The wind, which was fair down the lake, here blew in squarely on the beach, kicking up a nasty sea in the shallows. The men of the departing boat waded7 in high rubber boots as they shoved it out toward deeper water. Twice they did this. Clambering aboard and failing to row clear, the boat was swept back and grounded. Kit noticed that the spray on the sides of the boat quickly turned to ice. The third attempt was a partial success. The last two men to climb in were wet to their waists, but the boat was afloat. They struggled awkwardly at the heavy oars9, and slowly worked off shore. Then they hoisted10 a sail made of blankets, had it carry away in a gust11, and were swept a third time back on the freezing beach.
Kit grinned to himself and went on. This was what he must expect to encounter, for he, too, in his new role of gentleman's man, was to start from the beach in a similar boat that very day.
Everywhere men were at work, and at work desperately12, for the closing down of winter was so imminent13 that it was a gamble whether or not they would get across the great chain of lakes before the freeze-up. Yet, when Kit arrived at the tent of Messrs. Sprague and Stine, he did not find them stirring.
By a fire, under the shelter of a tarpaulin14, squatted15 a short, thick man smoking a brown-paper cigarette.
“Hello,” he said. “Are you Mister Sprague's new man?”
As Kit nodded, he thought he had noted16 a shade of emphasis on the MISTER and the MAN, and he was sure of a hint of a twinkle in the corner of the eye.
“Well, I'm Doc Stine's man,” the other went on. “I'm five feet two inches long, and my name's Shorty, Jack17 Short for short, and sometimes known as Johnny-on-the-Spot.”
“Sure,” was the answer; “though my first feedin' was buffalo-milk as near as I can remember. Sit down an' have some grub. The bosses ain't turned out yet.”
And despite the one breakfast, Kit sat down under the tarpaulin and ate a second breakfast thrice as hearty19. The heavy, purging20 toil21 of weeks had given him the stomach and appetite of a wolf. He could eat anything, in any quantity, and be unaware22 that he possessed23 a digestion24. Shorty he found voluble and pessimistic, and from him he received surprising tips concerning their bosses and ominous25 forecasts of the expedition. Thomas Stanley Sprague was a budding mining engineer and the son of a millionaire. Doctor Adolph Stine was also the son of a wealthy father. And, through their fathers, both had been backed by an investing syndicate in the Klondike adventure.
“Oh, they're sure made of money,” Shorty expounded26. “When they hit the beach at Dyea, freight was seventy cents, but no Indians. There was a party from Eastern Oregon, real miners, that'd managed to get a team of Indians together at seventy cents. Indians had the straps27 on the outfit2, three thousand pounds of it, when along comes Sprague and Stine. They offered eighty cents and ninety, and at a dollar a pound the Indians jumped the contract and took off their straps. Sprague and Stine came through, though it cost them three thousand, and the Oregon bunch is still on the beach. They won't get through till next year.
“Oh, they are real hummers, your boss and mine, when it comes to sheddin' the mazuma an' never mindin' other folks' feelin's. What did they do when they hit Linderman? The carpenters was just putting in the last licks on a boat they'd contracted to a 'Frisco bunch for six hundred. Sprague and Stine slipped 'em an even thousand, and they jumped their contract. It's a good-lookin' boat, but it's jiggered the other bunch. They've got their outfit right here, but no boat. And they're stuck for next year.
“Have another cup of coffee, and take it from me that I wouldn't travel with no such outfit if I didn't want to get to Klondike so blamed bad. They ain't hearted right. They'd take the crape off the door of a house in mourning if they needed it in their business. Did you sign a contract?”
Kit shook his head.
“Then I'm sorry for you, pardner. They ain't no grub in the country, and they'll drop you cold as soon as they hit Dawson. Men are going to starve there this winter.”
“They agreed—” Kit began.
“Verbal,” Shorty snapped him short. “It's your say-so against theirs, that's all. Well, anyway, what's your name, pardner?”
“Call me Smoke,” said Kit.
“Well, Smoke, you'll have a run for your verbal contract just the same. This is a plain sample of what to expect. They can sure shed mazuma, but they can't work, or turn out of bed in the morning. We should have been loaded and started an hour ago. It's you an' me for the big work. Pretty soon you'll hear 'em shoutin' for their coffee—in bed, mind you, and them grown men. What d'ye know about boatin' on the water? I'm a cowman and a prospector28, but I'm sure tenderfooted on water, an' they don't know punkins. What d'ye know?”
“Search me,” Kit answered, snuggling in closer under the tarpaulin as the snow whirled before a fiercer gust. “I haven29't been on a small boat since a boy. But I guess we can learn.”
A corner of the tarpaulin tore loose, and Shorty received a jet of driven snow down the back of his neck.
“Oh, we can learn all right,” he muttered wrathfully. “Sure we can. A child can learn. But it's dollars to doughnuts we don't even get started to-day.”
It was eight o'clock when the call for coffee came from the tent, and nearly nine before the two employers emerged.
“Hello,” said Sprague, a rosy-cheeked, well-fed young man of twenty-five. “Time we made a start, Shorty. You and—” Here he glanced interrogatively at Kit. “I didn't quite catch your name last evening.”
“Smoke.”
“Well, Shorty, you and Mr. Smoke had better begin loading the boat.”
“Plain Smoke—cut out the Mister,” Kit suggested.
Sprague nodded curtly31 and strolled away among the tents, to be followed by Doctor Stine, a slender, pallid32 young man.
Shorty looked significantly at his companion. “Over a ton and a half of outfit, and they won't lend a hand. You'll see.”
“I guess it's because we're paid to do the work,” Kit answered cheerfully, “and we might as well buck33 in.”
To move three thousand pounds on the shoulders a hundred yards was no slight task, and to do it in half a gale, slushing through the snow in heavy rubber boots, was exhausting. In addition, there was the taking down of the tent and the packing of small camp equipage. Then came the loading. As the boat settled, it had to be shoved farther and farther out, increasing the distance they had to wade6. By two o'clock it had all been accomplished34, and Kit, despite his two breakfasts, was weak with the faintness of hunger. His knees were shaking under him. Shorty, in similar predicament, foraged35 through the pots and pans, and drew forth36 a big pot of cold boiled beans in which were imbedded large chunks37 of bacon. There was only one spoon, a long-handled one, and they dipped, turn and turn about, into the pot. Kit was filled with an immense certitude that in all his life he had never tasted anything so good.
Sprague and Stine arrived in the midst of this pleasant occupation.
“What's the delay?” Sprague complained. “Aren't we ever going to get started?”
Shorty dipped in turn, and passed the spoon to Kit. Nor did either speak till the pot was empty and the bottom scraped.
“Of course we ain't been doin' nothing,” Shorty said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “We ain't been doin' nothing at all. And of course you ain't had nothing to eat. It was sure careless of me.”
“Yes, yes,” Stine said quickly. “We ate at one of the tents—friends of ours.”
“But now that you're finished, let us get started,” Sprague urged.
“There's the boat,” said Shorty. “She's sure loaded. Now, just how might you be goin' about to get started?”
“By climbing aboard and shoving off. Come on.”
They waded out, and the employers got on board, while Kit and Shorty shoved clear. When the waves lapped the tops of their boots they clambered in. The other two men were not prepared with the oars, and the boat swept back and grounded. Half a dozen times, with a great expenditure40 of energy, this was repeated.
Shorty sat down disconsolately41 on the gunwale, took a chew of tobacco, and questioned the universe, while Kit baled the boat and the other two exchanged unkind remarks.
“If you'll take my orders, I'll get her off,” Sprague finally said.
The attempt was well intended, but before he could clamber on board he was wet to the waist.
“We've got to camp and build a fire,” he said, as the boat grounded again. “I'm freezing.”
“Don't be afraid of a wetting,” Stine sneered42. “Other men have gone off to-day wetter than you. Now I'm going to take her out.”
This time it was he who got the wetting and who announced with chattering43 teeth the need of a fire.
“Shorty, dig out my clothes-bag and make a fire,” the other commanded.
“You'll do nothing of the sort,” Sprague cried.
Shorty looked from one to the other, expectorated, but did not move.
“He's working for me, and I guess he obeys my orders,” Stine retorted. “Shorty, take that bag ashore45.”
Shorty obeyed, and Sprague shivered in the boat. Kit, having received no orders, remained inactive, glad of the rest.
“A boat divided against itself won't float,” he soliloquized.
“Talking to myself—habit of mine,” he answered.
His employer favoured him with a hard look, and sulked several minutes longer. Then he surrendered.
“Get out my bag, Smoke,” he ordered, “and lend a hand with that fire. We won't get off till morning now.”
Next day the gale still blew. Lake Linderman was no more than a narrow mountain gorge47 filled with water. Sweeping48 down from the mountains through this funnel49, the wind was irregular, blowing great guns at times and at other times dwindling50 to a strong breeze.
“If you give me a shot at it, I think I can get her off,” Kit said, when all was ready for the start.
“What do you know about it?” Stine snapped at him.
It was the first time he had worked for wages in his life, but he was learning the discipline of it fast. Obediently and cheerfully he joined in various vain efforts to get clear of the beach.
“Sit down and get a good rest till a lull53 comes in the wind, and then buck in for all we're worth.”
Simple as the idea was, he had been the first to evolve it; the first time it was applied54 it worked, and they hoisted a blanket to the mast and sped down the lake. Stine and Sprague immediately became cheerful. Shorty, despite his chronic55 pessimism56, was always cheerful, and Kit was too interested to be otherwise. Sprague struggled with the steering57-sweep for a quarter of an hour, and then looked appealingly at Kit, who relieved him.
“My arms are fairly broken with the strain of it,” Sprague muttered apologetically.
“You never ate bear-meat, did you?” Kit asked sympathetically.
“What the devil do you mean?”
“Oh, nothing; I was just wondering.”
But behind his employer's back Kit caught the approving grin of Shorty, who had already caught the whim58 of his metaphor59.
Kit steered60 the length of Linderman, displaying an aptitude61 that caused both young men of money and disinclination for work to name him boat-steerer. Shorty was no less pleased, and volunteered to continue cooking and leave the boat work to the other.
Between Linderman and Lake Bennett was a portage. The boat, lightly loaded, was lined down the small but violent connecting stream, and here Kit learned a vast deal more about boats and water. But when it came to packing the outfit, Stine and Sprague disappeared, and their men spent two days of back-breaking toil in getting the outfit across. And this was the history of many miserable62 days of the trip—Kit and Shorty working to exhaustion63, while their masters toiled64 not and demanded to be waited upon.
But the iron-bound arctic winter continued to close down, and they were held back by numerous and unavoidable delays. At Windy Arm, Stine arbitrarily dispossessed Kit of the steering-sweep and within the hour wrecked65 the boat on a wave-beaten lee shore. Two days were lost here in making repairs, and the morning of the fresh start, as they came down to embark67, on stern and bow, in large letters, was charcoaled68 “The Chechako.”
Kit grinned at the appropriateness of the invidious word.
“Huh!” said Shorty, when accused by Stine. “I can sure read and spell, an' I know that chechako means tenderfoot, but my education never went high enough to learn me to spell a jaw-breaker like that.”
Both employers looked daggers69 at Kit, for the insult rankled70; nor did he mention that the night before, Shorty had besought71 him for the spelling of that particular word.
Kit chuckled73. Along with the continuous discovery of his own powers had come an ever-increasing disapproval74 of the two masters. It was not so much irritation75, which was always present, as disgust. He had got his taste of the meat, and liked it; but they were teaching him how not to eat it. Privily76, he thanked God that he was not made as they. He came to dislike them to a degree that bordered on hatred77. Their malingering bothered him less than their helpless inefficiency78. Somewhere in him, old Isaac Bellew and all the rest of the hardy79 Bellews were making good.
“Shorty,” he said one day, in the usual delay of getting started, “I could almost fetch them a rap over the head with an oar8 and bury them in the river.”
They came to the rapids; first, the Box Canyon81, and, several miles below, the White Horse. The Box Canyon was adequately named. It was a box, a trap. Once in it, the only way out was through. On either side arose perpendicular82 walls of rock. The river narrowed to a fraction of its width and roared through this gloomy passage in a madness of motion that heaped the water in the center into a ridge85 fully30 eight feet higher than at the rocky sides. This ridge, in turn, was crested87 with stiff, upstanding waves that curled over yet remained each in its unvarying place. The Canyon was well feared, for it had collected its toll89 of dead from the passing goldrushers.
Tying to the bank above, where lay a score of other anxious boats, Kit and his companions went ahead on foot to investigate. They crept to the brink90 and gazed down at the swirl91 of water. Sprague drew back, shuddering92.
“My God!” he exclaimed. “A swimmer hasn't a chance in that.”
Shorty touched Kit significantly with his elbow and said in an undertone:
“Cold feet. Dollars to doughnuts they don't go through.”
Kit scarcely heard. From the beginning of the boat trip he had been learning the stubbornness and inconceivable viciousness of the elements, and this glimpse of what was below him acted as a challenge. “We've got to ride that ridge,” he said. “If we get off it we'll hit the walls.”
“And never know what hit us,” was Shorty's verdict. “Can you swim, Smoke?”
“I'd wish I couldn't if anything went wrong in there.”
“That's what I say,” a stranger, standing88 alongside and peering down into the Canyon, said mournfully. “And I wish I were through it.”
“I wouldn't sell my chance to go through,” Kit answered.
He spoke93 honestly, but it was with the idea of heartening the man. He turned to go back to the boat.
“Are you going to tackle it?” the man asked.
Kit nodded.
“I wish I could get the courage to,” the other confessed. “I've been here for hours. The longer I look, the more afraid I am. I am not a boatman, and I have with me only my nephew, who is a young boy, and my wife. If you get through safely, will you run my boat through?”
Kit looked at Shorty, who delayed to answer.
“He's got his wife with him,” Kit suggested. Nor had he mistaken his man.
“Sure,” Shorty affirmed. “It was just what I was stopping to think about. I knew there was some reason I ought to do it.”
Again they turned to go, but Sprague and Stine made no movement.
“Good luck, Smoke,” Sprague called to him. “I'll—er—” He hesitated. “I'll just stay here and watch you.”
“We need three men in the boat, two at the oars and one at the steering-sweep,” Kit said quietly.
Sprague looked at Stine.
“I'm damned if I do,” said that gentleman. “If you're not afraid to stand here and look on, I'm not.”
“Who's afraid?” Sprague demanded hotly.
Stine retorted in kind, and their two men left them in the thick of a squabble.
“We can do without them,” Kit said to Shorty. “You take the bow with a paddle, and I'll handle the steering-sweep. All you'll have to do is just to help keep her straight. Once we're started, you won't be able to hear me, so just keep on keeping her straight.”
They cast off the boat and worked out to middle in the quickening current. From the Canyon came an ever-growing roar. The river sucked in to the entrance with the smoothness of molten glass, and here, as the darkening walls received them, Shorty took a chew of tobacco and dipped his paddle. The boat leaped on the first crests94 of the ridge, and they were deafened95 by the uproar96 of wild water that reverberated97 from the narrow walls and multiplied itself. They were half-smothered with flying spray. At times Kit could not see his comrade at the bow. It was only a matter of two minutes, in which time they rode the ridge three-quarters of a mile and emerged in safety and tied to the bank in the eddy99 below.
Shorty emptied his mouth of tobacco juice—he had forgotten to spit—and spoke.
“That was bear-meat,” he exulted100, “the real bear-meat. Say, we want a few, didn't we? Smoke, I don't mind tellin' you in confidence that before we started I was the gosh-dangdest scaredest man this side of the Rocky Mountains. Now I'm a bear-eater. Come on an' we'll run that other boat through.”
Midway back, on foot, they encountered their employers, who had watched the passage from above.
“There comes the fish-eaters,” said Shorty. “Keep to win'ward.”
After running the stranger's boat through, whose name proved to be Breck, Kit and Shorty met his wife, a slender, girlish woman whose blue eyes were moist with gratitude101. Breck himself tried to hand Kit fifty dollars, and then attempted it on Shorty.
“Stranger,” was the latter's rejection102, “I come into this country to make money outa the ground an' not outa my fellow critters.”
Breck rummaged103 in his boat and produced a demijohn of whiskey. Shorty's hand half went out to it and stopped abruptly104. He shook his head.
“There's that blamed White Horse right below, an' they say it's worse than the Box. I reckon I don't dast tackle any lightning.”
Several miles below they ran in to the bank, and all four walked down to look at the bad water. The river, which was a succession of rapids, was here deflected105 toward the right bank by a rocky reef. The whole body of water, rushing crookedly106 into the narrow passage, accelerated its speed frightfully and was up-flung into huge waves, white and wrathful. This was the dread108 Mane of the White Horse, and here an even heavier toll of dead had been exacted. On one side of the Mane was a corkscrew curl-over and suck-under, and on the opposite side was the big whirlpool. To go through, the Mane itself must be ridden.
As they watched, a boat took the head of the rapids above. It was a large boat, fully thirty feet long, laden110 with several tons of outfit, and handled by six men. Before it reached the Mane it was plunging111 and leaping, at times almost hidden by the foam112 and spray.
Shorty shot a slow, sidelong glance at Kit and said: “She's fair smoking, and she hasn't hit the worst. They've hauled the oars in. There she takes it now. God! She's gone! No; there she is!”
Big as the boat was, it had been buried from sight in the flying smother98 between crests. The next moment, in the thick of the Mane, the boat leaped up a crest86 and into view. To Kit's amazement113 he saw the whole long bottom clearly outlined. The boat, for the fraction of an instant, was in the air, the men sitting idly in their places, all save one in the stern, who stood at the steering-sweep. Then came the downward plunge114 into the trough and a second disappearance115. Three times the boat leaped and buried itself, then those on the bank saw its nose take the whirlpool as it slipped off the Mane. The steersman, vainly opposing with his full weight on the steering-gear, surrendered to the whirlpool and helped the boat to take the circle.
Three times it went around, each time so close to the rocks on which Kit and Shorty stood that either could have leaped on board. The steersman, a man with a reddish beard of recent growth, waved his hand to them. The only way out of the whirlpool was by the Mane, and on the third round the boat entered the Mane obliquely116 at its upper end. Possibly out of fear of the draw of the whirlpool, the steersman did not attempt to straighten out quickly enough. When he did, it was too late. Alternately in the air and buried, the boat angled the Mane and was sucked into and down through the stiff wall of the corkscrew on the opposite side of the river. A hundred feet below, boxes and bales began to float up. Then appeared the bottom of the boat and the scattered117 heads of six men. Two managed to make the bank in the eddy below. The others were drawn118 under, and the general flotsam was lost to view, borne on by the swift current around the bend.
There was a long minute of silence. Shorty was the first to speak.
“Come on,” he said. “We might as well tackle it. My feet'll get cold if I stay here any longer.”
“We'll smoke some,” Kit grinned at him.
“And you'll sure earn your name,” was the rejoinder. Shorty turned to their employers. “Comin'?” he queried.
Perhaps the roar of the water prevented them from hearing the invitation.
Shorty and Kit tramped back through a foot of snow to the head of the rapids and cast off the boat. Kit was divided between two impressions: one, of the caliber119 of his comrade, which served as a spur to him; the other, likewise a spur, was the knowledge that old Isaac Bellew, and all the other Bellews, had done things like this in their westward120 march of empire. What they had done, he could do. It was the meat, the strong meat, and he knew, as never before, that it required strong men to eat such meat.
“You've sure got to keep the top of the ridge,” Shorty shouted at him, the plug of tobacco lifting to his mouth, as the boat quickened in the quickening current and took the head of the rapids.
Kit nodded, swayed his strength and weight tentatively on the steering-gear, and headed the boat for the plunge.
Several minutes later, half-swamped and lying against the bank in the eddy below the White Horse, Shorty spat121 out a mouthful of tobacco juice and shook Kit's hand.
“Meat! Meat!” Shorty chanted. “We eat it raw! We eat it alive!”
At the top of the bank they met Breck. His wife stood at a little distance. Kit shook his hand.
“I'm afraid your boat can't make it,” he said. “It is smaller than ours and a bit cranky.”
The man pulled out a row of bills.
“I'll give you each a hundred if you run it through.”
Kit looked out and up the tossing Mane of the White Horse. A long, gray twilight122 was falling, it was turning colder, and the landscape seemed taking on a savage123 bleakness124.
“It ain't that,” Shorty was saying. “We don't want your money. Wouldn't touch it nohow. But my pardner is the real meat with boats, and when he says yourn ain't safe I reckon he knows what he's talkin' about.”
Kit nodded affirmation, and chanced to glance at Mrs Breck. Her eyes were fixed125 upon him, and he knew that if ever he had seen prayer in a woman's eyes he was seeing it then. Shorty followed his gaze and saw what he saw. They looked at each other in confusion and did not speak. Moved by the common impulse, they nodded to each other and turned to the trail that led to the head of the rapids. They had not gone a hundred yards when they met Stine and Sprague coming down.
“Where are you going?” the latter demanded.
“To fetch that other boat through,” Shorty answered.
“No, you're not. It's getting dark. You two are going to pitch camp.”
So huge was Kit's disgust that he forebore to speak.
“He's got his wife with him,” Shorty said.
“That's his lookout,” Stine contributed.
“And Smoke's and mine,” was Shorty's retort.
“I forbid you,” Sprague said harshly. “Smoke, if you go another step I'll discharge you.”
“And you, too, Shorty,” Stine added.
“And a hell of a pickle126 you'll be in with us fired,” Shorty replied. “How'll you get your blamed boat to Dawson? Who'll serve you coffee in your blankets and manicure your finger-nails? Come on, Smoke. They don't dast fire us. Besides, we've got agreements. If they fire us they've got to divvy up grub to last us through the winter.”
Barely had they shoved Breck's boat out from the bank and caught the first rough water, when the waves began to lap aboard. They were small waves, but it was an earnest of what was to come. Shorty cast back a quizzical glance as he gnawed127 at his inevitable128 plug, and Kit felt a strange rush of warmth at his heart for this man who couldn't swim and who couldn't back out.
The rapids grew stiffer, and the spray began to fly. In the gathering129 darkness, Kit glimpsed the Mane and the crooked107 fling of the current into it. He worked into this crooked current, and felt a glow of satisfaction as the boat hit the head of the Mane squarely in the middle. After that, in the smother, leaping and burying and swamping, he had no clear impression of anything save that he swung his weight on the steering-oar and wished his uncle were there to see. They emerged, breathless, wet through, the boat filled with water almost to the gunwale. Lighter130 pieces of baggage and outfit were floating inside the boat. A few careful strokes on Shorty's part worked the boat into the draw of the eddy, and the eddy did the rest till the boat softly touched the bank. Looking down from above was Mrs. Breck. Her prayer had been answered, and the tears were streaming down her cheeks.
“You boys have simply got to take the money,” Breck called down to them.
Shorty stood up, slipped, and sat down in the water, while the boat dipped one gunwale under and righted again.
“Damn the money,” said Shorty. “Fetch out that whiskey. Now that it's over I'm getting cold feet, an' I'm sure likely to have a chill.”
In the morning, as usual, they were among the last of the boats to start. Breck, despite his boating inefficiency, and with only his wife and nephew for crew, had broken camp, loaded his boat, and pulled out at the first streak131 of day. But there was no hurrying Stine and Sprague, who seemed incapable132 of realizing that the freeze-up might come at any time. They malingered, got in the way, delayed, and doubled the work of Kit and Shorty.
“I'm sure losing my respect for God, seein' as he must 'a' made them two mistakes in human form,” was the latter's blasphemous133 way of expressing his disgust.
“Well, you're the real goods, at any rate,” Kit grinned back at him. “It makes me respect God the more just to look at you.”
“He was sure goin' some, eh?” was Shorty's fashion of overcoming the embarrassment134 of the compliment.
The trail by water crossed Lake Labarge. Here was no fast current, but a tideless stretch of forty miles which must be rowed unless a fair wind blew. But the time for fair wind was past, and an icy gale blew in their teeth out of the north. This made a rough sea, against which it was almost impossible to pull the boat. Added to their troubles was driving snow; also, the freezing of the water on their oar-blades kept one man occupied in chopping it off with a hatchet135. Compelled to take their turn at the oars, Sprague and Stine patently loafed. Kit had learned how to throw his weight on an oar, but he noted that his employers made a seeming of throwing their weights and that they dipped their oars at a cheating angle.
At the end of three hours, Sprague pulled his oar in and said they would run back into the mouth of the river for shelter. Stine seconded him, and the several hard-won miles were lost. A second day, and a third, the same fruitless attempt was made. In the river mouth, the continually arriving boats from White Horse made a flotilla of over two hundred. Each day forty or fifty arrived, and only two or three won to the northwest shore of the lake and did not come back. Ice was now forming in the eddies136, and connecting from eddy to eddy in thin lines around the points. The freeze-up was very imminent.
“We could make it if they had the souls of clams,” Kit told Shorty, as they dried their moccasins by the fire on the evening of the third day. “We could have made it to-day if they hadn't turned back. Another hour's work would have fetched that west shore. They're—they're babes in the woods.”
“Sure,” Shorty agreed. He turned his moccasin to the flame and debated a moment. “Look here, Smoke. It's hundreds of miles to Dawson. If we don't want to freeze in here, we've got to do something. What d'ye say?”
Kit looked at him, and waited.
“We've got the immortal137 cinch on them two babes,” Shorty expounded. “They can give orders an' shed mazuma, but as you say, they're plum babes. If we're goin' to Dawson, we got to take charge of this here outfit.”
They looked at each other.
“It's a go,” said Kit, as his hand went out in ratification138.
In the morning, long before daylight, Shorty issued his call. “Come on!” he roared. “Tumble out, you sleepers139! Here's your coffee! Kick into it! We're goin' to make a start!”
Grumbling140 and complaining, Stine and Sprague were forced to get under way two hours earlier than ever before. If anything, the gale was stiffer, and in a short time every man's face was iced up, while the oars were heavy with ice. Three hours they struggled, and four, one man steering, one chopping ice, two toiling141 at the oars, and each taking his various turns. The northwest shore loomed142 nearer and nearer. The gale blew ever harder, and at last Sprague pulled in his oar in token of surrender. Shorty sprang to it, though his relief had only begun.
“Chop ice,” he said, handing Sprague the hatchet.
“But what's the use?” the other whined. “We can't make it. We're going to turn back.”
“We're going on,” said Shorty. “Chop ice. An' when you feel better you can spell me.”
It was heart-breaking toil, but they gained the shore, only to find it composed of surge-beaten rocks and cliffs, with no place to land.
“I told you so,” Sprague whimpered.
“You never peeped,” Shorty answered.
“We're going back.”
Nobody spoke, and Kit held the boat into the seas as they skirted the forbidding shore. Sometimes they gained no more than a foot to the stroke, and there were times when two or three strokes no more than enabled them to hold their own. He did his best to hearten the two weaklings. He pointed143 out that the boats which had won to this shore had never come back. Perforce, he argued, they had found a shelter somewhere ahead. Another hour they labored144, and a second.
“If you fellows'd put into your oars some of that coffee you swig in your blankets, we'd make it,” was Shorty's encouragement. “You're just goin' through the motions an' not pullin' a pound.”
A few minutes later, Sprague drew in his oar.
“I'm finished,” he said, and there were tears in his voice.
“So are the rest of us,” Kit answered, himself ready to cry or to commit murder, so great was his exhaustion. “But we're going on just the same.”
“We're going back. Turn the boat around.”
“Shorty, if he won't pull, take that oar yourself,” Kit commanded.
“Sure,” was the answer. “He can chop ice.”
But Sprague refused to give over the oar; Stine had ceased rowing, and the boat was drifting backward.
“Turn around, Smoke,” Sprague ordered.
And Kit, who never in his life had cursed any man, astonished himself.
“I'll see you in hell, first,” he replied. “Take hold of that oar and pull.”
It is in moments of exhaustion that men lose all their reserves of civilization, and such a moment had come. Each man had reached the breaking-point. Sprague jerked off a mitten145, drew his revolver, and turned it on his steersman. This was a new experience to Kit. He had never had a gun presented at him in his life. And now, to his surprise, it seemed to mean nothing at all. It was the most natural thing in the world.
“If you don't put that gun up,” he said, “I'll take it away and rap you over the knuckles146 with it.”
“If you don't turn the boat around, I'll shoot you,” Sprague threatened.
Then Shorty took a hand. He ceased chopping ice and stood up behind Sprague.
“Go on an' shoot,” said Shorty, wiggling the hatchet. “I'm just aching for a chance to brain you. Go on an' start the festivities.”
“This is mutiny,” Stine broke in. “You were engaged to obey orders.”
Shorty turned on him. “Oh, you'll get yours as soon as I finish with your pardner, you little hog-wallopin' snooper, you.”
“Sprague,” Kit said, “I'll give you just thirty seconds to put away that gun and get that oar out.”
Sprague hesitated, gave a short hysterical147 laugh, put the revolver away, and bent148 his back to the work.
For two hours more, inch by inch, they fought their way along the edge of the foaming149 rocks, until Kit feared he had made a mistake. And then, when on the verge150 of himself turning back, they came abreast151 of a narrow opening, not twenty feet wide, which led into a land-locked enclosure where the fiercest gusts152 scarcely flawed the surface. It was the haven gained by the boats of previous days. They landed on a shelving beach, and the two employers lay in collapse153 in the boat, while Kit and Shorty pitched the tent, built a fire, and started the cooking.
“What's a hog-walloping snooper, Shorty?” Kit asked.
“Blamed if I know,” was the answer; “but he's one just the same.”
The gale, which had been dying quickly, ceased at nightfall, and it came on clear and cold. A cup of coffee, set aside to cool and forgotten, a few minutes later was found coated with half an inch of ice. At eight o'clock, when Sprague and Stine, already rolled in their blankets, were sleeping the sleep of exhaustion, Kit came back from a look at the boat.
“It's the freeze-up, Shorty,” he announced. “There's a skin of ice over the whole pond already.”
“What are you going to do?”
“There's only one thing. The lake of course freezes first. The rapid current of the river may keep it open for days. This time to-morrow any boat caught in Lake Labarge remains154 there until next year.”
“You mean we got to get out to-night? Now?”
Kit nodded.
“Tumble out, you sleepers!” was Shorty's answer, couched in a roar, as he began casting off the guy-ropes of the tent.
The other two awoke, groaning155 with the pain of stiffened156 muscles and the pain of rousing from the sleep of exhaustion.
“What time is it?” Stine asked.
“Half-past eight.”
“It's dark yet,” was the objection.
“It's not morning,” he said. “It's evening. Come on. The lake's freezin'. We got to get acrost.”
Stine sat up, his face bitter and wrathful. “Let it freeze. We're not going to stir.”
“All right,” said Shorty. “We're goin' on with the boat.”
“You were engaged—”
“To take your outfit to Dawson,” Shorty caught him up. “Well, we're takin' it, ain't we?” He punctuated157 his query158 by bringing half the tent down on top of them.
They broke their way through the thin ice in the little harbor, and came out on the lake, where the water, heavy and glassy, froze on their oars with every stroke. The water soon became like mush, clogging159 the stroke of the oars and freezing in the air even as it dripped. Later the surface began to form a skin, and the boat proceeded slower and slower.
Often afterwards, when Kit tried to remember that night and failed to bring up aught but nightmare recollections, he wondered what must have been the sufferings of Stine and Sprague. His one impression of himself was that he struggled through biting frost and intolerable exertion160 for a thousand years, more or less.
Morning found them stationary161. Stine complained of frosted fingers, and Sprague of his nose, while the pain in Kit's cheeks and nose told him that he, too, had been touched. With each accretion162 of daylight they could see farther, and as far as they could see was icy surface. The water of the lake was gone. A hundred yards away was the shore of the north end. Shorty insisted that it was the opening of the river and that he could see water. He and Kit alone were able to work, and with their oars they broke the ice and forced the boat along. And at the last gasp163 of their strength they made the suck of the rapid river. One look back showed them several boats which had fought through the night and were hopelessly frozen in; then they whirled around a bend in a current running six miles an hour.
Day by day they floated down the swift river, and day by day the shore-ice extended farther out. When they made camp at nightfall, they chopped a space in the ice in which to lay the boat and carried the camp outfit hundreds of feet to shore. In the morning, they chopped the boat out through the new ice and caught the current. Shorty set up the sheet-iron stove in the boat, and over this Stine and Sprague hung through the long, drifting hours. They had surrendered, no longer gave orders, and their one desire was to gain Dawson. Shorty, pessimistic, indefatigable164, and joyous165, at frequent intervals166 roared out the three lines of the first four-line stanza167 of a song he had forgotten. The colder it got the oftener he sang:
“Like Argus of the ancient times,
We leave this Modern Greece;
Tum-tum, tum-tum, tum-tum, tum-tum,
As they passed the mouths of the Hootalinqua and the Big and Little Salmon169, they found these streams throwing mush-ice into the main Yukon. This gathered about the boat and attached itself, and at night they found themselves compelled to chop the boat out of the current. In the morning they chopped the boat back into the current.
The last night ashore was spent between the mouths of the White River and the Stewart. At daylight they found the Yukon, half a mile wide, running white from ice-rimmed bank to ice-rimmed bank. Shorty cursed the universe with less geniality170 than usual, and looked at Kit.
“We'll be the last boat this year to make Dawson,” Kit said.
“But they ain't no water, Smoke.”
“Then we'll ride the ice down. Come on.”
Futilely171 protesting, Sprague and Stine were bundled on board. For half an hour, with axes, Kit and Shorty struggled to cut a way into the swift but solid stream. When they did succeed in clearing the shore-ice, the floating ice forced the boat along the edge for a hundred yards, tearing away half of one gunwale and making a partial wreck66 of it. Then, at the lower end of the bend, they caught the current that flung off-shore. They proceeded to work farther toward the middle. The stream was no longer composed of mush-ice but of hard cakes. In between the cakes only was mush-ice, that froze solidly as they looked at it. Shoving with the oars against the cakes, sometimes climbing out on the cakes in order to force the boat along, after an hour they gained the middle. Five minutes after they ceased their exertions172, the boat was frozen in. The whole river was coagulating as it ran. Cake froze to cake, until at last the boat was the center of a cake seventy-five feet in diameter. Sometimes they floated sideways, sometimes stern-first, while gravity tore asunder173 the forming fetters174 in the moving mass, only to be manacled by faster-forming ones. While the hours passed, Shorty stoked the stove, cooked meals, and chanted his war-song.
Night came, and after many efforts, they gave up the attempt to force the boat to shore, and through the darkness they swept helplessly onward175.
“What if we pass Dawson?” Shorty queried.
“We'll walk back,” Kit answered, “if we're not crushed in a jam.”
The sky was clear, and in the light of the cold, leaping stars they caught occasional glimpses of the loom83 of mountains on either hand. At eleven o'clock, from below, came a dull, grinding roar. Their speed began to diminish, and cakes of ice to up-end and crash and smash about them. The river was jamming. One cake, forced upward, slid across their cake and carried one side of the boat away. It did not sink, for its own cake still upbore it, but in a whirl they saw dark water show for an instant within a foot of them. Then all movement ceased. At the end of half an hour the whole river picked itself up and began to move. This continued for an hour, when again it was brought to rest by a jam. Once again it started, running swiftly and savagely176, with a great grinding. Then they saw lights ashore, and, when abreast, gravity and the Yukon surrendered, and the river ceased for six months.
On the shore at Dawson, curious ones, gathered to watch the river freeze, heard from out of the darkness the war-song of Shorty:
“Like Argus of the ancient times,
We leave this Modern Greece;
Tum-tum, tum-tum; tum-tum, tum-tum,
To shear the Golden Fleece.”
For three days Kit and Shorty labored, carrying the ton and a half of outfit from the middle of the river to the log-cabin Stine and Sprague had bought on the hill overlooking Dawson. This work finished, in the warm cabin, as twilight was falling, Sprague motioned Kit to him. Outside the thermometer registered sixty-five below zero.
“Your full month isn't up, Smoke,” Sprague said. “But here it is in full. I wish you luck.”
“How about the agreement?” Kit asked. “You know there's a famine here. A man can't get work in the mines even, unless he has his own grub. You agreed—”
“I know of no agreement,” Sprague interrupted. “Do you, Stine? We engaged you by the month. There's your pay. Will you sign the receipt?”
Kit's hands clenched177, and for the moment he saw red. Both men shrank away from him. He had never struck a man in anger in his life, and he felt so certain of his ability to thrash Sprague that he could not bring himself to do it.
Shorty saw his trouble and interposed.
“Look here, Smoke, I ain't travelin' no more with a ornery outfit like this. Right here's where I sure jump it. You an' me stick together. Savvy178? Now, you take your blankets an' hike down to the Elkhorn. Wait for me. I'll settle up, collect what's comin', an' give them what's comin'. I ain't no good on the water, but my feet's on terry-fermy now an' I'm sure goin' to make smoke.”
Half an hour afterwards Shorty appeared at the Elkhorn. From his bleeding knuckles and the skin off one cheek, it was evident that he had given Stine and Sprague what was coming.
“You ought to see that cabin,” he chuckled, as they stood at the bar. “Rough-house ain't no name for it. Dollars to doughnuts nary one of 'em shows up on the street for a week. An' now it's all figgered out for you an' me. Grub's a dollar an' a half a pound. They ain't no work for wages without you have your own grub. Moose-meat's sellin' for two dollars a pound an' they ain't none. We got enough money for a month's grub an' ammunition179, an' we hike up the Klondike to the back country. If they ain't no moose, we go an' live with the Indians. But if we ain't got five thousand pounds of meat six weeks from now, I'll—I'll sure go back an' apologize to our bosses. Is it a go?”
Kit's hand went out, and they shook. Then he faltered180. “I don't know anything about hunting,” he said.
Shorty lifted his glass.
“But you're a sure meat-eater, an' I'll learn you.”
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收听单词发音
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1
gale
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| n.大风，强风，一阵闹声（尤指笑声等） | |
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2
outfit
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| n.（为特殊用途的）全套装备，全套服装 | |
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3
outfits
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| n.全套装备( outfit的名词复数 )；一套服装；集体；组织v.装备，配置设备，供给服装( outfit的第三人称单数 ) | |
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4
planks
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| （厚）木板( plank的名词复数 )； 政纲条目，政策要点 | |
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5
kit
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| n.用具包，成套工具；随身携带物 | |
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6
wade
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| v.跋涉，涉水；n.跋涉 | |
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7
waded
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| （从水、泥等）蹚，走过，跋( wade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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8
oar
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| n.桨，橹，划手；v.划行 | |
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9
oars
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| n.桨，橹( oar的名词复数 )；划手v.划（行）( oar的第三人称单数 ) | |
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10
hoisted
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| 把…吊起，升起( hoist的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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11
gust
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| n.阵风，突然一阵（雨、烟等），（感情的）迸发 | |
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12
desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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13
imminent
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| adj.即将发生的，临近的，逼近的 | |
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14
tarpaulin
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| n.涂油防水布，防水衣，防水帽 | |
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15
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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16
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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17
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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18
queried
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| v.质疑，对…表示疑问( query的过去式和过去分词 )；询问 | |
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19
hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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20
purging
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| 清洗； 清除； 净化； 洗炉 | |
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21
toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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22
unaware
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| a.不知道的，未意识到的 | |
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23
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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24
digestion
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| n.消化，吸收 | |
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25
ominous
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| adj.不祥的，不吉的，预兆的，预示的 | |
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26
expounded
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| 论述，详细讲解( expound的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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27
straps
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| n.带子( strap的名词复数 )；挎带；肩带；背带v.用皮带捆扎( strap的第三人称单数 )；用皮带抽打；包扎；给…打绷带 | |
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28
prospector
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| n.探矿者 | |
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29
haven
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| n.安全的地方，避难所，庇护所 | |
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30
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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31
curtly
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| adv.简短地 | |
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32
pallid
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| adj.苍白的，呆板的 | |
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33
buck
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| n.雄鹿，雄兔；v.马离地跳跃 | |
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34
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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35
foraged
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| v.搜寻（食物），尤指动物觅（食）( forage的过去式和过去分词 )；（尤指用手）搜寻（东西） | |
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36
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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37
chunks
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| 厚厚的一块( chunk的名词复数 )； （某物）相当大的数量或部分 | |
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38
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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39
grunted
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| （猪等）作呼噜声( grunt的过去式和过去分词 )； （指人）发出类似的哼声； 咕哝着说 | |
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40
expenditure
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| n.(时间、劳力、金钱等)支出；使用，消耗 | |
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41
disconsolately
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| adv.悲伤地，愁闷地；哭丧着脸 | |
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42
sneered
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| 讥笑，冷笑( sneer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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43
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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44
chattered
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| （人）喋喋不休( chatter的过去式 )； 唠叨； （牙齿）打战； （机器）震颤 | |
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45
ashore
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| adv.在(向)岸上，上岸 | |
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46
snarled
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| v.（指狗）吠，嗥叫， （人）咆哮( snarl的过去式和过去分词 )；咆哮着说，厉声地说 | |
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47
gorge
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| n.咽喉，胃，暴食，山峡；v.塞饱，狼吞虎咽地吃 | |
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48
sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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49
funnel
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| n.漏斗；烟囱；v.汇集 | |
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50
dwindling
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| adj.逐渐减少的v.逐渐变少或变小( dwindle的现在分词 ) | |
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51
subsided
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| v.（土地）下陷（因在地下采矿）( subside的过去式和过去分词 )；减弱；下降至较低或正常水平；一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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52
whined
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| v.哀号( whine的过去式和过去分词 )；哀诉，诉怨 | |
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53
lull
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| v.使安静，使入睡，缓和，哄骗；n.暂停，间歇 | |
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54
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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55
chronic
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| adj.(疾病)长期未愈的，慢性的；极坏的 | |
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56
pessimism
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| n.悲观者，悲观主义者，厌世者 | |
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57
steering
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| n.操舵装置 | |
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58
whim
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| n.一时的兴致，突然的念头；奇想，幻想 | |
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59
metaphor
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| n.隐喻，暗喻 | |
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60
steered
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| v.驾驶( steer的过去式和过去分词 )；操纵；控制；引导 | |
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61
aptitude
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| n.(学习方面的)才能，资质，天资 | |
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62
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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63
exhaustion
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| n.耗尽枯竭，疲惫，筋疲力尽，竭尽，详尽无遗的论述 | |
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64
toiled
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| 长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的过去式和过去分词 )； 艰难缓慢地移动，跋涉 | |
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65
wrecked
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| adj.失事的，遇难的 | |
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66
wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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67
embark
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| vi.乘船，着手，从事，上飞机 | |
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68
charcoaled
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| vt.用木炭画（charcoal的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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69
daggers
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| 匕首，短剑( dagger的名词复数 ) | |
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70
rankled
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| v.（使）痛苦不已，（使）怨恨不已( rankle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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71
besought
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| v.恳求，乞求（某事物）( beseech的过去式和过去分词 )；(beseech的过去式与过去分词) | |
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72
confided
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| v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的过去式和过去分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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73
chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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74
disapproval
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| n.反对，不赞成 | |
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75
irritation
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| n.激怒，恼怒，生气 | |
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76
privily
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| adv.暗中，秘密地 | |
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77
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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78
inefficiency
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| n.无效率，无能；无效率事例 | |
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79
hardy
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| adj.勇敢的，果断的，吃苦的；耐寒的 | |
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80
stink
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| vi.发出恶臭；糟透，招人厌恶；n.恶臭 | |
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81
canyon
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| n.峡谷，溪谷 | |
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82
perpendicular
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| adj.垂直的，直立的；n.垂直线，垂直的位置 | |
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83
loom
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| n.织布机，织机；v.隐现，(危险、忧虑等)迫近 | |
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84
sag
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| v.下垂，下跌，消沉；n.下垂，下跌，凹陷，[航海]随风漂流 | |
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85
ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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86
crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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87
crested
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| adj.有顶饰的，有纹章的，有冠毛的v.到达山顶（或浪峰）( crest的过去式和过去分词 )；到达洪峰，达到顶点 | |
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88
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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89
toll
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| n.过路(桥)费；损失，伤亡人数；v.敲(钟) | |
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90
brink
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| n.(悬崖、河流等的)边缘，边沿 | |
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91
swirl
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| v.(使)打漩，(使)涡卷；n.漩涡，螺旋形 | |
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92
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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93
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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94
crests
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| v.到达山顶（或浪峰）( crest的第三人称单数 )；到达洪峰，达到顶点 | |
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95
deafened
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| 使聋( deafen的过去式和过去分词 )； 使隔音 | |
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96
uproar
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| n.骚动，喧嚣，鼎沸 | |
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97
reverberated
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| 回响，回荡( reverberate的过去式和过去分词 )； 使反响，使回荡，使反射 | |
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98
smother
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| vt./vi.使窒息；抑制；闷死；n.浓烟；窒息 | |
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99
eddy
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| n.漩涡，涡流 | |
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100
exulted
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| 狂喜，欢跃( exult的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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101
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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102
rejection
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| n.拒绝，被拒，抛弃，被弃 | |
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103
rummaged
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| 翻找，搜寻( rummage的过去式和过去分词 )； 已经海关检查 | |
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104
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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105
deflected
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| 偏离的 | |
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106
crookedly
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| adv. 弯曲地，不诚实地 | |
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107
crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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108
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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109
strings
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| n.弦 | |
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110
laden
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| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
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111
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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112
foam
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| v./n.泡沫，起泡沫 | |
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113
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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114
plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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115
disappearance
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| n.消失，消散，失踪 | |
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116
obliquely
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| adv.斜； 倾斜； 间接； 不光明正大 | |
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117
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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118
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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119
caliber
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| n.能力；水准 | |
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120
westward
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| n.西方，西部；adj.西方的，向西的；adv.向西 | |
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121
spat
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| n.口角，掌击；v.发出呼噜呼噜声 | |
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122
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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123
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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124
bleakness
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| adj. 萧瑟的, 严寒的, 阴郁的 | |
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125
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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126
pickle
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| n.腌汁，泡菜；v.腌，泡 | |
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127
gnawed
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| 咬( gnaw的过去式和过去分词 )； （长时间） 折磨某人； （使）苦恼； （长时间）危害某事物 | |
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128
inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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129
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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130
lighter
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| n.打火机，点火器；驳船；v.用驳船运送；light的比较级 | |
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131
streak
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| n.条理，斑纹，倾向，少许，痕迹；v.加条纹，变成条纹，奔驰，快速移动 | |
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132
incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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133
blasphemous
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| adj.亵渎神明的，不敬神的 | |
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134
embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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135
hatchet
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| n.短柄小斧；v.扼杀 | |
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136
eddies
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| （水、烟等的）漩涡，涡流( eddy的名词复数 ) | |
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137
immortal
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| adj.不朽的；永生的，不死的；神的 | |
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138
ratification
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| n.批准，认可 | |
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139
sleepers
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| n.卧铺（通常以复数形式出现）；卧车( sleeper的名词复数 )；轨枕；睡觉（呈某种状态）的人；小耳环 | |
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140
grumbling
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| adj. 喃喃鸣不平的, 出怨言的 | |
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141
toiling
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| 长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的现在分词 )； 艰难缓慢地移动，跋涉 | |
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142
loomed
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| v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的过去式和过去分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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143
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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144
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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145
mitten
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| n.连指手套，露指手套 | |
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146
knuckles
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| n.（指人）指关节( knuckle的名词复数 )；（指动物）膝关节，踝v.（指人）指关节( knuckle的第三人称单数 )；（指动物）膝关节，踝 | |
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147
hysterical
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| adj.情绪异常激动的，歇斯底里般的 | |
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148
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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149
foaming
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| adj.布满泡沫的；发泡 | |
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150
verge
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| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
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151
abreast
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| adv.并排地；跟上(时代)的步伐，与…并进地 | |
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152
gusts
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| 一阵强风( gust的名词复数 )； （怒、笑等的）爆发； （感情的）迸发； 发作 | |
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153
collapse
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| vi.累倒；昏倒；倒塌；塌陷 | |
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154
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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155
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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156
stiffened
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| 加强的 | |
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157
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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158
query
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| n.疑问，问号，质问；vt.询问，表示怀疑 | |
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159
clogging
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| 堵塞，闭合 | |
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160
exertion
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| n.尽力，努力 | |
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161
stationary
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| adj.固定的，静止不动的 | |
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162
accretion
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| n.自然的增长，增加物 | |
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163
gasp
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| n.喘息，气喘；v.喘息；气吁吁他说 | |
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164
indefatigable
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| adj.不知疲倦的，不屈不挠的 | |
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165
joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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166
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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167
stanza
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| n.（诗）节，段 | |
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168
shear
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| n.修剪，剪下的东西，羊的一岁；vt.剪掉，割，剥夺；vi.修剪，切割，剥夺，穿越 | |
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169
salmon
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| n.鲑，大马哈鱼，橙红色的 | |
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170
geniality
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| n.和蔼，诚恳；愉快 | |
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171
futilely
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| futile（无用的）的变形； 干 | |
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172
exertions
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| n.努力( exertion的名词复数 )；费力；（能力、权力等的）运用；行使 | |
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173
asunder
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| adj.分离的，化为碎片 | |
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174
fetters
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| n.脚镣( fetter的名词复数 )；束缚v.给…上脚镣，束缚( fetter的第三人称单数 ) | |
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175
onward
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| adj.向前的，前进的；adv.向前，前进，在先 | |
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176
savagely
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| adv. 野蛮地，残酷地 | |
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177
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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178
savvy
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| v.知道，了解；n.理解能力，机智，悟性；adj.有见识的，懂实际知识的，通情达理的 | |
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179
ammunition
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| n.军火，弹药 | |
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180
faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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