Skag slowly but surely grasped the fact that what they had was "outside stuff." They knew trails, defensive4 and fighting habits, species and calls; they knew a great collection of detached facts about animals but it was all like what one would see in a strange city—watching from outside its wall. There was a certain boundary of observation which they never passed. All that Skag cared to know was across, on the inner side of the wall.
As for the many little hunters, they were tame; only their bags were "wild." They never even approached the boundary. Skag reflected much on these affairs. It dawned on him at last, that when you go out with the idea of killing5 a creature, you may get its attitude toward death, but you won't learn about how it regards life.
The more you give, the more you get from any relation. This is not only common knowledge among school-teachers, but among stock-raisers and rose-growers. Almost every man has had experience with a real teacher, at least once in his life—possibly only a few weeks or even days, but a bit of real teaching—when something within opened and answered as never before. It was like an extension of consciousness. If you look back you'll find that you loved that teacher—at least, liked that one differently, very deep.
Skag wanted a great deal. He wanted more from the jungle doubtless than was ever formulated6 in a white man's mind before. He wanted to know what certain holy men know; men who dare to walk to and fro in the jungles without arms, apparently7 without fear. He wanted to know what the priests of Hanuman know about monkeys; and what mahouts of famous elephants like Neela Deo and Mithi Baba and Gunpat Rao of the Chief Commissioner's stockades8, know about elephants.
At this point one reflection was irresistible9. The priests of Hanuman gave all they had—care, patience, tenderness, even their lives, to the monkey people. There were no two ways about the mahouts; they loved the elephants reverently10; even regarding them as beings more exalted11 than men. As for the holy men—the sign manual of their order was love for all creatures. No, there was no getting away from the fact that you must give yourself to a thing if you want to know it. . . . Skag would come up breathless out of this contemplation—only to find it was the easiest thing he did—to love wild animals. . . .
Skag had reason to hold high his trust in animals. He had entered the big cat cages countless12 times and always had himself and the animals in hand. He had made good in the tiger pit-trap and certainly the loose tiger near the monkey glen didn't charge. All this might have established the idea that all animals were bound to answer his love for them.
But India was teaching him otherwise.
In the hills back of Poona he had met a murderer. That cat-scream at the last chilled him to the very centre of things. Cheetahs14 were malignant15; no two ways about that. Skag hadn't failed. He never was better. There was no fear nor any lack of concentration in his work upon the cheetah13 beast. Any tiger he knew would have answered to his cool force, but the cheetah didn't.
It was the same with the big snake in the grass jungle. Skag had met fear there—something of monstrous16 proportion, more powerful than will, harder to deal with by a wide margin17 than any plain adjustment to death. It stayed with him. It was more formidable than pain. He had talked with Cadman about a peculiar18 inadequacy19 he felt in dealing20 with the snake—as if his force did not penetrate21. Cadman knew too much to hoot22 at Skag's dilemma23. The more a man knows, the more he can believe.
"It would be easier with a cobra than a constrictor," Cadman had said. "You'd have to strike just the right key, son. This is what I mean: The wireless24 instruments of the Swastika Line answer to one pitch; the ships of the Blue Toll25 to another. . . . But I've seen things done—yes, I've seen things done in this man's India. . . . I saw a man from one of the little brotherhoods26 of the Vindhas breathe a nest of cobras into repose28; also I have seen other brothers pass through places where the deadly little karait is supposed to watch and wait and turn red-eyed."
The more Skag listened and learned and watched in India, the more he realised that if he knew all there was to know about the different orders of holy men, all the rest of knowledge would be included, even the lore29 of the jungle animals. He had come into his own considerable awe30 through what he had seen in the forest with the priests of Hanuman, but things-to-learn stretched away and away before him like range upon range of High Himalaya.
Malcolm M'Cord was the best rifle-shot in India. The natives called him Hand-of-a-God. As usual they meant a lot more than a mere31 decoration. M'Cord was one of the big master mechanics—especially serving Indian Government in engine building—a Scot nearing fifty now. For many years he had answered the cries of the natives for help against the destroyers of human life. Sometimes it was a mugger, sometimes a cobra, a cheetah, often a man-eating tiger that terrorised the countryside. There are many sizeable Indian villages where there is not a single rifle or short piece in the place; repeated instances where one pampered32 beast has taken his tolls33 of cattle and children of men, for several years.
The natives are slow to take life of any creature. They are suspicious toward anyone who does it thoughtlessly, or for pastime; but the Hindu also believes that one is within the equity34 of preservation35 in doing away with those ravagers that learn to hunt men.
In the early days M'Cord began to take the famous shoot trophies36. Time came when this sort of thing was no longer a gamesome event, but a foregone conclusion. His rifle work was a revelation of genius—like the work of a prodigious37 young pianist or billiardist in the midst of mere natural excellence38.
He had wearied of the game-bag end of shooting, even before his prowess in the tournaments became a bore. . . . So there was only the big philanthropy left. The silent steady Scot gave himself more and more to this work for the hunted villagers as the years went on. It sufficed. Many a man has stopped riding or walking for mere exercise, but joyously39, and with much profit, taken it up again as a means to get somewhere.
It was Carlin who helped Skag to a deep understanding of her old friend, the Scot, and the famous bungalow in which he lived.
"It is 'papered' and carpeted and curtained with the skins of animals, but you would have to know what the taking of those skins has meant to the natives and how different it is from the usual hunter-man's house. The M'Cord bungalow is a book of man-eater tales—with leather leaves."
Carlin, who had been one of M'Cord's favourites since she was a child, saw the man with the magic of the native standpoint upon him. . . . With all its richness there was nothing of the effect of the taxidermist's shop about the place. Altogether the finest private set of gun-racks Skag had looked upon was in the dim front hall. Bhanah and Nels had a comfortable lodge41 to themselves, and there was a tiny summerhouse at the far end of the lawn that had been an ideal of Carlin's when she was small. The playhouse had but one door, which was turned modestly away from the great Highway. It was vined and partly sequestered42 in garden growths, its threshold to the west. The Scottish bachelor had turned this little house over to the child Carlin years ago, as eagerly as his entire establishment now. Yet the woman was no less partial to the playhouse than the child had been.
. . . They hardly saw the Scot. In fact it was only a moment in the station oval. Skag looked into a grey eye that seemed so steady as to have a life all its own and apart, in the midst of a weathered countenance43 both kindly44 and grim. . . . There was a tiny locked room on the south side of the bungalow, vividly45 sunlit—a room which in itself formed a cabinet for mounted cobras—eight or ten specimens46 with marvellous bodies and patchy-looking heads. . . . The place was heavily glazed47, but not with windows that opened. Skag caught the hint before Carlin spoke48—that the display might have a queer attraction for cobras that had not suffered the art of the taxidermist.
Skag turned to the girl as they stood together at the low heavy door, leading into the library. Something in her face held him utterly49—something of wisdom, something of dread50—if one could, imagine a fear founded on knowledge. . . . A brilliant mid-afternoon. Bhanah and Nels had gone to the stockades. Since the chase and rescue of Carlin, Nels and the young elephant Gunpat Rao were becoming friends—peculiar dignities and untellable reservations between them—but undoubtedly51 friends.
There was a kind of stillness in the place and hour, as they stood together, that made it seem they had never been alone before. Deep awe had come to Skag. As he looked now upon her beauty and health and courage, with eyes that saw another loveliness weaving all wonders together—he knew a kind of bewildered revolt that life was actually bounded by a mere few years; that it could be subject to change and chance. Thus he learned what has come to many a man in the first hours after bringing his great comrade home—that there must be some inner fold of romance to make straight the insistent52 torture at the thought of illness and accident and death itself—something somehow to enable a man to transcend53 all three-score and ten affairs and know that birth and death are mere hurdles54 for the runners of real romance.
. . . The sunlight brought out faint but marvellous gleamings from the serpents. It was as if every scale had been a jewel. . . . Skag looked closer. It wasn't bad mounting. It was really marvellous mounting. His eye ran from one to another. Every cobra's head had been shattered by a bullet. The broken tissues had been gathered together, pieced and sewn—the art of the workman not covering the dramatic effect entirely55, yet smoothing the excess of the horror away.
". . . I've heard of cobras always, yet I never tire and never seem any nearer them," Carlin was saying. "I remember the word cobra when I heard it the first time—almost the first memory. It never becomes familiar. They are mysterious. One can never tell the why or when about them. One never gets beyond the fascination. The more you know the more you prepare for them in India. It's like this—any other room would have windows that open. . . . Cobras have much fidelity56. We think of them as reptiles57; and yet they are life-and-death-mates, like the best of tiger pairs. One who kills a cobra must kill two or look out—"
Carlin had strange lore about mated pairs; about moths58 and birds and other creatures (as well as men-things) finding each other and living and working together; about a tiger that had mourned for many seasons alone, after some sportsman had killed his female; about another rollicking young tiger pair that leaped an eight foot wall into a native yard in early evening, made their kill together of a plump young cow, and passed it up and over the wall between them.
Still they did not leave the door-way of the cobra room. Skag saw that something more was coming. Once more he was drawn60 to the mystery of the holy men by her tale:
". . . I was a little girl. It was here in Hurda. . . . I had strayed away into the open jungle, not toward our monkey glen, but farther south where the trees were scarce. . . . Of course I shouldn't have been alone—"
Skag was staring straight at one of the cobras. Carlin turned and placed her hand upon his sleeve. She knew that he was fighting that old dread that had come upon him on the day of the elephant pursuit—a dread well enough founded, grounded upon many tragedies—of the pitfalls61 and menaces and miasmas62 of old Mother India; the infinite variety, craft, swiftness and violence of her deaths. (White hands were certainly clinging to Skag.) One's vast careless attitudes to life are fearfully complicated when life means two and not the self alone.
"This isn't a horrible story—" she said.
He cleared his throat; then laughed.
"I'll get past all this," he muttered. "Go on, Carlin—"
"I heard a step behind," she said. "It was my uncle—the most wonderful of many uncles. I have not seen him since that day. He is a little older than my eldest64 brother—possibly thirty at that time—tall, dark, silent; a frowning man, but not to me. Even then he belonged to one of the little brotherhoods of the Vindhas—lesser, you know, in relation to the great brotherhoods of the Himalayas. In fact it is from the Vindha Hills that they move on when they are called—up the great way and beyond—"
Another of Carlin's themes—always the dream in her mind of climbing to the heights.
"We walked on together through one of the paths—some time I will show you. It was not like anyone else coming to find a child, or coming to take it back. A most memorable65 thing to a little one, this elaborate consideration from a great man. He did not suggest that I turn. He made himself over to my adventure."
She waited for Skag to see more of the picture from her mind than her words suggested:
"Ahead on the path—leisurely66, like nothing else, a cobra reared, a king cobra, as great as any of these. He barred our way. There comes a penetrating67 cold from the first glance. It's like an icy lance to the centre of consciousness. Then I felt the man's presence beside me. My confidence was that which only a child can give. What the mind knows and fears has too much dominion68 afterward69. . . . The appalling70 power and beauty of the cobra fascinated me. I have never quite forgotten. There was a lolling trailing grace about the lifted length, the head slightly inclined to us, the hood27 but partly spread—something winged in the undulation, a suggestion of that which we could not see, faintly like the whir of a humming bird's wings. That is it—an intimation of forces we had not senses to register—also colours and sounds! . . . My hand was lost in the great hand. My uncle did not turn back. He was speaking. There was that about his tones which you had to listen for—a low softness that you had to listen to get. Yes, it was to the cobra that he spoke.
". . . There was never a poem to me like those words, but they did not leave themselves in continuity. I could not say the sentences again. I seem to remember the vibration71—some sense of the mysterious, kindred with all creatures—and a vast flung scroll72 of wisdom and poetry, as if the serpents had been a great and glorious people of blinding, incredible knowledges—never like us—but all the more marvellous for their difference! . . . And the cobra hung there, his eyes darkening under the gentleness of the voice—then reddening again like fanned embers. . . .
"Then I heard my uncle ask to be permitted to pass, saying that he brought no harm to the mother, undoubtedly near, nor to the baby cobras—only good-will; but that it was not well for a man and a little girl to be prevented from passing along a man-path. . . . It was only a moment more that the way was held from us. There was no rising at all, to fighting anger. A cobra doesn't, you know, until actual attack. In leisurely undulations, he turned and entered the deeper growths. A moment later my uncle pointed73 to the lifted head in the shadows. One had need to be magic-eyed to see. We went on a little way and walked back. It was not that we had to pass—but that we must not be obstructed74." . . .
This was the India that astonished Skag more than all hunter tales, more than any hunter prowess; but there were always two sides. . . . The weeks were unlike any others he had ever known. The mystery deepened between him and Carlin. Almost the first he had heard of her was that she was "unattainable"—yet they had known each other at once. . . . Still Carlin was unattainable; forever above and beyond. Such a woman is no sooner comprehended on one problem than she unfolds another; much of man's growth is from one to another of her mysteries. And always when he has passed one, he thinks all is known; and always as another looms75, he realises how little he knows after all. . . .
A thousand times Skag recalled the words of the learned man who had spoken to Cadman and himself on their way to the grass jungle. "You will acknowledge love, but you will not know love until it is revealed by supreme76 danger. The way of your feet is in the ascending77 path. Hold fast to the purposes of your own heart and you will come into the heights."
Could Carlin be more to him than now? . . . Yes, she was more to-day than yesterday. It would always be so. Love is always love, but it is always different. . . . Sometimes he would stay away from the bungalow for several hours. He was of a nature that could not be pleased with himself when he gave way tumultuously to the thing he wanted—which was continually to be in Carlin's presence. His every step in the market-place, or in the bazaar78, had its own twitch79 back toward Malcolm M'Cord's bungalow; his every thought encountering a pressure of weight to hurry home.
Carlin was full of deep joys of understanding. One did not have to finish sentences for her. She meant India—its hidden wisdom. She had the thing called education in great tiers and folds. Skag's education was of the kind that accumulates when a man does not know he is being educated. . . . Certainly Carlin was unattainable—this was an often recurring80 thought as he learned Hindi from her and something of Urdu; the usages of her world, its castes and cults81.
Down in the unwalled city one mid-afternoon, he finished certain errands and started for the bungalow. Had he let himself go, his feet would have stormed along. He laughed at the joy of the thing; and he had only been away since tiffin. Yet there was tension too—the old mystery. A man cannot feel all still and calm and powerful, when there has suddenly descended82 upon him realisation of all that can possibly happen to take away one so much more important than one's own life as to make contrast absurd. Skag was looking ahead into stark83 days, when he would be called upon to take big journeys alone into the jungle for the service. It was very clear there might be many weeks of separation . . . and now it was only a matter of hours. He was nearing the little gate. . . .
These are affairs men seldom speak about—seldom write; yet his experience was one that a multitude of men have felt vaguely84 at least. There was a laugh about it, a sense of self-deprecation; but above all, Skag knew for the sake of the future that he must get himself better in hand against this incredible pull to the place where she was. It seemed quite enough to reach the compound or the grass plot and hear her step.
She was not at the gate. He halted. Malcolm M'Cord was expected home this day. He might have come. Surely he might give two such rare good friends a chance to have a chat together . . . in Malcolm's own house, too. Besides there was no better chance than now for a bit of moral calisthenics. Skag turned back. No one was very near to note that he was a bit pale. Still he was laughing. Even Nels, his Great Dane, would have thought him weird85, he reflected. Had Bhanah been along, there could have been no possible explanation. . . . He was walking toward the city, but his eyes were called back again. Carlin had come to the gate. She held up her right arm full and straight—her signal always, such an impulse of joy in it.
He waved and made a broken sort of gesture toward Hurda, as if he had forgotten something. Minute by minute he fought them out after that—sixty of them, ninety of them, good measure, sixty seconds each, before he started at last to the bungalow again. The sun was low. The bazaars86 were but a little distance back, when he met Bhanah and Nels out for their evening exercise. . . . No, M'Cord-Sahib had not yet come. . . . Yes, all was quite well with the Hakima, Hantee-Sahiba, who was reading in the playhouse. . . .
Quite alone. Skag quickened, but repressed himself again. It was business for contemplation—the way Bhanah had spoken of Carlin as Hantee Sahiba, after her usual title. . . . He heard the birds. The great Highway was deserted87; the noise of the city all behind. . . . If he had merely "acknowledged love" so far, as the learned man had said—what must be the nature of the emotion that would reveal the full secret to him? Always when his thoughts fled away like this, his steps seized the advantage and he would find himself in full stride like a man doing road-work for the ring.
She wasn't at the gate this time. Just now Skag felt the first coolness of evening, the shadow of the great trees. . . . She did not come to the gate. His hand touched its latch88 and still he had not heard her voice. On the lawn path—in that strange lovely wash of light—he stood, as the sun sank and the afterglow mounted. This was always Carlin's hour to him—the magic moment of the afterglow. In such an hour in the outer paths of the tree jungle, they had spoken life to life.
"Malcolm M'Cord—is that you, Malcolm?"
Her voice was from the playhouse. It was steady but startling. Something cold in it—very weary. Still he did not see her. The door was on the western side.
Skag answered.
"Oh—" came from Carlin.
There was an instant intense silence; then he heard:
"Go into the house. I thought it was Malcolm. . . . I'll join you.
Don't come here—"
He turned obediently. He had the male's absurd sense of not belonging. . . . He might at least be silent and do as she said. A keener gust89 of reality then shot through him. His steps would not go on. She must have heard his change from the gravel90 to the grass, for she called:
"It's all right, go right in—"
"But, Carlin—"
"Don't come here, dear! It's—not for you to see now!"
He halted, an indescribable chill upon him. The low threshold was in sight, yet Carlin did not appear in the doorway91. It was not more than sixty feet away, across the lawn. It may have been something that she had on. . . . A gold something. This came because of a fallen bit of gold-brown tapestry92 on the threshold. It had folds. Out of the cone93 of it, was a rising sheen like thin gold smoke. A fallen garment was the first thing that came to Skag's mind, keyed to the suggestion of some fabric94 which Carlin was to put on. The thing actually before his eyes had not dislodged for an instant, the thought-picture in his mind.
Right then Skag made a mistake. He had not taken ten running steps before he knew it, and halted. That which had been like rising gold smoke was a hooded95 head—lifting just now, dilating96. Already he knew, almost fully63, what the running had done. The thought of Carlin in the playhouse had over-balanced his own genius. He walked forward now, for the time not hearing Carlin's words from within. . . . The door was open; the windows were screened. The girl was held within by the coiled one on the stone. . . . She was imploring97 Skag to go back:
". . . to the house!" he heard at last. "Wait there—don't come! It is death to come to me!"
He could not see her.
"Far back—by the sewing machine! . . . Will you not—will you not, for me?"
He spoke very coldly:
"While he watches me from the stone—you come forward slowly and shut the door!"
"That would anger him into flying at you—"
Quite as slowly, his next words:
"I do not think he is angry with me—"
Yet Skag was not in utter truth right there, even in his own knowledge. His voice did not carry conviction of truth. . . . The thing unsteadied his concentration. The fact that he had started to run and thus ruffled98 the cobra, was still upon him like shame. It reacted to divide his forces now, at least to make tardier99 his self-command. Back of everything—Carlin's danger. There was a quick turn of his eye for a weapon, even as he heard a deep tone from Carlin—something immortal100 in the resonance101:
". . . You might save me . . . but, don't you see—I want you more!"
A lakri of Bhanah's leaned against the playhouse at the side towards the road.
The cobra had lifted himself erect102 upon his tail almost to the level of Skag's eyes, hood spread. Carlin talked to him—low tones—no words which she or Skag should know again. . . .
The lakri was of iron-wood from the North, thick as the man's wrist at the top. It pulled Skag's eye a second time. It meant the surrender of his faith in his own free-handed powers to reach for the lakri; it meant the fight to death. It meant he must disappear from the cobra's eye an instant behind the playhouse. . . . Carlin's tones were in the air. He could not live or breathe until the threshold was clear—no concentration but that. . . . Like the last outburst before a breaking heart, he heard:
"If you would only go—go, my dear!"
He had chosen—or the weakness for him. There was an instant—as his hand closed upon the lakri, the corner of the playhouse wall shutting him off from the cobra—an instant that was doom-long, age-long, long enough for him to picture in his own thoughts the king turning upon the threshold—entering, rising before Carlin! . . . The threshold was empty as he stepped back, but the cobra had not entered. Perturbed103 that the man had vanished, he had slid down into the path to look.
Skag breathed. "And now if you will shut the door, Carlin—"
A great cry from Carlin answered.
Thick and viperine104, the thing looked, as it hurled105 forward. It was like the fling of a lash106. Four feet away, Skag looked into the hooded head poised107 to strike, the eyes flaming into an altogether different dimension for battle.
The head played before him. The breadth of the hood alone held it at all in the range of the human eye—so swift was the lateral109 vibration, a sparring movement. The whole head seemed delicately veiled in a grey magnetic haze110. Its background was Carlin—standing on the threshold.
"I won't fail—if you stay there!" he called.
It was like a wraith111 that answered—again the old mystery, as if the words came up from his own heart:
"I—shall—not—come—to—you—until—the—end!"
Skag was back in the indefinite past—all the dear hushed moments he had ever known massed in her voice.
"Stay there—not nearer—and I can't fail!"
He was saying it like a song—his eyes not leaving the narrow veiled head before him. It was like a brown sealed lily-bud of hardened enamel112, brown yet iridescent—set off by two jewels of flaming rose. There was no haste. The king's mouth was not tight with strain. It was the look of one certain of victory, certain from a life that knew no failures—the look of one that had learned the hunt so well as to make it play. . . .
The brown bud vanished. Skag struck at the same time. His lakri touched the hood. With all his strength, though with a loose whipping wrist, he had struck. The lakri had touched the hood, but there was no violence to the impact. . . . Carlin's love tones were in his heart. Skag laughed.
The head went out of sight. Skag struck again. It was as if his lakri were caught in a swift hand and held for just the fraction of a second. No force to the man's blow. The cobra was no nearer; no show of haste. Skag's stick was a barrier of fury, yet twice the king struck between . . . twice and again. Skag felt a laming108 blow upon a muscle of his arm as from sharp knuckles113.
And now they were fast at it. The man heard Carlin's cry but not the words:
"Stay there!" he sang in answer. "Not nearer—just there and I can't lose! . . . It isn't in the cards to lose, Carlin—"
Yet his mind knew he could not win. The cobra's head and hood recoiled114 with each blow. It took Skag's highest speed—as an outfielder takes a drive bare-handed, his hands giving with the ball. The head moved past all swiftness, even the speed greatest swordsmen know. It was like something that laughed. Before the whirring lakri, the cobra head played like a flung veil between and through and around.
. . . So, for many seconds. The grey magnetic haze was a dirty brown now. The man was seeing through blood. He could not make a blow tell. He could not see Carlin. . . . She was not talking to him. . . . She was calling upon some strange name. . . . His arm was numbed115 again—like a blow from a leaden sling116. There was a suffocating117 knot in his throat and the smell of blood in his head . . . that old smell of blood he had known when his father whipped him long ago. . . .
He tried to chop straight down to break in upon the king's rhythm. It answered quicker than his thought. . . . Yes, it was Malcolm M'Cord, she was calling. . . . He saw her like a ghost now. She was utterly tall—her arms raised! . . . Then he heard a rifle crack—then a breath of moisture upon his face—the sealed bud smashed before him—the rest whipping the ground.
"I say, Lad, let me have a look at you. . . . The child's right enough. Let her rest—"
The grim face was before him, two steady hands at work on him, pulling back his collar, taking one of Skag's hands after another—looking even between the fingers, feeling his thighs119.
"I can't find that he cut you, Lad," he said gently.
Skag pushed him away. Carlin was moaning.
"I'm thinking your lad's sound, deerie," M'Cord called to her. "A minute more, to be sure." . . .
He kept a trailing hold of Skag's wrist, staring a last minute in his eyes.
No break anywhere in the younger man's flesh.
The afterglow was thickening. A servant came down the path to call them to dinner. The servant had never seen such a spectacle—the Hakima sitting with Hand-of-a-God and Son-of-Power, together—on the lawn already wet with dew—their knees almost touching120. . . .
"The like's not been known before, Lad—even of a man with a sword," Malcolm M'Cord was saying. "You must have stood up to him two minutes. No swordsman has done as much. . . . And it was only a lakri you had—and a swordsman's blade goes soft and flat against a cobra's scales! . . . You see, they take wings when the fighting rage flows into them. It's like wings, sir. . . . Yes, you'll have a lame121 arm where the hood grazed. It couldn't have been the drive of the head or he would have bitten through—"
Even Skag, as he glanced into Carlin's face from time to time, forgot that Hand-of-a-God had done it again—one more king cobra with a patched |head and a life and death story to be added to the sunny cabinet in the bungalow. . . . Carlin rose to lead them to dinner at last, but Malcolm shook his head.
"On you go, you two. I'll sit out a bit in the lamplight, just here by the playhouse door. . . . She'll be looking for him soon. . . . She won't be far. She won't be long coming—to look for him. . . . She'd find him and then set out to look for you, Lad."
The lights of the bungalow windows were like vague cloths upon the lawn. . . . Carlin and Skag hadn't thought of dinner. They were in the shadow of the deep verandah. Once Carlin whispered:
"I loved the way he said 'Lad' to you."
It was hours afterwards that the shot was heard. . . . Carlin was closer. He felt her shivering. He could not be sure of the words, yet the spirit of them never left his heart:
"If I were she—and I had found you so—upon the lawn—I should want
Hand-of-a-God to wait for me—like that!"
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bungalow
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| n.平房，周围有阳台的木造小平房 | |
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obsolete
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| adj.已废弃的，过时的 | |
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3
fascination
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| n.令人着迷的事物，魅力，迷恋 | |
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4
defensive
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| adj.防御的；防卫的；防守的 | |
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5
killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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6
formulated
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| v.构想出( formulate的过去式和过去分词 )；规划；确切地阐述；用公式表示 | |
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7
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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8
stockades
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| n.（防御用的）栅栏，围桩( stockade的名词复数 ) | |
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irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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reverently
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| adv.虔诚地 | |
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exalted
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| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
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12
countless
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| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
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13
cheetah
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| n.(动物)猎豹 | |
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14
cheetahs
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| n.（奔跑极快的）非洲猎豹( cheetah的名词复数 ) | |
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15
malignant
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| adj.恶性的，致命的；恶意的，恶毒的 | |
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16
monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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17
margin
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| n.页边空白；差额；余地，余裕；边，边缘 | |
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18
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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19
inadequacy
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| n.无法胜任，信心不足 | |
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20
dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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21
penetrate
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| v.透(渗)入；刺入，刺穿；洞察，了解 | |
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22
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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23
dilemma
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| n.困境，进退两难的局面 | |
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24
wireless
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| adj.无线的；n.无线电 | |
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25
toll
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| n.过路(桥)费；损失，伤亡人数；v.敲(钟) | |
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26
brotherhoods
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| 兄弟关系( brotherhood的名词复数 )； （总称）同行； （宗教性的）兄弟会； 同业公会 | |
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27
hood
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| n.头巾，兜帽，覆盖；v.罩上，以头巾覆盖 | |
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28
repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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29
lore
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| n.传说；学问，经验，知识 | |
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30
awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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31
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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32
pampered
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| adj.饮食过量的，饮食奢侈的v.纵容，宠，娇养( pamper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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33
tolls
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| （缓慢而有规律的）钟声( toll的名词复数 )； 通行费； 损耗； （战争、灾难等造成的）毁坏 | |
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34
equity
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| n.公正，公平，（无固定利息的）股票 | |
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35
preservation
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| n.保护，维护，保存，保留，保持 | |
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36
trophies
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| n.（为竞赛获胜者颁发的）奖品( trophy的名词复数 )；奖杯；（尤指狩猎或战争中获得的）纪念品；（用于比赛或赛跑名称）奖 | |
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37
prodigious
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| adj.惊人的，奇妙的；异常的；巨大的；庞大的 | |
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38
excellence
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| n.优秀，杰出，(pl.)优点，美德 | |
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39
joyously
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| ad.快乐地, 高兴地 | |
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40
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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41
lodge
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| v.临时住宿，寄宿，寄存，容纳；n.传达室，小旅馆 | |
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42
sequestered
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| adj.扣押的；隐退的；幽静的；偏僻的v.使隔绝，使隔离( sequester的过去式和过去分词 )；扣押 | |
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43
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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44
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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45
vividly
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| adv.清楚地，鲜明地，生动地 | |
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46
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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47
glazed
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| 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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48
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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49
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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50
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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51
undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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52
insistent
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| adj.迫切的，坚持的 | |
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53
transcend
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| vt.超出，超越(理性等)的范围 | |
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54
hurdles
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| n.障碍( hurdle的名词复数 )；跳栏；（供人或马跳跃的）栏架；跨栏赛 | |
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55
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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56
fidelity
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| n.忠诚，忠实；精确 | |
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57
reptiles
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| n.爬行动物，爬虫( reptile的名词复数 ) | |
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58
moths
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| n.蛾( moth的名词复数 ) | |
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59
cubs
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| n.幼小的兽，不懂规矩的年轻人( cub的名词复数 ) | |
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60
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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61
pitfalls
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| （捕猎野兽用的）陷阱( pitfall的名词复数 )； 意想不到的困难，易犯的错误 | |
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62
miasmas
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| n.瘴气( miasma的名词复数 )；烟雾弥漫的空气；不良气氛或影响 | |
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63
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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64
eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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65
memorable
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| adj.值得回忆的，难忘的，特别的，显著的 | |
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66
leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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67
penetrating
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| adj.（声音）响亮的，尖锐的adj.（气味）刺激的adj.（思想）敏锐的，有洞察力的 | |
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68
dominion
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| n.统治，管辖，支配权；领土，版图 | |
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69
afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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70
appalling
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| adj.骇人听闻的，令人震惊的，可怕的 | |
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71
vibration
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| n.颤动，振动；摆动 | |
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72
scroll
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| n.卷轴，纸卷；(石刻上的)漩涡 | |
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73
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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74
obstructed
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| 阻塞( obstruct的过去式和过去分词 )； 堵塞； 阻碍； 阻止 | |
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75
looms
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| n.织布机( loom的名词复数 )v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的第三人称单数 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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76
supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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77
ascending
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| adj.上升的，向上的 | |
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78
bazaar
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| n.集市，商店集中区 | |
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79
twitch
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| v.急拉，抽动，痉挛，抽搐；n.扯，阵痛，痉挛 | |
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80
recurring
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| adj.往复的，再次发生的 | |
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81
cults
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| n.迷信( cult的名词复数 )；狂热的崇拜；（有极端宗教信仰的）异教团体 | |
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82
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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83
stark
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| adj.荒凉的；严酷的；完全的；adv.完全地 | |
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84
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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85
weird
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| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
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86
bazaars
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| （东方国家的）市场( bazaar的名词复数 )； 义卖； 义卖市场； （出售花哨商品等的）小商品市场 | |
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87
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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88
latch
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| n.门闩，窗闩；弹簧锁 | |
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89
gust
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| n.阵风，突然一阵（雨、烟等），（感情的）迸发 | |
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90
gravel
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| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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91
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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92
tapestry
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| n.挂毯，丰富多采的画面 | |
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93
cone
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| n.圆锥体，圆锥形东西，球果 | |
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94
fabric
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| n.织物，织品，布；构造，结构，组织 | |
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95
hooded
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| adj.戴头巾的；有罩盖的；颈部因肋骨运动而膨胀的 | |
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96
dilating
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| v.（使某物）扩大，膨胀，张大( dilate的现在分词 ) | |
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97
imploring
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| 恳求的，哀求的 | |
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98
ruffled
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| adj. 有褶饰边的, 起皱的 动词ruffle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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99
tardier
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| adj.行动缓慢的( tardy的比较级 )；缓缓移动的；晚的；迟的 | |
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100
immortal
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| adj.不朽的；永生的，不死的；神的 | |
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101
resonance
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| n.洪亮；共鸣；共振 | |
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102
erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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103
perturbed
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| adj.烦燥不安的v.使（某人）烦恼，不安( perturb的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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104
viperine
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| adj.毒蛇的，似毒蛇的 | |
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105
hurled
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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106
lash
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| v.系牢；鞭打；猛烈抨击；n.鞭打；眼睫毛 | |
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107
poised
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| a.摆好姿势不动的 | |
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108
laming
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| 瘸的( lame的现在分词 )； 站不住脚的； 差劲的； 蹩脚的 | |
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109
lateral
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| adj.侧面的，旁边的 | |
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110
haze
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| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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111
wraith
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| n.幽灵；骨瘦如柴的人 | |
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112
enamel
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| n.珐琅，搪瓷，瓷釉；(牙齿的)珐琅质 | |
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113
knuckles
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| n.（指人）指关节( knuckle的名词复数 )；（指动物）膝关节，踝v.（指人）指关节( knuckle的第三人称单数 )；（指动物）膝关节，踝 | |
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114
recoiled
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| v.畏缩( recoil的过去式和过去分词 )；退缩；报应；返回 | |
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115
numbed
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| v.使麻木，使麻痹( numb的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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116
sling
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| vt.扔；悬挂；n.挂带；吊索，吊兜；弹弓 | |
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117
suffocating
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| a.使人窒息的 | |
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118
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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119
thighs
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| n.股，大腿( thigh的名词复数 )；食用的鸡（等的）腿 | |
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120
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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121
lame
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| adj.跛的，(辩解、论据等)无说服力的 | |
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