Saxon could not see the cause of all this, but she could guess when she saw the larger boys rush to the gutter4, pick up stones, and sneak5 into the alleys6 between the houses. Smaller boys tried to imitate them. The girls, dragging the tots by the arms, banged gates and clattered8 up the front steps of the small houses. The doors slammed behind them, and the street was deserted9, though here and there front shades were drawn10 aside so that anxious-faced women might peer forth11. Saxon heard the uptown train puffing12 and snorting as it pulled out from Center Street. Then, from the direction of Seventh, came a hoarse13, throaty manroar. Still, she could see nothing, and she remembered Mercedes Higgins' words “THEY ARE LIKE DOGS WRANGLING14 OVER BONES. JOBS ARE BONES, YOU KNOW.”
The roar came closer, and Saxon, leaning out, saw a dozen scabs, conveyed by as many special police and Pinkertons, coming down the sidewalk on her side of the street. They came compactly, as if with discipline, while behind, disorderly, yelling confusedly, stooping to pick up rocks, were seventy-five or a hundred of the striking shopmen. Saxon discovered herself trembling with apprehension15, knew that she must not, and controlled herself. She was helped in this by the conduct of Mercedes Higgins. The old woman came out of her front door, dragging a chair, on which she coolly seated herself on the tiny stoop at the top of the steps.
In the hands of the special police were clubs. The Pinkertons carried no visible weapons. The strikers, urging on from behind, seemed content with yelling their rage and threats, and it remained for the children to precipitate16 the conflict. From across the street, between the Olsen and the Isham houses, came a shower of stones. Most of these fell short, though one struck a scab on the head. The man was no more than twenty feet away from Saxon. He reeled toward her front picket17 fence, drawing a revolver. With one hand he brushed the blood from his eyes and with the other he discharged the revolver into the Isham house. A Pinkerton seized his arm to prevent a second shot, and dragged him along. At the same instant a wilder roar went up from the strikers, while a volley of stones came from between Saxon's house and Maggie Donahue's. The scabs and their protectors made a stand, drawing revolvers. From their hard, determined18 faces—fighting men by profession—Saxon could augur19 nothing but bloodshed and death. An elderly man, evidently the leader, lifted a soft felt hat and mopped the perspiration20 from the bald top of his head. He was a large man, very rotund of belly21 and helpless looking. His gray beard was stained with streaks22 of tobacco juice, and he was smoking a cigar. He was stoop-shouldered, and Saxon noted23 the dandruff on the collar of his coat.
One of the men pointed into the street, and several of his companions laughed. The cause of it was the little Olsen boy, barely four years old, escaped somehow from his mother and toddling24 toward his economic enemies. In his right he bore a rock so heavy that he could scarcely lift it. With this he feebly threatened them. His rosy25 little face was convulsed with rage, and he was screaming over and over “Dam scabs! Dam scabs! Dam scabs!” The laughter with which they greeted him only increased his fury. He toddled26 closer, and with a mighty27 exertion28 threw the rock. It fell a scant29 six feet beyond his hand.
This much Saxon saw, and also Mrs. Olsen rushing into the street for her child. A rattling30 of revolver-shots from the strikers drew Saxon's attention to the men beneath her. One of them cursed sharply and examined the biceps of his left arm, which hung limply by his side. Down the hand she saw the blood beginning to drip. She knew she ought not remain and watch, but the memory of her fighting forefathers31 was with her, while she possessed32 no more than normal human fear—if anything, less. She forgot her child in the eruption33 of battle that had broken upon her quiet street. And she forgot the strikers, and everything else, in amazement34 at what had happened to the round-bellied, cigar-smoking leader. In some strange way, she knew not how, his head had become wedged at the neck between the tops of the pickets35 of her fence. His body hung down outside, the knees not quite touching36 the ground. His hat had fallen off, and the sun was making an astounding37 high light on his bald spot. The cigar, too, was gone. She saw he was looking at her. One hand, between the pickets, seemed waving at her, and almost he seemed to wink38 at her jocosely39, though she knew it to be the contortion40 of deadly pain.
Possibly a second, or, at most, two seconds, she gazed at this, when she was aroused by Bert's voice. He was running along the sidewalk, in front of her house, and behind him charged several more strikers, while he shouted: “Come on, you Mohegans! We got 'em nailed to the cross!”
In his left hand he carried a pick-handle, in his right a revolver, already empty, for he clicked the cylinder41 vainly around as he ran. With an abrupt42 stop, dropping the pick-handle, he whirled half about, facing Saxon's gate. He was sinking down, when he straightened himself to throw the revolver into the face of a scab who was jumping toward him. Then he began swaying, at the same time sagging43 at the knees and waist. Slowly, with infinite effort, he caught a gate picket in his right hand, and, still slowly, as if lowering himself, sank down, while past him leaped the crowd of strikers he had led.
It was battle without quarter—a massacre44. The scabs and their protectors, surrounded, backed against Saxon's fence, fought like cornered rats, but could not withstand the rush of a hundred men. Clubs and pick-handles were swinging, revolvers were exploding, and cobblestones were flung with crushing effect at arm's distance. Saxon saw young Frank Davis, a friend of Bert's and a father of several months' standing45, press the muzzle46 of his revolver against a scab's stomach and fire. There were curses and snarls47 of rage, wild cries of terror and pain. Mercedes was right. These things were not men. They were beasts, fighting over bones, destroying one another for bones.
JOBS ARE BONES; JOBS ARE BONES. The phrase was an incessant48 iteration in Saxon's brain. Much as she might have wished it, she was powerless now to withdraw from the window. It was as if she were paralyzed. Her brain no longer worked. She sat numb49, staring, incapable50 of anything save seeing the rapid horror before her eyes that flashed along like a moving picture film gone mad. She saw Pinkertons, special police, and strikers go down. One scab, terribly wounded, on his knees and begging for mercy, was kicked in the face. As he sprawled51 backward another striker, standing over him, fired a revolver into his chest, quickly and deliberately52, again and again, until the weapon was empty. Another scab, backed over the pickets by a hand clutching his throat, had his face pulped53 by a revolver butt54. Again and again, continually, the revolver rose and fell, and Saxon knew the man who wielded55 it—Chester Johnson. She had met him at dances and danced with him in the days before she was married. He had always been kind and good natured. She remembered the Friday night, after a City Hall band concert, when he had taken her and two other girls to Tony's Tamale Grotto56 on Thirteenth street. And after that they had all gone to Pabst's Cafe and drunk a glass of beer before they went home. It was impossible that this could be the same Chester Johnson. And as she looked, she saw the round-bellied leader, still wedged by the neck between the pickets, draw a revolver with his free hand, and, squinting57 horribly sidewise, press the muzzle against Chester's side. She tried to scream a warning. She did scream, and Chester looked up and saw her. At that moment the revolver went off, and he collapsed58 prone59 upon the body of the scab. And the bodies of three men hung on her picket fence.
Anything could happen now. Quite without surprise, she saw the strikers leaping the fence, trampling60 her few little geraniums and pansies into the earth as they fled between Mercedes' house and hers. Up Pine street, from the railroad yards, was coming a rush of railroad police and Pinkertons, firing as they ran. While down Pine street, gongs clanging, horses at a gallop61, came three patrol wagons62 packed with police. The strikers were in a trap. The only way out was between the houses and over the back yard fences. The jam in the narrow alley7 prevented them all from escaping. A dozen were cornered in the angle between the front of her house and the steps. And as they had done, so were they done by. No effort was made to arrest. They were clubbed down and shot down to the last man by the guardians63 of the peace who were infuriated by what had been wreaked64 on their brethren.
It was all over, and Saxon, moving as in a dream, clutching the banister tightly, came down the front steps. The round-bellied leader still leered at her and fluttered one hand, though two big policemen were just bending to extricate65 him. The gate was off its hinges, which seemed strange, for she had been watching all the time and had not seen it happen.
Bert's eyes were closed. His lips were blood-flecked, and there was a gurgling in his throat as if he were trying to say something. As she stooped above him, with her handkerchief brushing the blood from his cheek where some one had stepped on him, his eyes opened. The old defiant66 light was in them. He did not know her. The lips moved, and faintly, almost reminiscently, he murmured, “The last of the Mohegans, the last of the Mohegans.” Then he groaned67, and the eyelids68 drooped69 down again. He was not dead. She knew that, the chest still rose and fell, and the gurgling still continued in his throat.
She looked up. Mercedes stood beside her. The old woman's eyes were very bright, her withered70 cheeks flushed.
“Will you help me carry him into the house?” Saxon asked.
Mercedes nodded, turned to a sergeant71 of police, and made the request to him. The sergeant gave a swift glance at Bert, and his eyes were bitter and ferocious72 as he refused.
“To hell with'm. We'll care for our own.”
“Maybe you and I can do it,” Saxon said.
“Don't be a fool.” Mercedes was beckoning73 to Mrs. Olsen across the street. “You go into the house, little mother that is to be. This is bad for you. We'll carry him in. Mrs. Olsen is coming, and we'll get Maggie Donahue.”
Saxon led the way into the back bedroom which Billy had insisted on furnishing. As she opened the door, the carpet seemed to fly up into her face as with the force of a blow, for she remembered Bert had laid that carpet. And as the women placed him on the bed she recalled that it was Bert and she, between them, who had set the bed up one Sunday morning.
And then she felt very queer, and was surprised to see Mercedes regarding her with questioning, searching eyes. After that her queerness came on very fast, and she descended74 into the hell of pain that is given to women alone to know. She was supported, half-carried, to the front bedroom. Many faces were about her—Mercedes, Mrs. Olsen, Maggie Donahue. It seemed she must ask Mrs. Olsen if she had saved little Emil from the street, but Mercedes cleared Mrs. Olsen out to look after Bert, and Maggie Donahue went to answer a knock at the front door. From the street came a loud hum of voices, punctuated75 by shouts and commands, and from time to time there was a clanging of the gongs of ambulances and patrol wagons. Then appeared the fat, comfortable face of Martha Shelton, and, later, Dr. Hentley came. Once, in a clear interval76, through the thin wall Saxon heard the high opening notes of Mary's hysteria. And, another time, she heard Mary repeating over and over. “I'll never go back to the laundry. Never. Never.”
野性的呼唤 The Call of the Wild
The Iron Heel 铁蹄
野性的呼唤 The Call of the Wild
The Iron Heel 铁蹄
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1
mellowed
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| （使）成熟( mellow的过去式和过去分词 )； 使色彩更加柔和，使酒更加醇香 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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gutter
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| n.沟，街沟，水槽，檐槽，贫民窟 | |
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sneak
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| vt.潜行(隐藏,填石缝)；偷偷摸摸做；n.潜行；adj.暗中进行 | |
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alleys
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| 胡同，小巷( alley的名词复数 )； 小径 | |
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alley
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| n.小巷，胡同；小径，小路 | |
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clattered
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| 发出咔哒声（clatter的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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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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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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puffing
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| v.使喷出( puff的现在分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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14
wrangling
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| v.争吵，争论，口角( wrangle的现在分词 ) | |
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apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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precipitate
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| adj.突如其来的；vt.使突然发生；n.沉淀物 | |
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picket
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| n.纠察队；警戒哨；v.设置纠察线；布置警卫 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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augur
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| n.占卦师；v.占卦 | |
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perspiration
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| n.汗水；出汗 | |
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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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22
streaks
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| n.（与周围有所不同的）条纹( streak的名词复数 )；（通常指不好的）特征（倾向）；（不断经历成功或失败的）一段时期v.快速移动( streak的第三人称单数 )；使布满条纹 | |
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23
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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24
toddling
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| v.（幼儿等）东倒西歪地走( toddle的现在分词 )；蹒跚行走；溜达；散步 | |
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rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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toddled
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| v.（幼儿等）东倒西歪地走( toddle的过去式和过去分词 )；蹒跚行走；溜达；散步 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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exertion
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| n.尽力，努力 | |
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29
scant
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| adj.不充分的，不足的；v.减缩，限制，忽略 | |
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rattling
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| adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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forefathers
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| n.祖先，先人；祖先，祖宗( forefather的名词复数 )；列祖列宗；前人 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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eruption
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| n.火山爆发；（战争等）爆发；（疾病等）发作 | |
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amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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pickets
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| 罢工纠察员( picket的名词复数 ) | |
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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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astounding
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| adj.使人震惊的vt.使震惊，使大吃一惊astound的现在分词) | |
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wink
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| n.眨眼，使眼色，瞬间；v.眨眼，使眼色，闪烁 | |
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jocosely
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| adv.说玩笑地，诙谐地 | |
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contortion
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| n.扭弯，扭歪，曲解 | |
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cylinder
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| n.圆筒，柱(面)，汽缸 | |
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42
abrupt
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| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
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43
sagging
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| 下垂[沉，陷]，松垂，垂度 | |
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44
massacre
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| n.残杀，大屠杀；v.残杀，集体屠杀 | |
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45
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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46
muzzle
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| n.鼻口部；口套；枪(炮)口；vt.使缄默 | |
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47
snarls
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| n.（动物的）龇牙低吼( snarl的名词复数 )；愤怒叫嚷（声）；咆哮（声）；疼痛叫声v.（指狗）吠，嗥叫， （人）咆哮( snarl的第三人称单数 )；咆哮着说，厉声地说 | |
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48
incessant
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| adj.不停的，连续的 | |
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49
numb
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| adj.麻木的，失去感觉的；v.使麻木 | |
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50
incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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51
sprawled
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| v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的过去式和过去分词)；蔓延；杂乱无序地拓展；四肢伸展坐着（或躺着） | |
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52
deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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53
pulped
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| 水果的肉质部分( pulp的过去式和过去分词 )； 果肉； 纸浆； 低级书刊 | |
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54
butt
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| n.笑柄；烟蒂；枪托；臀部；v.用头撞或顶 | |
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55
wielded
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| 手持着使用（武器、工具等）( wield的过去式和过去分词 )； 具有； 运用（权力）； 施加（影响） | |
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grotto
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| n.洞穴 | |
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57
squinting
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| 斜视( squint的现在分词 )； 眯着眼睛； 瞟； 从小孔或缝隙里看 | |
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collapsed
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| adj.倒塌的 | |
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prone
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| adj.(to)易于…的，很可能…的；俯卧的 | |
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trampling
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| 踩( trample的现在分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
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61
gallop
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| v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔；飞速发展 | |
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wagons
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| n.四轮的运货马车( wagon的名词复数 )；铁路货车；小手推车 | |
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guardians
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| 监护人( guardian的名词复数 )； 保护者，维护者 | |
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wreaked
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| 诉诸（武力），施行（暴力），发（脾气）( wreak的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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extricate
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| v.拯救，救出；解脱 | |
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defiant
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| adj.无礼的，挑战的 | |
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groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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eyelids
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| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
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69
drooped
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| 弯曲或下垂，发蔫( droop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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70
withered
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| adj. 枯萎的，干瘪的，（人身体的部分器官）因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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71
sergeant
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| n.警官，中士 | |
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72
ferocious
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| adj.凶猛的，残暴的，极度的，十分强烈的 | |
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73
beckoning
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| adj.引诱人的，令人心动的v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的现在分词 ) | |
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74
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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75
punctuated
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| v.（在文字中）加标点符号，加标点( punctuate的过去式和过去分词 )；不时打断某事物 | |
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interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
参考例句： |
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