"Crawford!"
The woman said it softly from behind him, a controlled anger in her voice. She moved the copperbottom up beside him, peering at his face.
"It's all right," he said impatiently.
He tried to relax his legs against the pinto. Just a walk, and they were like that. He felt his shirt sticking to his armpits and knew the sweat was showing on his face. That terrible frustration17 was biting at him.
"I told you it was all right," he said harshly.
A savagery18 entered her voice, struggling with that restraint. "Will you quit trying to hide it, Crawford. From me. From yourself. I know all about it now. I've seen it. There's no use being ashamed of it with me. It's there. We both recognize it. Admit it. That's the first thing you've got to do."
"All right. I'm afraid. Every time it moves. Every time it bats an eyelash. Every time it—"
He stopped, realizing how violent the release had been, and it seemed the mocking echoes of his voice were dying down the sombrous lanes of the brush. He turned away from her, feeling a new wave of shame.
"That's better than nothing," she said. The tone of Merida's voice made him turn back to her. She must have been waiting for that, because the movement brought his eyes around to hers. "When you wouldn't meet Quartel back at the bull-tailing," she said, "I condemned20 you for being a coward. I'll never do it again. You may be afraid, but I'll never condemn19 you for it. The only thing I'll condemn you for is refusing to face your fear."
He felt his legs relaxing slightly, and for a moment the beat of his heart diminished. He had never talked with anyone about it like this before. He had kept it locked within himself, refusing to look at it, refusing to admit it even to himself.
"Do your legs hurt now?" she said.
"A little." His voice was tight.
"Crawford—"
"All right. A lot. They hurt like hell. I hurt all over. Does that satisfy you?"
"This the river?" she said.
He pulled the pinto to a stop and stepped off stiffly. He stood there a moment with his face into the horse, trembling faintly. When he moved away from the animal, the nebulous pain subsided21 somewhat in his loins. Yet the animal's very proximity22 kept the irritation23 in his consciousness. When he pulled the map from his shirt, his hand twitched24 spasmodically, and he almost tore the paper. She took the paper from his uncertain hands, moving into the best of the bizarre light. They had ridden north in order to strike the Nueces River where the route on his portion of the derrotero started. The woman hunkered down on the ground, spreading the paper out. There was something wild about her figure, crouching26 there like that, her dark head brooding over the chart. She looked up abruptly27. It caused him to make a small, involuntary movement, realizing how he had been watching her. He squatted28 down beside her, seeing the scarlet29 tip of her finger descend30 to the words printed in Spanish at one end of the chart.
"Montezuma Embrujada?"
"Yeah," he said. "You can see them right across the river. I don't know why they're called the Haunted Ruins. It's just an old Spanish fort they had here to guard the gold trains coming from the San Saba Mines."
Her finger moved down the line on the paper to the next spot. "Chapotes Platas."
"Silver Persimmons. A bunch of persimmon trees growing about five miles south of here that look silver in the moonlight. I been by there sometimes chousing cattle with Delcazar."
"Tinaja de la Tortuga." Her finger had passed on to the third spot marked on the upper portion of the map.
"Turtle Sink, we call it," he said. "There's the biggest old granddaddy turtle you ever saw living there, but I never saw any water."
"Veredas Coloradas—"
"You got me now," he said. "I told you nobody's seen all of the brasada. Delcazar knows more about it than anybody else I ever knew, but he can't tell me where Snake Thickets31 are, or what's in Lost Swamp."
"This is still on the portion of the map you had," she said.
He nodded. "It's new brush to me and thicker'n heel flies in spring. It takes a machete to get through."
Her finger was trailing on down the line, crossing the jagged tear in the paper, marking the spots noted33 on the second portion of the derrotero. "Llano Sacaguista, Puenta Piedra, Resaca Perdida—you don't know any of these?"
He shook his head. "I told you. I've never been down that way. I've heard of some. Puenta Piedra, for instance. There's supposed to be a natural stone bridge somewhere along the Rio Diablo. And most everybody in the brush has heard the tales about Lost Swamp."
"Puenta Piedra is beyond that thick brush," she said. "Why not skirt that section of the brasada until we strike Rio Diablo? If Puenta Piedra is somewhere along Rio Diablo, we should find it by following the river's course. Then maybe we can follow the chart from Puenta Piedra on down to the Snake Thickets."
"We won't get back before daylight," he said.
"I don't care." She rose with a toss of her head. "Let them know we've been hunting the chest. I told you there wasn't any time left to beat about the bush."
"And what have we got when we do reach Snake Thickets?" he said.
"Don't ask me!" She seemed to allow herself full release for the first time. Her face was flushed and she swung aboard the copperbottom viciously. "All I know is I can't sit around that house and wait for something to happen. The only way to find something is to go out and hunt for it—"
She stopped, as she saw him standing34 there staring at the pinto. It had a little roan in its black coloring which caused the dark spots to run over into the white patches, giving a sloppy35, splotched effect. It stirred faintly, snorting. Merida saw what that did to him.
"Crawford—"
There was a plea in her voice. She sat quiescent36, waiting. His lips flattened37 against his teeth. He moved slowly to the pinto, standing there, staring at the sweaty saddle. The smell of it grew in his nostrils38. He was filled with the impulse to turn and run. His body twitched with it.
"Crawford—"
He put his foot in the stirrup and stepped aboard.
Silver Persimmons, Turtle Sink, Rio Diablo. They were names on the chart. They were spots in the brasada. They were names in his head and their reality blended with black letters on faded parchment. He lost all sense of time. His only consciousness was of movement. No telling how long it took them from Haunted Ruins to Silver Persimmons. The weird39 brush floated past in a sea of mingled40 pain and trembling and sweating. The stark41 arms of chaparral supplicated42 the night on every side. The cenizo's ashen43 hue44 had turned a sick lavender from recent rain, and it reeled biliously45 into vision and out again. Then Chapotes Platas were gleaming like newly minted coin beneath the risen moon. The woman talked sometimes, watching Crawford, in a low, insistent way.
"My mother was the curandera of the village. You have no idea how many plants those herb-women can make medicine from. On Saturday we would go to the river a mile away and gather herbs. I used to enjoy that. It was as far away from home as I got. The rest was mostly work. Nothing very nice to remember. Choking to death in the fumes46 of the herbs my mother had cooking constantly in the big brass47 kettle in our jacal. Rubbing my eyes all day in the smoke. She was stone blind from that. Grinding corn on the metate. I must have spent half my waking hours with that metate. Do you blame me for marrying Capitán Mendoza when he asked? I didn't love him. He was brutal48 and ugly. But he was stationed in Mexico City. I was fourteen at the time—"
Turtle Sink ceased to be inked words on yellowed paper and rose abruptly from the shadowed depths of the brush—a stony water hole with sand white as bleached49 bones covering its bottom and the scarred, mottled shell of a huge turtle barely visible in the black shadow beneath one end. They were beyond that when the sound of his breathing slid momentarily across the uppermost reaches of his consciousness. It was not as labored50, or as harsh. Then it was her voice, floating in again.
"After Mendoza died, riding with Diaz, I got a job entertaining in a cafe near Collegio Militar. It was there I first met Huerta. He taught me to speak English, gave me my first taste of what money can do. Tarant had known Huerta before, and when Rockland sent him down to look into the Delcazar papers, Tarant contacted Huerta to help him. Huerta was there when Tarant came across the portion of the derrotero Delcazar's uncle had possessed51. That's how Huerta knew Rockland would have it. When Huerta told me about it, I showed him the portion of the map I had—"
Now it was his legs. First it had been his breath, now it was his legs. He realized they were hanging free against the stirrup leathers. He was sitting a horse without tension for the first time since Africano had rolled him. He turned toward Merida. Maybe it was in his face.
"Your legs don't hurt now, do they?"
He was almost afraid to speak. "No," he said, with a strange, husky wonder in his voice. "No."
He had never seen her smile with such rich sincerity52, and her voice trembled with a strange, joyful53 excitation. "Then we can, Crawford, we can!"
He stared at her, unable to answer. Then he averted54 his head, lips thin against his teeth. Could they? He was afraid to answer it. Yet the pain was gone. He could sit there with the movement of the horse beneath him and its sweaty fetor reaching his nostrils in vagrant55 waves and feel no pain. And with the cessation of his pain, the other things became more vivid in his consciousness.
He caught the faint honeyed odor of white brush from a draw to his right, and drank in its full sweetness for the first time in months. The woman saw that, and her lips lifted faintly. They reached Rio Diablo and turned northward56 on its banks. It was the best water between the Nueces and the Rio Grande, yet it was no more than a stream, its mucky course following a sandy bottom that wandered in lazy loops through the brasada.
"We're crossing Delcazar's old spread now," Crawford told her. "You can see how much better watering you'd get here than where Rio Diablo turns into Rockland's holdings. That's why Rockland wanted to get hold of this stretch. When Rockland's dad first got the Big O, they say the river was bank full from one end of his pastures to the other. Couple more years and it will be completely dry there."
They passed the borders of what had once belonged to Pio Delcazar and came across a grass-grown pile of stones on a clay bank while it was still dark, a broken, hand-hewn timber thrusting its jagged end skyward from the rubble57. Crawford dismounted and moved about the area, bending now and then to squint58 at certain spots. Then he stared across the river to where another heap of stones stood on the far bank.
"Puenta Piedra," he mused59, tugging60 idly at his scraggly black beard. "I wonder if those stories about a natural stone bridge could have started from one the Spaniards built on the route south from San Antonio."
"How does this line up with Tinaja de la Tortuga?"
He looked upward, turning his head till he found Lucero, and raised his hand to it. "There's the Shepherd's Star. And the one the Mexicans call La Guía. They're always fixed61 in relation to each other. That leaves us almost due south of Turtle Sink."
"That tallies62 with the map," she said, spreading the parchment out against her horse's neck. "Red Trails must be right in the middle of that thicket32 we skirted. And this is the Puenta Piedra they mean. We have to turn east a little now to strike Llano Sacaguista."
He got onto the pinto without hesitation63 this time, and led down into the brown muck of the shallow water and up the other bank. Llano Sacaguista proved to be a vast open flat covered with greening sacaguista grass. He had never traversed these particular flats, and beyond this was a stretch of brush entirely64 foreign to him. They left Rio Diablo for a mile or so and then struck it again. A block in the river caused by some ancient upheaval65 rendered the land boggy66 here. The hollow boom of bullfrogs mingled with the other night sounds. A 'gator bellowed67 somewhere from the depths of the exotic brush.
"Looks more like East Texas," Crawford muttered. "I wonder if this could be Lost Swamp."
He could see the glow of excitement in the woman's eyes now. They pushed on southward with the false dawn dropping an eerie light through the brush. The boggy section fell behind, and the natural aridity68 of the brasada returned. They were still following the river, though it was nothing but a dry bed now, the trickle69 of water having ceased where it ran into Lost Swamp. A true dawn was bringing light to the sky in the east when they heard the first sound. It was a thin sibilation, reminiscent of the mesquite sighing in a light breeze. Crawford moved his pinto over beside Merida's copperbottom, halting both horses, to sit there, listening. Then he touched a heel to the pinto's flank, moving it carefully down into the very center of the river bed. The brush on either bank grew more dense70 as they moved on up the dry bed, and began to gather here in the bottoms now. The sound increased, too. The faint hissing71 was veritably ceaseless now, rising and falling in a sibilant tide. Finally the brush was so thick in the river bed they were having to force their way through. The pinto was beginning to fiddle72 nervously73. It shied, finally, and Crawford jerked it to a stop, a vagrant wave of the old panic gripping him. He sat there a moment, trying to control his breathing.
"You wanted to know where Snake Thickets was," he said. "It looks like we're sitting right on the edge of it."
There was a vague awe74 in her voice. "It sounds as if all the snakes in Texas had gathered here. Crawford—"
"Don't be loco," he said, seeing it in her eyes. "We wouldn't last two minutes beyond this spot. If those Mexicans cached anything, it sure couldn't have been inside here."
"If?" Her tone was sharp; the excited glow fled her eyes, leaving them narrow and speculative75 as she looked at him. "You still don't believe there is any money."
"But the part of the derrotero you had—" she moved her hand in a vague, defensive77 way—"coming all this way, putting up with all that back there—Quartel, Huerta, Whitehead—surely—" She stopped as it must have struck her. A reserve crossed her face, tightening78 the planes of her cheek, and that speculation79 deepened in her eyes, accentuating80, somehow, the oblique81 tilt82 of her brow. "Maybe I was right the first time," she said finally. She leaned toward him slightly. "I guess I should have seen it before this. You're hardly the type, are you? Money wouldn't mean enough to you to put up with that." She stopped again, studying him, and then a faint smile stirred her lips. "Which one of us do you think murdered Otis Rockland?"
He met her eyes for a moment, almost sullenly83. Then a vague unrest seeped84 through him. His saddle creaked as he shifted on the pinto, and he turned his head upward, sniffing85. She must have taken it for a discomfort86 arising from her scrutiny87, for that smile on her lips spread perceptibly.
"I didn't think you were that righteous," she said.
He brought his eyes back to hers with an effort, staring a moment before he comprehended. "Look," he said, then, with a careful deliberateness. "I don't give a damn about Rockland being killed. It's me, see. It's purely88 a selfish motive89. I told you. A man gets tired after a while. He gets tired jumping like a jack90 rabbit every time a tree toad91 chirps92. He gets tired running the brush all day and all night to keep one jump ahead of those badge-packers. He gets tired living on raw meat because he's afraid to build a fire, and sleeping in a bunch of mesquite because he can't get near enough a house to get a blanket, and scratching his face off because he hasn't even got so much as a knife to shave with."
"Then why didn't you leave?"
He opened his mouth to say it. Then he closed it again, staring at her. Finally he shrugged93 sullenly. "It's my country, that's all."
"Is it?" she said. "Or maybe I'm wrong again. Maybe Quartel was closer to the truth than any of us. Where do you pin the badge? On your undershirt?"
"I didn't think you'd understand," he said.
"It would be the most logical reason for your staying, through all that," she said, studying him. "If you really are hoping to find Rockland's murderer, that would be the most logical reason."
"Let's close the poke," he said.
"And maybe that about your legs is wrong, too," her voice probed relentlessly94. "That would be a pretty good blind. Who would suspect them of sending in a lawman who couldn't even sit a horse?"
She must have meant it to sting him. He saw some strange satisfaction in her face as he stiffened95 perceptibly.
"No—Merida—" He held out his hand, losing for a moment all sense of the heavy antipathy96 which had fallen between them. Then it was that restlessness, coming again, through the consciousness of her mocking eyes on him. The pinto began to fiddle around in the sand, and the woman's copperbottom raised its head, delicate nostrils fluttering. Merida looked at the animals, frowning.
"What is it?" she said.
A puff97 of wind ruffled98 Crawford's ducking jacket against his ribs99. He turned in the saddle, staring northward. It was light enough with dawn now for him to discern the blackening clouds on the horizon, above the pattern of brush. The breeze whipped through the brasada anew, strong enough now to drown out the incessant100 hissing which emanated101 from Mogotes Serpientes. Mesquite rattled102 mournfully to the wind. A mule103 deer broke from chaparral with a clatter104 behind the horses, bounding across the river bed in frightened leaps. The pinto snorted and began fighting the bit, whirling in the sand.
The woman shivered with the sudden chill, calling again, a vague fear tinging105 her voice. "What is it?"
He could hardly answer. The plunging106, rearing pinto had filled him again with that panic, and he was gripping frantically107 with his legs, blood thickening in his throat, choking him up, sweat breaking out on his face.
"Norther." He finally got it out. "Hits like this sometimes in the spring. Better get to shelter quick as we can. It looks like hell is going to pop its shutters108. Delcazar used to have an old jacal on the Diablo. It's south of us somewhere along the bottoms. He and I used to hole up there when we were hunting—"
He was fighting the pinto all the time he shouted, and he could hold it no longer. Frothing at the mouth from battling the bit, the horse wheeled wildly, tossing its head, and bolted up the bank of the river. The wind had risen to a veritable gale109 already, and the ducking jacket whipped about his torso with a dull slapping sound as the pinto burst through the first growth of chaparral. A hackberry rose ahead. Crawford reined110 the horse aside desperately111, sliding off on one flank to get beneath the branches. He was shaking with panic now, and the pain was in his tense, quivering legs.
"Crawford, Crawford—"
It was Merida's voice behind him. Her animal made a hellish clatter going through a mogote. Then that was drowned in the howl of the rising gale. Crawford was dimly aware of his own choked sobbing112 as he fought to stay on the frenzied113 pinto and turn it southward toward Delcazar's jacal. His consciousness of the norther was only secondary to the terrible animal panic in him. The black clouds had risen like a pyre of smoke over the northern horizon and were descending114 on the near brush like an awesome115, clutching hand. Already rain was beginning to pelt116 the thickets. The howling wind tore a pendent bunch of mesquite berries off its bush as Crawford raced by, carrying it into his face. He shouted aloud at it, clawing wildly at the blinding mass. But mostly it was the horse beneath him. The writhing117 heat of its frenetic movement beating against his legs. The dank smell of its wet body sweeping118 him. The coarse black hair of its mane whipping into his face. The awful demoralizing consciousness of its uncontrollable run carrying him along.
He could hear his own choked, incoherent cries. The fear held him in a shaking, writhing vise now. Nopal clawed his face. A post-oak branch struck his head with stunning119 force. He clung to the horse, bawling120 insanely, no longer trying to rein14 it, torn off one side by raking chaparral, beaten at by the trunk of a hackberry, scratched and ripped by mesquite.
"Let go, Crawford." It was Merida, calling shrilly121 from behind him somewhere. "Jump, Crawford, please, let go, oh please—"
"No! no!"
Had he screamed it? Someone was screaming. His head rocked backward to a blow. Sensations spun122 in a kaleidoscope about him. The towering dominance of a cottonwood reeled around its orbit above him. Mesquite swept into his vision and out again. Sound and sight and feel became a confused pattern. Red-topped nopal swam past. The crash of chaparral dinned123 in his ears. The gnarled curve of a post oak reeled up and blotted124 out his vision with a stunning blow in the face. His own hoarse125 scream of agony. The drum of hoofs126 somewhere beneath him. The shrieking127 wind. White brush. Green toboso grass. Brown hackberries. Agony in his legs. The horse whinnying. White brush. Pain. Grass. Screaming. Trees. Shouting. Blood. Nopal—
"Crawford!"
He did not know he had left the horse till he found himself crouched there in a thicket of mesquite, his face against the wet, earthy smell of dampened grama grass, making small, incoherent sounds. He seemed in a void, only dimly aware of sound sweeping around him, his awesome fear the only real thing to him. It clutched his loins and knotted the muscles across his belly128. His legs were still rigid129 and trembling with that pain. He was sobbing in a hoarse, choked way. He heard the creak behind him but didn't know what it was till the woman's voice came through the haze130 of primal131 panic.
"Crawford—"
"There. That's it. You've seen it now. All of it. Can we? Hell. How do you like it? Isn't it pretty?"
"You should have jumped." She had dropped to her knees before him and pulled his face up off the ground. The rain had soaked her clothes and when she drew his head into her arms he felt the soft, wet contour of her breast through the damp silk shirt. He was still shaken with that animal fright, and he had no control over his choked, guttural sobbing, or his words.
"I couldn't jump. It's always like that. I'm so scared I want to puke and the only thing I want to do is leave the horse and I can't." His voice sounded muffled132 against the supple133 heat of her body. He had never let it out like this before, and with the panic and pain and fear robbing him of all control, he heard all the agony and anguish134 and frustration of the last months flooding from him in a wild release. He was still crouched on the ground, bent135 into her lap, his face against her breast, his fingers clutching spasmodically at the grass on either side of her.
She soothed136 him like a child, stroking his head. Finally, the pain began to die in his legs. The knotted muscles across his belly began to twitch25 spasmodically, and then relaxed. It was no longer his hoarse, sobbing words against her body. It was only his labored breathing. The full realization137 of what had happened struck him, and he forced his head back in her arms till he was far enough away to see her face. The flush of a sudden shame swept darkly into his cheeks. She saw it, and her eyes widened with a tortured compassion138.
"No, Crawford, no, please," she said, in a husky voice, and put her palms against his cheeks and pulled his head to one side. Her position gave weight to the leverage139 of her hands, and he found himself lying with his back on the ground, with his knees twisted beneath him and Merida bending over from her sitting position.
He had thought about it, before, enough times. A man did, with such a woman. But none of it had equaled this. All the shame was swept away. The sounds of the storm were blotted out. His whole consciousness was of the straining tension of her body against him and the moist resilience of her lips meeting his. Finally she lifted her head, and he could see that her eyes were closed. She sat that way a moment, without opening them, her blouse caught wetly across the curving rise and fall of her breast. He lay staring up at her, and it was not the fear or the pain or the shame any longer in him, or even the passion which had swept him in that brief, violent moment. Opening her eyes, she must have seen it in his twisted, wet face.
"Crawford," she said in a strained voice. "Crawford, what is it? What do you want?"
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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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winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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seep
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| v.渗出，渗漏；n.渗漏，小泉，水（油）坑 | |
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synthetic
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| adj.合成的，人工的；综合的；n.人工制品 | |
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stupor
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| v.昏迷；不省人事 | |
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mare
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| n.母马，母驴 | |
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eerie
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| adj.怪诞的；奇异的；可怕的；胆怯的 | |
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ripening
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| v.成熟，使熟( ripen的现在分词 )；熟化；熟成 | |
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velvet
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filament
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| n.细丝；长丝；灯丝 | |
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crouched
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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stony
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| adj.石头的，多石头的，冷酷的，无情的 | |
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ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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rein
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| n.疆绳，统治，支配；vt.以僵绳控制，统治 | |
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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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insistent
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frustration
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savagery
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condemn
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| vt.谴责，指责；宣判(罪犯)，判刑 | |
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condemned
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subsided
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proximity
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irritation
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twitched
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twitch
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crouching
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abruptly
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squatted
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| v.像动物一样蹲下( squat的过去式和过去分词 )；非法擅自占用（土地或房屋）；为获得其所有权；而占用某片公共用地。 | |
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scarlet
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descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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31
thickets
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| n.灌木丛( thicket的名词复数 )；丛状物 | |
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thicket
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| n.灌木丛，树林 | |
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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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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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sloppy
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| adj.邋遢的，不整洁的 | |
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quiescent
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| adj.静止的，不活动的，寂静的 | |
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37
flattened
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| [医]（水）平扁的，弄平的 | |
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38
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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39
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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40
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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41
stark
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| adj.荒凉的；严酷的；完全的；adv.完全地 | |
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42
supplicated
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| v.祈求，哀求，恳求( supplicate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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43
ashen
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| adj.灰的 | |
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44
hue
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| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
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45
biliously
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| adj.胆汁的；胆汁（过多而致）病的；脾气坏的 | |
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46
fumes
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| n.(强烈而刺激的)气味，气体 | |
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47
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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48
brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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49
bleached
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| 漂白的，晒白的，颜色变浅的 | |
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50
labored
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| adj.吃力的，谨慎的v.努力争取(for)( labor的过去式和过去分词 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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51
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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52
sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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53
joyful
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| adj.欢乐的，令人欢欣的 | |
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54
averted
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| 防止，避免( avert的过去式和过去分词 )； 转移 | |
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vagrant
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| n.流浪者，游民；adj.流浪的，漂泊不定的 | |
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56
northward
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| adv.向北；n.北方的地区 | |
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57
rubble
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| n.（一堆）碎石，瓦砾 | |
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58
squint
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| v. 使变斜视眼, 斜视, 眯眼看, 偏移, 窥视; n. 斜视, 斜孔小窗; adj. 斜视的, 斜的 | |
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59
mused
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| v.沉思，冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 )；沉思自语说（某事） | |
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60
tugging
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| n.牵引感v.用力拉，使劲拉，猛扯( tug的现在分词 ) | |
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61
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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62
tallies
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| n.账( tally的名词复数 )；符合；（计数的）签；标签v.计算，清点( tally的第三人称单数 )；加标签（或标记）于；（使）符合；（使）吻合 | |
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63
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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64
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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65
upheaval
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| n.胀起，(地壳)的隆起；剧变，动乱 | |
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66
boggy
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| adj.沼泽多的 | |
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67
bellowed
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| v.发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的过去式和过去分词 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫 | |
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68
aridity
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| n.干旱，乏味；干燥性；荒芜 | |
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69
trickle
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| vi.淌，滴，流出，慢慢移动，逐渐消散 | |
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70
dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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71
hissing
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| n. 发嘶嘶声, 蔑视 动词hiss的现在分词形式 | |
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72
fiddle
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| n.小提琴；vi.拉提琴；不停拨弄，乱动 | |
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73
nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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74
awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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75
speculative
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| adj.思索性的，暝想性的，推理的 | |
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76
skeptical
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| adj.怀疑的，多疑的 | |
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77
defensive
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| adj.防御的；防卫的；防守的 | |
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78
tightening
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| 上紧，固定，紧密 | |
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79
speculation
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| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
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80
accentuating
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| v.重读( accentuate的现在分词 )；使突出；使恶化；加重音符号于 | |
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81
oblique
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| adj.斜的，倾斜的，无诚意的，不坦率的 | |
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82
tilt
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| v.(使)倾侧；(使)倾斜；n.倾侧；倾斜 | |
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83
sullenly
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| 不高兴地，绷着脸，忧郁地 | |
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84
seeped
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| v.（液体）渗( seep的过去式和过去分词 )；渗透；渗出；漏出 | |
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85
sniffing
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| n.探查法v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的现在分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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86
discomfort
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| n.不舒服，不安，难过，困难，不方便 | |
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87
scrutiny
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| n.详细检查，仔细观察 | |
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88
purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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89
motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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90
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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91
toad
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| n.蟾蜍，癞蛤蟆 | |
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92
chirps
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| 鸟叫，虫鸣( chirp的第三人称单数 )； 啾； 啾啾 | |
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93
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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94
relentlessly
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| adv.不屈不挠地；残酷地；不间断 | |
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95
stiffened
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| 加强的 | |
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96
antipathy
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| n.憎恶；反感，引起反感的人或事物 | |
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97
puff
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| n.一口(气)；一阵(风)；v.喷气，喘气 | |
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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
ribs
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| n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 )；（船或屋顶等的）肋拱；肋骨状的东西；（织物的）凸条花纹 | |
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100
incessant
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| adj.不停的，连续的 | |
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101
emanated
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| v.从…处传出，传出( emanate的过去式和过去分词 )；产生，表现，显示 | |
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102
rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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103
mule
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| n.骡子，杂种，执拗的人 | |
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104
clatter
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| v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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105
tinging
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| v.（使）发丁丁声( ting的现在分词 ) | |
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106
plunging
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| adj.跳进的，突进的v.颠簸( plunge的现在分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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107
frantically
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| ad.发狂地, 发疯地 | |
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108
shutters
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| 百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 )； （照相机的）快门 | |
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109
gale
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| n.大风，强风，一阵闹声（尤指笑声等） | |
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110
reined
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| 勒缰绳使（马）停步( rein的过去式和过去分词 )； 驾驭； 严格控制； 加强管理 | |
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111
desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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112
sobbing
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| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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113
frenzied
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| a.激怒的；疯狂的 | |
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114
descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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115
awesome
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| adj.令人惊叹的，难得吓人的，很好的 | |
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116
pelt
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| v.投掷，剥皮，抨击，开火 | |
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117
writhing
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| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的现在分词 ) | |
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118
sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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119
stunning
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| adj.极好的；使人晕倒的 | |
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120
bawling
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| v.大叫，大喊( bawl的现在分词 )；放声大哭；大声叫出；叫卖（货物） | |
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121
shrilly
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| 尖声的； 光亮的，耀眼的 | |
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122
spun
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| v.纺，杜撰，急转身 | |
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123
dinned
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| vt.喧闹（din的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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124
blotted
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| 涂污( blot的过去式和过去分词 )； （用吸墨纸）吸干 | |
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125
hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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126
hoofs
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| n.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的名词复数 )v.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的第三人称单数 ) | |
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127
shrieking
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| v.尖叫( shriek的现在分词 ) | |
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128
belly
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| n.肚子，腹部；(像肚子一样)鼓起的部分，膛 | |
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129
rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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130
haze
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| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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131
primal
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| adj.原始的；最重要的 | |
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132
muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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133
supple
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| adj.柔软的，易弯的，逢迎的，顺从的，灵活的；vt.使柔软，使柔顺，使顺从；vi.变柔软，变柔顺 | |
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134
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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135
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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136
soothed
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| v.安慰( soothe的过去式和过去分词 )；抚慰；使舒服；减轻痛苦 | |
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137
realization
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| n.实现；认识到，深刻了解 | |
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138
compassion
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| n.同情，怜悯 | |
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139
leverage
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| n.力量，影响；杠杆作用，杠杆的力量 | |
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