José was muffled3 deep in his blanket, and his great toppling sombrero was drawn4 low over his brow. He shadowed his master along the dimming trail in the fashion of an assassin. A cold wind of the impending5 night swept over the wilderness6 of mesquit.
"Man," said Richardson in lame2 Mexican as the servant drew near, "I want eat! I want sleep! Understand—no? Quickly! Understand?"
"Si, señor," said José, nodding. He stretched one arm out of his blanket and pointed8 a yellow finger into the gloom. "Over there, small village. Si, señor."
They rode forward again. Once the American's horse shied and breathed quiveringly at something which he saw or imagined in the darkness, and the rider drew a steady, patient rein9, and leaned over to speak tenderly as if he were addressing a frightened woman. The sky had faded to white over the mountains, and the plain was a vast, pointless ocean of black.
Suddenly some low houses appeared squatting10 amid the bushes. The horsemen rode into a hollow until the houses rose against the sombre sundown sky, and then up a small hillock, causing these habitations to sink like boats in the sea of shadow.
A beam of red firelight fell across the trail. Richardson sat sleepily on his horse while his servant quarrelled with somebody—a mere11 voice in the gloom—over the price of bed and board. The houses about him were for the most part like tombs in their whiteness and silence, but there were scudding12 black figures that seemed interested in his arrival.
José came at last to the horses' heads, and the American slid stiffly from his seat. He muttered a greeting, as with his spurred feet he clicked into the adobe13 house that confronted him. The brown stolid14 face of a woman shone in the light of the fire. He seated himself on the earthen floor and blinked drowsily15 at the blaze. He was aware that the woman was clinking earthenware16, and hieing here and everywhere in the manoeuvres of the housewife. From a dark corner there came the sound of two or three snores twining together.
The woman handed him a bowl of tortillas. She was a submissive creature, timid and large-eyed. She gazed at his enormous silver spurs, his large and impressive revolver, with the interest and admiration17 of the highly-privileged cat of the adage18. When he ate, she seemed transfixed off there in the gloom, her white teeth shining.
José entered, staggering under two Mexican saddles, large enough for building-sites. Richardson decided19 to smoke a cigarette, and then changed his mind. It would be much finer to go to sleep. His blanket hung over his left shoulder, furled into a long pipe of cloth, according to the Mexican fashion. By doffing20 his sombrero, unfastening his spurs and his revolver belt, he made himself ready for the slow, blissful twist into the blanket. Like a cautious man he lay close to the wall, and all his property was very near his hand.
The mesquit brush burned long. José threw two gigantic wings of shadow as he flapped his blanket about him—first across his chest under his arms, and then around his neck and across his chest again—this time over his arms, with the end tossed on his right shoulder. A Mexican thus snugly22 enveloped23 can nevertheless free his fighting arm in a beautifully brisk way, merely shrugging his shoulder as he grabs for the weapon at his belt. (They always wear their serapes in this manner.)
The firelight smothered24 the rays which, streaming from a moon as large as a drum-head, were struggling at the open door. Richardson heard from the plain the fine, rhythmical25 trample26 of the hoofs27 of hurried horses. He went to sleep wondering who rode so fast and so late. And in the deep silence the pale rays of the moon must have prevailed against the red spears of the fire until the room was slowly flooded to its middle with a rectangle of silver light.
Richardson was awakened28 by the sound of a guitar. It was badly played—in this land of Mexico, from which the romance of the instrument ascends29 to us like a perfume. The guitar was groaning30 and whining31 like a badgered soul. A noise of scuffling feet accompanied the music. Sometimes laughter arose, and often the voices of men saying bitter things to each other, but always the guitar cried on, the treble sounding as if some one were beating iron, and the bass32 humming like bees. "Damn it—they're having a dance," he muttered, fretfully. He heard two men quarrelling in short, sharp words, like pistol shots; they were calling each other worse names than common people know in other countries. He wondered why the noise was so loud. Raising his head from his saddle pillow, he saw, with the help of the valiant33 moonbeams, a blanket hanging flat against the wall at the further end of the room. Being of opinion that it concealed34 a door, and remembering that Mexican drink made men very drunk, he pulled his revolver closer to him and prepared for sudden disaster.
Richardson was dreaming of his far and beloved north.
"Well, I would kill him, then!"
"No, you must not!"
"Yes, I will kill him! Listen! I will ask this American beast for his beautiful pistol and spurs and money and saddle, and if he will not give them—you will see!"
"But these Americans—they are a strange people. Look out, señor."
Then twenty voices took part in the discussion. They rose in quavering shrillness35, as from men badly drunk. Richardson felt the skin draw tight around his mouth, and his knee-joints turned to bread. He slowly came to a sitting posture37, glaring at the motionless blanket at the far end of the room. This stiff and mechanical movement, accomplished38 entirely39 by the muscles of the waist, must have looked like the rising of a corpse41 in the wan7 moonlight, which gave everything a hue42 of the grave.
My friend, take my advice and never be executed by a hangman who doesn't talk the English language. It, or anything that resembles it, is the most difficult of deaths. The tumultuous emotions of Richardson's terror destroyed that slow and careful process of thought by means of which he understood Mexican. Then he used his instinctive44 comprehension of the first and universal language, which is tone. Still, it is disheartening not to be able to understand the detail of threats against the blood of your body.
Suddenly, the clamour of voices ceased. There was a silence—a silence of decision. The blanket was flung aside, and the red light of a torch flared45 into the room. It was held high by a fat, round-faced Mexican, whose little snake-like moustache was as black as his eyes, and whose eyes were black as jet. He was insane with the wild rage of a man whose liquor is dully burning at his brain. Five or six of his fellows crowded after him. The guitar, which had been thrummed doggedly47 during the time of the high words, now suddenly stopped. They contemplated48 each other. Richardson sat very straight and still, his right hand lost in his blanket. The Mexicans jostled in the light of the torch, their eyes blinking and glittering.
The fat one posed in the manner of a grandee49. Presently his hand dropped to his belt, and from his lips there spun50 an epithet—a hideous51 word which often foreshadows knife-blows, a word peculiarly of Mexico, where people have to dig deep to find an insult that has not lost its savour. The American did not move. He was staring at the fat Mexican with a strange fixedness52 of gaze, not fearful, not dauntless, not anything that could be interpreted. He simply stared.
The fat Mexican must have been disconcerted, for he continued to pose as a grandee, with more and more sublimity53, until it would have been easy for him to have fallen over backward. His companions were swaying very drunkenly. They still blinked their little beady eyes at Richardson. Ah, well, sirs, here was a mystery! At the approach of their menacing company, why did not this American cry out and turn pale, or run, or pray them mercy? The animal merely sat still, and stared, and waited for them to begin. Well, evidently he was a great fighter! Or perhaps he was an idiot? Indeed, this was an embarrassing situation, for who was going forward to discover whether he was a great fighter or an idiot?
To Richardson, whose nerves were tingling54 and twitching55 like live wires, and whose heart jolted56 inside him, this pause was a long horror; and for these men, who could so frighten him, there began to swell57 in him a fierce hatred58—a hatred that made him long to be capable of fighting all of them, a hatred that made him capable of fighting all of them. A 44-calibre revolver can make a hole large enough for little boys to shoot marbles through; and there was a certain fat Mexican with a moustache like a snake who came extremely near to have eaten his last tomale merely because he frightened a man too much.
José had slept the first part of the night in his fashion, his body hunched59 into a heap, his legs crooked60, his head touching61 his knees. Shadows had obscured him from the sight of the invaders62. At this point he arose, and began to prowl quakingly over toward Richardson, as if he meant to hide behind him.
Of a sudden the fat Mexican gave a howl of glee. José had come within the torch's circle of light. With roars of ferocity the whole group of Mexicans pounced63 on the American's servant. He shrank shuddering65 away from them, beseeching66 by every device of word and gesture. They pushed him this way and that. They beat him with their fists. They stung him with their curses. As he grovelled67 on his knees, the fat Mexican took him by the throat and said—"I am going to kill you!" And continually they turned their eyes to see if they were to succeed in causing the initial demonstration68 by the American. But he looked on impassively. Under the blanket his fingers were clenched69, as iron, upon the handle of his revolver.
Here suddenly two brilliant clashing chords from the guitar were heard, and a woman's voice, full of laughter and confidence, cried from without—"Hello! hello! Where are you?" The lurching company of Mexicans instantly paused and looked at the ground. One said, as he stood with his legs wide apart in order to balance himself—"It is the girls. They have come!" He screamed in answer to the question of the woman—"Here!" And without waiting he started on a pilgrimage toward the blanket-covered door. One could now hear a number of female voices giggling70 and chattering71.
Two other Mexicans said—"Yes, it is the girls! Yes!" They also started quietly away. Even the fat Mexican's ferocity seemed to be affected72. He looked uncertainly at the still immovable American. Two of his friends grasped him gaily—"Come, the girls are here! Come!" He cast another glower73 at Richardson. "But this——," he began. Laughing, his comrades hustled74 him toward the door. On its threshold, and holding back the blanket, with one hand, he turned his yellow face with a last challenging glare toward the American. José, bewailing his state in little sobs76 of utter despair and woe77, crept to Richardson and huddled78 near his knee. Then the cries of the Mexicans meeting the girls were heard, and the guitar burst out in joyous79 humming.
The moon clouded, and but a faint square of light fell through the open main door of the house. The coals of the fire were silent, save for occasional sputters80. Richardson did not change his position. He remained staring at the blanket which hid the strategic door in the far end. At his knees José was arguing, in a low, aggrieved81 tone, with the saints. Without, the Mexicans laughed and danced, and—it would appear from the sound—drank more.
In the stillness and the night Richardson sat wondering if some serpent-like Mexican were sliding towards him in the darkness, and if the first thing he knew of it would be the deadly sting of a knife. "Sssh," he whispered, to José. He drew his revolver from under the blanket, and held it on his leg. The blanket over the door fascinated him. It was a vague form, black and unmoving. Through the opening it shielded were to come, probably, threats, death. Sometimes he thought he saw it move. As grim white sheets, the black and silver of coffins82, all the panoply83 of death, affect us, because of that which they hide, so this blanket, dangling84 before a hole in an adobe wall, was to Richardson a horrible emblem85, and a horrible thing in itself. In his present mood he could not have been brought to touch it with his finger.
The celebrating Mexicans occasionally howled in song. The guitarist played with speed and enthusiasm. Richardson longed to run. But in this vibrating and threatening gloom his terror convinced him that a move on his part would be a signal for the pounce64 of death. José, crouching86 abjectly87, mumbled88 now and again. Slowly, and ponderous89 as stars, the minutes went.
Suddenly Richardson thrilled and started. His breath for a moment left him. In sleep his nerveless fingers had allowed his revolver to fall and clang upon the hard floor. He grabbed it up hastily, and his glance swept apprehensively90 over the room. A chill blue light of dawn was in the place. Every outline was slowly growing; detail was following detail. The dread91 blanket did not move. The riotous92 company had gone or fallen silent. He felt the effect of this cold dawn in his blood. The candour of breaking day brought his nerve. He touched José. "Come," he said. His servant lifted his lined yellow face, and comprehended. Richardson buckled94 on his spurs and strode up; José obediently lifted the two great saddles. Richardson held two bridles95 and a blanket on his left arm; in his right hand he had his revolver. They sneaked97 toward the door.
The man who said that spurs jingled98 was insane. Spurs have a mellow99 clash—clash—clash. Walking in spurs—notably Mexican spurs—you remind yourself vaguely100 of a telegraphic linesman. Richardson was inexpressibly shocked when he came to walk. He sounded to himself like a pair of cymbals101. He would have known of this if he had reflected; but then, he was escaping, not reflecting. He made a gesture of despair, and from under the two saddles José tried to make one of hopeless horror. Richardson stooped, and with shaking fingers unfastened the spurs. Taking them in his left hand, he picked up his revolver, and they slunk on toward the door. On the threshold he looked back. In a corner he saw, watching him with large eyes, the Indian man and woman who had been his hosts. Throughout the night they had made no sign, and now they neither spoke102 nor moved. Yet Richardson thought he detected meek103 satisfaction at his departure.
The street was still and deserted104. In the eastern sky there was a lemon-coloured patch. José had picketed105 the horses at the side of the house. As the two men came round the corner Richardson's beast set up a whinny of welcome. The little horse had heard them coming. He stood facing them, his ears cocked forward, his eyes bright with welcome.
Richardson made a frantic106 gesture, but the horse, in his happiness at the appearance of his friends, whinnied with enthusiasm. The American felt that he could have strangled his well-beloved steed. Upon the threshold of safety, he was being betrayed by his horse, his friend! He felt the same hate that he would have felt for a dragon. And yet, as he glanced wildly about him, he could see nothing stirring in the street, nothing at the doors of the tomb-like houses.
José had his own saddle-girth and both bridles buckled in a moment. He curled the picket-ropes with a few sweeps of his arm. The American's fingers, however, were shaking so that he could hardly buckle93 the girth. His hands were in invisible mittens107. He was wondering, calculating, hoping about his horse. He knew the little animal's willingness and courage under all circumstances up to this time; but then—here it was different. Who could tell if some wretched instance of equine perversity108 was not about to develop? Maybe the little fellow would not feel like smoking over the plain at express speed this morning, and so he would rebel, and kick, and be wicked. Maybe he would be without feeling of interest, and run listlessly. All riders who have had to hurry in the saddle know what it is to be on a horse who does not understand the dramatic situation. Riding a lame sheep is bliss21 to it. Richardson, fumbling109 furiously at the girth, thought of these things.
Presently he had it fastened. He swung into the saddle, and as he did so his horse made a mad jump forward. The spurs of José scratched and tore the flanks of his great black beast, and side by side the two horses raced down the village street. The American heard his horse breathe a quivering sigh of excitement. Those four feet skimmed. They were as light as fairy puff110 balls. The houses glided111 past in a moment, and the great, clear, silent plain appeared like a pale blue sea of mist and wet bushes. Above the mountains the colours of the sunlight were like the first tones, the opening chords of the mighty112 hymn113 of the morning.
The American looked down at his horse. He felt in his heart the first thrill of confidence. The little animal, unurged and quite tranquil114, moving his ears this way and that way with an air of interest in the scenery, was nevertheless bounding into the eye of the breaking day with the speed of a frightened antelope115. Richardson, looking down, saw the long, fine reach of forelimb as steady as steel machinery116. As the ground reeled past, the long, dried grasses hissed117, and cactus118 plants were dull blurs119. A wind whirled the horse's mane over his rider's bridle96 hand.
José's profile was lined against the pale sky. It was as that of a man who swims alone in an ocean. His eyes glinted like metal, fastened on some unknown point ahead of him, some fabulous120 place of safety. Occasionally his mouth puckered121 in a little unheard cry; and his legs, bended back, worked spasmodically as his spurred heels sliced his charger's sides.
Richardson consulted the gloom in the west for signs of a hard-riding, yelling cavalcade122. He knew that, whereas his friends the enemy had not attacked him when he had sat still and with apparent calmness confronted them, they would take furiously after him now that he had run from them—now that he had confessed himself the weaker. Their valour would grow like weeds in the spring, and upon discovering his escape they would ride forth123 dauntless warriors124. Sometimes he was sure he saw them. Sometimes he was sure he heard them. Continually looking backward over his shoulder, he studied the purple expanses where the night was marching away. José rolled and shuddered125 in his saddle, persistently126 disturbing the stride of the black horse, fretting127 and worrying him until the white foam128 flew, and the great shoulders shone like satin from the sweat.
At last, Richardson drew his horse carefully down to a walk. José wished to rush insanely on, but the American spoke to him sternly. As the two paced forward side by side, Richardson's little horse thrust over his soft nose and inquired into the black's condition.
Riding with José was like riding with a corpse. His face resembled a cast in lead. Sometimes he swung forward and almost pitched from his seat. Richardson was too frightened himself to do anything but hate this man for his fear. Finally, he issued a mandate129 which nearly caused José's eyes to slide out of his head and fall to the ground, like two coins:—"Ride behind me—about fifty paces."
"Señor——" stuttered the servant. "Go," cried the American furiously. He glared at the other and laid his hand on his revolver. José looked at his master wildly. He made a piteous gesture. Then slowly he fell back, watching the hard face of the American for a sign of mercy. But Richardson had resolved in his rage that at any rate he was going to use the eyes and ears of extreme fear to detect the approach of danger; so he established his panic-stricken servant as a sort of outpost.
As they proceeded, he was obliged to watch sharply to see that the servant did not slink forward and join him. When José made beseeching circles in the air with his arm, he replied by menacingly gripping his revolver. José had a revolver too; nevertheless it was very clear in his mind that the revolver was distinctly an American weapon. He had been educated in the Rio Grande country.
Richardson lost the trail once. He was recalled to it by the loud sobs of his servant.
Then at last José came clattering130 forward, gesticulating and wailing75. The little horse sprang to the shoulder of the black. They were off.
Richardson, again looking backward, could see a slanting131 flare46 of dust on the whitening plain. He thought that he could detect small moving figures in it.
José's moans and cries amounted to a university course in theology. They broke continually from his quivering lips. His spurs were as motors. They forced the black horse over the plain in great headlong leaps. But under Richardson there was a little insignificant132 rat-coloured beast who was running apparently133 with almost as much effort as it takes a bronze statue to stand still. The ground seemed merely something to be touched from time to time with hoofs that were as light as blown leaves. Occasionally Richardson lay back and pulled stoutly134 at the bridle to keep from abandoning his servant. José harried135 at his horse's mouth, flopped136 about in the saddle, and made his two heels beat like flails137. The black ran like a horse in despair.
Crimson serapes in the distance resemble drops of blood on the great cloth of plain. Richardson began to dream of all possible chances. Although quite a humane138 man, he did not once think of his servant. José being a Mexican, it was natural that he should be killed in Mexico; but for himself, a New Yorker——! He remembered all the tales of such races for life, and he thought them badly written.
The great black horse was growing indifferent. The jabs of José's spurs no longer caused him to bound forward in wild leaps of pain. José had at last succeeded in teaching him that spurring was to be expected, speed or no speed, and now he took the pain of it dully and stolidly139, as an animal who finds that doing his best gains him no respite140. José was turned into a raving141 maniac142. He bellowed143 and screamed, working his arms and his heels like one in a fit. He resembled a man on a sinking ship, who appeals to the ship. Richardson, too, cried madly to the black horse. The spirit of the horse responded to these calls, and quivering and breathing heavily he made a great effort, a sort of a final rush, not for himself apparently, but because he understood that his life's sacrifice, perhaps, had been invoked144 by these two men who cried to him in the universal tongue. Richardson had no sense of appreciation145 at this time—he was too frightened; but often now he remembers a certain black horse.
From the rear could be heard a yelling, and once a shot was fired—in the air, evidently. Richardson moaned as he looked back. He kept his hand on his revolver. He tried to imagine the brief tumult43 of his capture—the flurry of dust from the hoofs of horses pulled suddenly to their haunches, the shrill36, biting curses of the men, the ring of the shots, his own last contortion146. He wondered, too, if he could not somehow manage to pelt147 that fat Mexican, just to cure his abominable148 egotism.
It was José, the terror-stricken, who at last discovered safety. Suddenly he gave a howl of delight and astonished his horse into a new burst of speed. They were on a little ridge149 at the time, and the American at the top of it saw his servant gallop150 down the slope and into the arms, so to speak, of a small column of horsemen in grey and silver clothes. In the dim light of the early morning they were as vague as shadows, but Richardson knew them at once for a detachment of Rurales, that crack cavalry151 corps40 of the Mexican army which polices the plain so zealously152, being of themselves the law and the arm of it—a fierce and swift-moving body that knows little of prevention but much of vengeance153. They drew up suddenly, and the rows of great silver-trimmed sombreros bobbed in surprise.
Richardson saw José throw himself from his horse and begin to jabber154 at the leader. When he arrived he found that his servant had already outlined the entire situation, and was then engaged in describing him, Richardson, as an American señor of vast wealth, who was the friend of almost every governmental potentate155 within two hundred miles. This seemed profoundly to impress the officer. He bowed gravely to Richardson and smiled significantly at his men, who unslung their carbines.
The little ridge hid the pursuers from view, but the rapid thud of their horses' feet could be heard. Occasionally they yelled and called to each other. Then at last they swept over the brow of the hill, a wild mob of almost fifty drunken horsemen. When they discerned the pale-uniformed Rurales, they were sailing down the slope at top speed.
If toboggans half-way down a hill should suddenly make up their minds to turn round and go back, there would be an effect something like that produced by the drunken horsemen. Richardson saw the Rurales serenely156 swing their carbines forward, and, peculiar-minded person that he was, felt his heart leap into his throat at the prospective157 volley. But the officer rode forward alone.
It appeared that the man who owned the best horse in this astonished company was the fat Mexican with the snaky moustache, and, in consequence, this gentleman was quite a distance in the van. He tried to pull up, wheel his horse, and scuttle158 back over the hill as some of his companions had done, but the officer called to him in a voice harsh with rage. "——!" howled the officer. "This señor is my friend, the friend of my friends. Do you dare pursue him, ——?——!——!——!——!" These dashes represent terrible names, all different, used by the officer.
The fat Mexican simply grovelled on his horse's neck. His face was green: it could be seen that he expected death. The officer stormed with magnificent intensity159: "——!——!——!" Finally he sprang from his saddle, and, running to the fat Mexican's side, yelled—"Go!" and kicked the horse in the belly160 with all his might. The animal gave a mighty leap into the air, and the fat Mexican, with one wretched glance at the contemplative Rurales, aimed his steed for the top of the ridge. Richardson gulped161 again in expectation of a volley, for—it is said—this is a favourite method for disposing of objectionable people. The fat, green Mexican also thought that he was to be killed on the run, from the miserable162 look he cast at the troops. Nevertheless, he was allowed to vanish in a cloud of yellow dust at the ridge-top.
José was exultant163, defiant164, and, oh! bristling165 with courage. The black horse was drooping166 sadly, his nose to the ground. Richardson's little animal, with his ears bent167 forward, was staring at the horses of the Rurales as if in an intense study. Richardson longed for speech, but he could only bend forward and pat the shining, silken shoulders. The little horse turned his head and looked back gravely.
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1
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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lame
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| adj.跛的，(辩解、论据等)无说服力的 | |
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3
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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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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5
impending
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| a.imminent, about to come or happen | |
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wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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wan
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| (wide area network)广域网 | |
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8
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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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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10
squatting
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| v.像动物一样蹲下( squat的现在分词 )；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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11
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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scudding
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| n.刮面v.（尤指船、舰或云彩）笔直、高速而平稳地移动( scud的现在分词 ) | |
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adobe
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| n.泥砖，土坯，美国Adobe公司 | |
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stolid
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| adj.无动于衷的，感情麻木的 | |
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15
drowsily
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| adv.睡地，懒洋洋地，昏昏欲睡地 | |
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earthenware
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| n.土器，陶器 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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adage
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| n.格言，古训 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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doffing
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| n.下筒，落纱v.脱去，（尤指）脱帽( doff的现在分词 ) | |
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bliss
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| n.狂喜，福佑，天赐的福 | |
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snugly
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| adv.紧贴地；贴身地；暖和舒适地；安适地 | |
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enveloped
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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smothered
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| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的过去式和过去分词 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
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rhythmical
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| adj.有节奏的，有韵律的 | |
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trample
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| vt.踩，践踏；无视，伤害，侵犯 | |
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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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awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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29
ascends
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| v.上升，攀登( ascend的第三人称单数 ) | |
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30
groaning
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| adj. 呜咽的, 呻吟的 动词groan的现在分词形式 | |
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31
whining
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| n. 抱怨，牢骚 v. 哭诉，发牢骚 | |
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32
bass
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| n.男低音(歌手)；低音乐器；低音大提琴 | |
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33
valiant
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| adj.勇敢的，英勇的；n.勇士，勇敢的人 | |
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34
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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35
shrillness
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| 尖锐刺耳 | |
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36
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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37
posture
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| n.姿势，姿态，心态，态度；v.作出某种姿势 | |
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38
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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39
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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40
corps
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| n.(通信等兵种的)部队；(同类作的)一组 | |
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41
corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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42
hue
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| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
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43
tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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44
instinctive
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| adj.(出于)本能的；直觉的；(出于)天性的 | |
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45
Flared
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| adj. 端部张开的, 爆发的, 加宽的, 漏斗式的 动词flare的过去式和过去分词 | |
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46
flare
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| v.闪耀，闪烁；n.潮红；突发 | |
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47
doggedly
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| adv.顽强地，固执地 | |
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48
contemplated
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| adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
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49
grandee
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| n.贵族；大公 | |
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50
spun
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| v.纺，杜撰，急转身 | |
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51
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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52
fixedness
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| n.固定；稳定；稳固 | |
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53
sublimity
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| 崇高，庄严，气质高尚 | |
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54
tingling
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| v.有刺痛感( tingle的现在分词 ) | |
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55
twitching
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| n.颤搐 | |
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56
jolted
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| （使）摇动， （使）震惊( jolt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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57
swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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58
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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59
hunched
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| （常指因寒冷、生病或愁苦）耸肩弓身的，伏首前倾的 | |
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60
crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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61
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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62
invaders
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| 入侵者，侵略者，侵入物( invader的名词复数 ) | |
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63
pounced
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| v.突然袭击( pounce的过去式和过去分词 )；猛扑；一眼看出；抓住机会（进行抨击） | |
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64
pounce
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| n.猛扑；v.猛扑，突然袭击，欣然同意 | |
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65
shuddering
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| v.战栗( shudder的现在分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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66
beseeching
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| adj.恳求似的v.恳求，乞求（某事物）( beseech的现在分词 ) | |
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67
grovelled
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| v.卑躬屈节，奴颜婢膝( grovel的过去式和过去分词 )；趴 | |
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68
demonstration
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| n.表明，示范，论证，示威 | |
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69
clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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70
giggling
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| v.咯咯地笑( giggle的现在分词 ) | |
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71
chattering
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| n. （机器振动发出的）咔嗒声，(鸟等)鸣，啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的，啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
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72
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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73
glower
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| v.怒目而视 | |
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74
hustled
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| 催促（hustle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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75
wailing
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的现在分词 )；沱 | |
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76
sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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77
woe
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| n.悲哀，苦痛，不幸，困难；int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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78
huddled
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| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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79
joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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80
sputters
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| n.喷溅声( sputter的名词复数 )；劈啪声；急语；咕哝v.唾沫飞溅( sputter的第三人称单数 )；发劈啪声；喷出；飞溅出 | |
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81
aggrieved
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| adj.愤愤不平的，受委屈的；悲痛的；（在合法权利方面）受侵害的v.令委屈，令苦恼，侵害( aggrieve的过去式)；令委屈，令苦恼，侵害( aggrieve的过去式和过去分词) | |
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82
coffins
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| n.棺材( coffin的名词复数 )；使某人早亡[死，完蛋，垮台等]之物 | |
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83
panoply
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| n.全副甲胄，礼服 | |
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84
dangling
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| 悬吊着( dangle的现在分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
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85
emblem
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| n.象征，标志；徽章 | |
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86
crouching
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的现在分词 ) | |
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87
abjectly
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| 凄惨地； 绝望地； 糟透地； 悲惨地 | |
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88
mumbled
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| 含糊地说某事，叽咕，咕哝( mumble的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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89
ponderous
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| adj.沉重的，笨重的，(文章)冗长的 | |
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90
apprehensively
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| adv.担心地 | |
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91
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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92
riotous
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| adj.骚乱的；狂欢的 | |
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93
buckle
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| n.扣子，带扣；v.把...扣住，由于压力而弯曲 | |
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94
buckled
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| a. 有带扣的 | |
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95
bridles
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| 约束( bridle的名词复数 )； 限动器； 马笼头； 系带 | |
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96
bridle
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| n.笼头，束缚；vt.抑制，约束；动怒 | |
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97
sneaked
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| v.潜行( sneak的过去式和过去分词 )；偷偷溜走；（儿童向成人）打小报告；告状 | |
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98
jingled
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| 喝醉的 | |
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99
mellow
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| adj.柔和的；熟透的；v.变柔和；(使)成熟 | |
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100
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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101
cymbals
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| pl.铙钹 | |
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102
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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103
meek
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| adj.温顺的，逆来顺受的 | |
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104
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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105
picketed
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| 用尖桩围住（picket的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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106
frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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107
mittens
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| 不分指手套 | |
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108
perversity
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| n.任性；刚愎自用 | |
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109
fumbling
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| n. 摸索,漏接 v. 摸索,摸弄,笨拙的处理 | |
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110
puff
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| n.一口(气)；一阵(风)；v.喷气，喘气 | |
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111
glided
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| v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
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112
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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113
hymn
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| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌 | |
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114
tranquil
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| adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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115
antelope
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| n.羚羊；羚羊皮 | |
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116
machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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117
hissed
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| 发嘶嘶声( hiss的过去式和过去分词 )； 发嘘声表示反对 | |
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118
cactus
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| n.仙人掌 | |
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119
blurs
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| n.模糊( blur的名词复数 )；模糊之物；（移动的）模糊形状；模糊的记忆v.（使）变模糊( blur的第三人称单数 )；（使）难以区分 | |
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120
fabulous
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| adj.极好的；极为巨大的；寓言中的，传说中的 | |
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121
puckered
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| v.（使某物）起褶子或皱纹( pucker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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122
cavalcade
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| n.车队等的行列 | |
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123
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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124
warriors
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| 武士，勇士，战士( warrior的名词复数 ) | |
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125
shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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126
persistently
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| ad.坚持地；固执地 | |
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127
fretting
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| n. 微振磨损 adj. 烦躁的, 焦虑的 | |
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128
foam
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| v./n.泡沫，起泡沫 | |
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129
mandate
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| n.托管地；命令，指示 | |
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130
clattering
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| 发出咔哒声（clatter的现在分词形式） | |
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131
slanting
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| 倾斜的，歪斜的 | |
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132
insignificant
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| adj.无关紧要的，可忽略的，无意义的 | |
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133
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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134
stoutly
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| adv.牢固地，粗壮的 | |
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135
harried
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| v.使苦恼( harry的过去式和过去分词 )；不断烦扰；一再袭击；侵扰 | |
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136
flopped
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| v.（指书、戏剧等）彻底失败( flop的过去式和过去分词 )；（因疲惫而）猛然坐下；（笨拙地、不由自主地或松弛地）移动或落下；砸锅 | |
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137
flails
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| v.鞭打( flail的第三人称单数 )；用连枷脱粒；（臂或腿）无法控制地乱动；扫雷坦克 | |
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138
humane
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| adj.人道的，富有同情心的 | |
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139
stolidly
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| adv.迟钝地，神经麻木地 | |
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140
respite
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| n.休息，中止，暂缓 | |
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141
raving
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| adj.说胡话的；疯狂的，怒吼的；非常漂亮的；令人醉心[痴心]的v.胡言乱语(rave的现在分词)n.胡话；疯话adv.胡言乱语地；疯狂地 | |
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142
maniac
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| n.精神癫狂的人；疯子 | |
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143
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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144
invoked
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| v.援引( invoke的过去式和过去分词 )；行使（权利等）；祈求救助；恳求 | |
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145
appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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146
contortion
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| n.扭弯，扭歪，曲解 | |
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147
pelt
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| v.投掷，剥皮，抨击，开火 | |
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148
abominable
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| adj.可厌的，令人憎恶的 | |
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149
ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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150
gallop
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| v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔；飞速发展 | |
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151
cavalry
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| n.骑兵；轻装甲部队 | |
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152
zealously
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| adv.热心地；热情地；积极地；狂热地 | |
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153
vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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154
jabber
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| v.快而不清楚地说；n.吱吱喳喳 | |
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155
potentate
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| n.统治者；君主 | |
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156
serenely
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| adv.安详地，宁静地，平静地 | |
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157
prospective
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| adj.预期的，未来的，前瞻性的 | |
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158
scuttle
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| v.急赶，疾走，逃避；n.天窗；舷窗 | |
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159
intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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160
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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161
gulped
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| v.狼吞虎咽地吃，吞咽( gulp的过去式和过去分词 )；大口地吸（气）；哽住 | |
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162
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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163
exultant
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| adj.欢腾的，狂欢的，大喜的 | |
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164
defiant
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| adj.无礼的，挑战的 | |
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165
bristling
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| a.竖立的 | |
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166
drooping
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| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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167
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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