Smoke, sitting on the edge of the sleeping-robe and examining the feet of a dog he had rolled snarling3 on its back in the snow, did not answer. And Shorty, turning a steaming moccasin propped4 on a stick before the fire, studied his partner's face keenly.
“Cock your eye up at that there aurora6 borealis,” Shorty went on. “Some frivolous7, eh? Just like any shilly-shallyin', shirt-dancing woman. The best of them is frivolous, when they ain't foolish. And they's cats, all of 'em, the littlest an' the biggest, the nicest and the otherwise. They're sure devourin' lions an' roarin' hyenas9 when they get on the trail of a man they've cottoned to.”
Again the monologue10 languished11. Smoke cuffed12 the dog when it attempted to snap his hand, and went on examining its bruised14 and bleeding pads.
“Huh!” pursued Shorty. “Mebbe I couldn't 'a' married if I'd a mind to! An' mebbe I wouldn't 'a' been married without a mind to, if I hadn't hiked for tall timber. Smoke, d'you want to know what saved me? I'll tell you. My wind. I just kept a-runnin'. I'd like to see any skirt run me outa breath.”
Smoke released the animal and turned his own steaming, stick-propped moccasins. “We've got to rest over to-morrow and make moccasins,” he vouchsafed16. “That little crust is playing the devil with their feet.”
“We oughta keep goin' somehow,” Shorty objected. “We ain't got grub enough to turn back with, and we gotta strike that run of caribou17 or them white Indians almighty18 soon or we'll be eatin' the dogs, sore feet an' all. Now who ever seen them white Indians anyway? Nothin' but hearsay20. An' how can a Indian be white? A black white man'd be as natural. Smoke, we just oughta travel to-morrow. The country's plumb21 dead of game. We ain't seen even a rabbit-track in a week, you know that. An' we gotta get out of this dead streak22 into somewhere that meat's runnin'.”
“They'll travel all the better with a day's rest for their feet and moccasins all around,” Smoke counseled. “If you get a chance at any low divide, take a peep over at the country beyond. We're likely to strike open rolling country any time now. That's what La Perle told us to look for.”
“Huh! By his own story, it was ten years ago that La Perle come through this section, an' he was that loco from hunger he couldn't know what he did see. Remember what he said of whoppin' big flags floatin' from the tops of the mountains? That shows how loco HE was. An' he said himself he never seen any white Indians—that was Anton's yarn23. An', besides, Anton kicked the bucket two years before you an' me come to Alaska. But I'll take a look to-morrow. An' mebbe I might pick up a moose. What d' you say we turn in?”
Smoke spent the morning in camp, sewing dog-moccasins and repairing harnesses. At noon he cooked a meal for two, ate his share, and began to look for Shorty's return. An hour later he strapped25 on his snow-shoes and went out on his partner's trail. The way led up the bed of the stream, through a narrow gorge26 that widened suddenly into a moose-pasture. But no moose had been there since the first snow of the preceding fall. The tracks of Shorty's snow-shoes crossed the pasture and went up the easy slope of a low divide. At the crest27 Smoke halted. The tracks continued down the other slope. The first spruce-trees, in the creek28 bed, were a mile away, and it was evident that Shorty had passed through them and gone on. Smoke looked at his watch, remembered the oncoming darkness, the dogs, and the camp, and reluctantly decided29 against going farther. But before he retraced30 his steps he paused for a long look. All the eastern sky-line was saw-toothed by the snowy backbone31 of the Rockies. The whole mountain system, range upon range, seemed to trend to the northwest, cutting athwart the course to the open country reported by La Perle. The effect was as if the mountains conspired32 to thrust back the traveler toward the west and the Yukon. Smoke wondered how many men in the past, approaching as he had approached, had been turned aside by that forbidding aspect. La Perle had not been turned aside, but, then, La Perle had crossed over from the eastern slope of the Rockies.
Until midnight Smoke maintained a huge fire for the guidance of Shorty. And in the morning, waiting with camp broken and dogs harnessed for the first break of light, Smoke took up the pursuit. In the narrow pass of the canyon34, his lead-dog pricked35 up its ears and whined37. Then Smoke came upon the Indians, six of them, coming toward him. They were traveling light, without dogs, and on each man's back was the smallest of pack outfits39. Surrounding Smoke, they immediately gave him several matters for surprise. That they were looking for him was clear. That they talked no Indian tongue of which he knew a word was also quickly made clear. They were not white Indians, though they were taller and heavier than the Indians of the Yukon basin. Five of them carried the old-fashioned, long-barreled Hudson Bay Company musket41, and in the hands of the sixth was a Winchester rifle which Smoke knew to be Shorty's.
Nor did they waste time in making him a prisoner. Unarmed himself, Smoke could only submit. The contents of the sled were distributed among their own packs, and he was given a pack composed of his and Shorty's sleeping-furs. The dogs were unharnessed, and when Smoke protested, one of the Indians, by signs, indicated a trail too rough for sled-travel. Smoke bowed to the inevitable42, cached the sled end-on in the snow on the bank above the stream, and trudged43 on with his captors. Over the divide to the north they went, down to the spruce-trees which Smoke had glimpsed the preceding afternoon. They followed the stream for a dozen miles, abandoning it when it trended to the west and heading directly eastward44 up a narrow tributary45.
The first night was spent in a camp which had been occupied for several days. Here was cached a quantity of dried salmon46 and a sort of pemmican, which the Indians added to their packs. From this camp a trail of many snow-shoes led off—Shorty's captors, was Smoke's conclusion; and before darkness fell he succeeded in making out the tracks Shorty's narrower snow-shoes had left. On questioning the Indians by signs, they nodded affirmation and pointed47 to the north.
Always, in the days that followed, they pointed north; and always the trail, turning and twisting through a jumble48 of upstanding peaks, trended north. Everywhere, in this bleak50 snow-solitude, the way seemed barred, yet ever the trail curved and coiled, finding low divides and avoiding the higher and untraversable chains. The snow-fall was deeper than in the lower valleys, and every step of the way was snow-shoe work. Furthermore, Smoke's captors, all young men, traveled light and fast; and he could not forbear the prick36 of pride in the knowledge that he easily kept up with them. They were travel-hardened and trained to snow-shoes from infancy51; yet such was his condition that the traverse bore no more of ordinary hardship to him than to them.
In six days they gained and crossed the central pass, low in comparison with the mountains it threaded, yet formidable in itself and not possible for loaded sleds. Five days more of tortuous53 winding54, from lower altitude to lower altitude, brought them to the open, rolling, and merely hilly country La Perle had found ten years before. Smoke knew it with the first glimpse, on a sharp cold day, the thermometer forty below zero, the atmosphere so clear that he could see a hundred miles. Far as he could see rolled the open country. High in the east the Rockies still thrust their snowy ramparts heavenward. To the south and west extended the broken ranges of the projecting spur-system they had crossed. And in this vast pocket lay the country La Perle had traversed—snow-blanketed, but assuredly fat with game at some time in the year, and in the summer a smiling, forested, and flowered land.
Before midday, traveling down a broad stream, past snow-buried willows56 and naked aspens, and across heavily timbered flats of spruce, they came upon the site of a large camp, recently abandoned. Glancing as he went by, Smoke estimated four or five hundred fires, and guessed the population to be in the thousands. So fresh was the trail, and so well packed by the multitude, that Smoke and his captors took off their snow-shoes and in their moccasins struck a swifter pace. Signs of game appeared and grew plentiful—tracks of wolves and lynxes that without meat could not be. Once, one of the Indians cried out with satisfaction and pointed to a large area of open snow, littered with fang-polished skulls57 of caribou, trampled58 and disrupted as if an army had fought upon it. And Smoke knew that a big killing59 had been made by the hunters since the last snow-flurry.
In the long twilight60 no sign was manifested of making camp. They held steadily61 on through a deepening gloom that vanished under a sky of light—great, glittering stars half veiled by a greenish vapor62 of pulsing aurora borealis. His dogs first caught the noises of the camp, pricking63 their ears and whining64 in low eagerness. Then it came to the ears of the humans, a murmur65, dim with distance, but not invested with the soothing66 grace that is common to distant murmurs67. Instead, it was in a high, wild key, a beat of shrill68 sound broken by shriller sounds—the long wolf-howling of many wolf-dogs, a screaming of unrest and pain, mournful with hopelessness and rebellion. Smoke swung back the crystal of his watch and by the feel of finger-tips on the naked hands made out eleven o'clock. The men about him quickened. The legs that had lifted through a dozen strenuous69 hours lifted in a still swifter pace that was half a run and mostly a running jog. Through a dark spruce-flat they burst upon an abrupt70 glare of light from many fires and upon an abrupt increase of sound. The great camp lay before them.
And as they entered and threaded the irregular runways of the hunting-camp, a vast tumult71, as in a wave, rose to meet them and rolled on with them—cries, greetings, questions and answers, jests and jests thrust back again, the snapping snarl2 of wolf-dogs rushing in furry72 projectiles73 of wrath74 upon Smoke's stranger dogs, the scolding of squaws, laughter, the whimpering of children and wailing75 of infants, the moans of the sick aroused afresh to pain, all the pandemonium76 of a camp of nerveless, primitive77 wilderness78 folk.
Striking with clubs and the butts79 of guns, Smoke's party drove back the attacking dogs, while his own dogs, snapping and snarling, awed81 by so many enemies, shrank in among the legs of their human protectors, and bristled82 along stiff-legged in menacing prance83.
They halted in the trampled snow by an open fire, where Shorty and two young Indians, squatted84 on their hams, were broiling85 strips of caribou meat. Three other young Indians, lying in furs on a mat of spruce-boughs86, sat up. Shorty looked across the fire at his partner, but with a sternly impassive face, like those of his companions, made no sign and went on broiling the meat.
“What's the matter?” Smoke demanded, half in irritation87. “Lost your speech?”
The old familiar grin twisted on Shorty's face. “Nope,” he answered. “I'm a Indian. I'm learnin' not to show surprise. When did they catch you?”
“Next day after you left.”
“Hum,” Shorty said, the light of whimsy88 dancing in his eyes. “Well, I'm doin' fine, thank you most to death. This is the bachelors' camp.” He waved his hand to embrace its magnificence, which consisted of a fire, beds of spruce-boughs laid on top of the snow, flies of caribou skin, and wind-shields of twisted spruce and willow55 withes. “An' these are the bachelors.” This time his hand indicated the young men, and he spat89 a few spoken gutturals in their own language that brought the white flash of acknowledgment from eyes and teeth. “They're glad to meet you, Smoke. Set down an' dry your moccasins, an' I'll cook up some grub. I'm gettin' the hang of the lingo91 pretty well, ain't I? You'll have to come to it, for it looks as if we'll be with these folks a long time. They's another white man here. Got caught six years ago. He's a Irishman they picked up over Great Slave Lake way. Danny McCan is what he goes by. He's settled down with a squaw. Got two kids already, but he'll skin out if ever the chance opens up. See that low fire over there to the right? That's his camp.”
Apparently92 this was Smoke's appointed domicile, for his captors left him and his dogs, and went on deeper into the big camp. While he attended to his foot-gear and devoured93 strips of hot meat, Shorty cooked and talked.
“This is a sure peach of a pickle94, Smoke—you listen to me. An' we got to go some to get out. These is the real, blowed-in-the-glass, wild Indians. They ain't white, but their chief is. He talks like a mouthful of hot mush, an' if he ain't full-blood Scotch95 they ain't no such thing as Scotch in the world. He's the hi-yu, skookum top-chief of the whole caboodle. What he says goes. You want to get that from the start-off. Danny McCan's been tryin' to get away from him for six years. Danny's all right, but he ain't got go in him. He knows a way out—learned it on huntin' trips—to the west of the way you an' me came. He ain't had the nerve to tackle it by his lonely. But we can pull it off, the three of us. Whiskers is the real goods, but he's mostly loco just the same.”
“Why, he's the top geezer. He's the Scotcher. He's gettin' old, an' he's sure asleep now, but he'll see you to-morrow an' show you clear as print what a measly shrimp98 you are on his stompin'-grounds. These grounds belong to him. You got to get that into your noodle. They ain't never been explored, nor nothin', an' they're hisn. An' he won't let you forget it. He's got about twenty thousand square miles of huntin' country here all his own. He's the white Indian, him an' the skirt. Huh! Don't look at me that way. Wait till you see her. Some looker, an' all white, like her dad—he's Whiskers. An' say, caribou! I've saw 'em. A hundred thousan' of good running meat in the herd99, an' ten thousan' wolves an' cats a-followin' an' livin' off the stragglers an' the leavin's. We leave the leavin's. The herd's movin' to the east, an' we'll be followin' 'em any day now. We eat our dogs, an' what we don't eat we smoke 'n cure for the spring before the salmon-run gets its sting in. Say, what Whiskers don't know about salmon an' caribou nobody knows, take it from me.”
“Here comes Whiskers lookin' like he's goin' somewheres,” Shorty whispered, reaching over and wiping greasy100 hands on the coat of one of the sled-dogs.
It was morning, and the bachelors were squatting101 over a breakfast of caribou-meat, which they ate as they broiled102. Smoke glanced up and saw a small and slender man, skin-clad like any savage103, but unmistakably white, striding in advance of a sled team and a following of a dozen Indians. Smoke cracked a hot bone, and while he sucked out the steaming marrow104 gazed at his approaching host. Bushy whiskers and yellowish gray hair, stained by camp smoke, concealed105 most of the face, but failed wholly to hide the gaunt, almost cadaverous, cheeks. It was a healthy leanness, Smoke decided, as he noted106 the wide flare107 of the nostrils108 and the breadth and depth of chest that gave spaciousness109 to the guaranty of oxygen and life.
“How do you do,” the man said, slipping a mitten110 and holding out his bare hand. “My name is Snass,” he added, as they shook hands.
“Mine's Bellew,” Smoke returned, feeling peculiarly disconcerted as he gazed into the keen-searching black eyes.
“Getting plenty to eat, I see.”
Smoke nodded and resumed his marrow-bone, the purr of Scottish speech strangely pleasant in his ears.
“Rough rations111. But we don't starve often. And it's more natural than the hand-reared meat of the cities.”
“I see you don't like cities,” Smoke laughed, in order to be saying something; and was immediately startled by the transformation113 Snass underwent.
Quite like a sensitive plant, the man's entire form seemed to wilt114 and quiver. Then the recoil115, tense and savage, concentered in the eyes, in which appeared a hatred116 that screamed of immeasurable pain. He turned abruptly117 away, and, recollecting118 himself, remarked casually119 over his shoulder:
“I'll see you later, Mr. Bellew. The caribou are moving east, and I'm going ahead to pick out a location. You'll all come on to-morrow.”
Again Shorty wiped his hands on the wolf-dog, which seemed to like it as it licked off the delectable120 grease.
Later on in the morning Smoke went for a stroll through the camp, busy with its primitive pursuits. A big body of hunters had just returned, and the men were scattering121 to their various fires. Women and children were departing with dogs harnessed to empty toboggan-sleds, and women and children and dogs were hauling sleds heavy with meat fresh from the killing and already frozen. An early spring cold-snap was on, and the wildness of the scene was painted in a temperature of thirty below zero. Woven cloth was not in evidence. Furs and soft-tanned leather clad all alike. Boys passed with bows in their hands, and quivers of bone-barbed arrows; and many a skinning-knife of bone or stone Smoke saw in belts or neck-hung sheaths. Women toiled123 over the fires, smoke-curing the meat, on their backs infants that stared round-eyed and sucked at lumps of tallow. Dogs, full-kin to wolves, bristled up to Smoke to endure the menace of the short club he carried and to whiff the odor of this newcomer whom they must accept by virtue124 of the club.
Segregated125 in the heart of the camp, Smoke came upon what was evidently Snass's fire. Though temporary in every detail, it was solidly constructed and was on a large scale. A great heap of bales of skins and outfit was piled on a scaffold out of reach of the dogs. A large canvas fly, almost half-tent, sheltered the sleeping- and living-quarters. To one side was a silk tent—the sort favored by explorers and wealthy big-game hunters. Smoke had never seen such a tent, and stepped closer. As he stood looking, the flaps parted and a young woman came out. So quickly did she move, so abruptly did she appear, that the effect on Smoke was as that of an apparition126. He seemed to have the same effect on her, and for a long moment they gazed at each other.
She was dressed entirely127 in skins, but such skins and such magnificently beautiful fur-work Smoke had never dreamed of. Her parka, the hood128 thrown back, was of some strange fur of palest silver. The mukluks, with walrus-hide soles, were composed of the silver-padded feet of many lynxes. The long-gauntleted mittens129, the tassels130 at the knees, all the varied131 furs of the costume, were pale silver that shimmered132 in the frosty light; and out of this shimmering133 silver, poised134 on slender, delicate neck, lifted her head, the rosy135 face blonde as the eyes were blue, the ears like two pink shells, the light chestnut136 hair touched with frost-dust and coruscating137 frost-glints.
All this and more, as in a dream, Smoke saw; then, recollecting himself, his hand fumbled138 for his cap. At the same moment the wonder-stare in the girl's eyes passed into a smile, and, with movements quick and vital, she slipped a mitten and extended her hand.
“How do you do,” she murmured gravely, with a queer, delightful139 accent, her voice, silvery as the furs she wore, coming with a shock to Smoke's ears, attuned140 as they were to the harsh voices of the camp squaws.
“I am glad to see you,” she went on slowly and gropingly, her face a ripple142 of smiles. “My English you will please excuse. It is not good. I am English like you,” she gravely assured him. “My father he is Scotch. My mother she is dead. She is French, and English, and a little Indian, too. Her father was a great man in the Hudson Bay Company. Brrr! It is cold.” She slipped on her mitten and rubbed her ears, the pink of which had already turned to white. “Let us go to the fire and talk. My name is Labiskwee. What is your name?”
And so Smoke came to know Labiskwee, the daughter of Snass, whom Snass called Margaret.
“Snass is not my father's name,” she informed Smoke. “Snass is only an Indian name.”
Much Smoke learned that day, and in the days that followed, as the hunting-camp moved on in the trail of the caribou. These were real wild Indians—the ones Anton had encountered and escaped from long years before. This was nearly the western limit of their territory, and in the summer they ranged north to the tundra143 shores of the Arctic, and eastward as far as the Luskwa. What river the Luskwa was Smoke could not make out, nor could Labiskwee tell him, nor could McCan. On occasion Snass, with parties of strong hunters, pushed east across the Rockies, on past the lakes and the Mackenzie and into the Barrens. It was on the last traverse in that direction that the silk tent occupied by Labiskwee had been found.
“It belonged to the Millicent-Adbury expedition,” Snass told Smoke.
“Oh! I remember. They went after musk-oxen. The rescue expedition never found a trace of them.”
“I found them,” Snass said. “But both were dead.”
“The world still doesn't know. The word never got out.”
“The word never gets out,” Snass assured him pleasantly.
“You mean if they had been alive when you found them—?”
Snass nodded. “They would have lived on with me and my people.”
“Anton got out,” Smoke challenged.
“I do not remember the name. How long ago?”
“Fourteen or fifteen years,” Smoke answered.
“So he pulled through, after all. Do you know, I've wondered about him. We called him Long Tooth. He was a strong man, a strong man.”
“La Perle came through here ten years ago.”
Snass shook his head.
“He found traces of your camps. It was summer time.”
“That explains it,” Snass answered. “We are hundreds of miles to the north in the summer.”
But, strive as he would, Smoke could get no clew to Snass's history in the days before he came to live in the northern wilds. Educated he was, yet in all the intervening years he had read no books, no newspapers. What had happened in the world he knew not, nor did he show desire to know. He had heard of the miners on the Yukon, and of the Klondike strike. Gold-miners had never invaded his territory, for which he was glad. But the outside world to him did not exist. He tolerated no mention of it.
Nor could Labiskwee help Smoke with earlier information. She had been born on the hunting-grounds. Her mother had lived for six years after. Her mother had been very beautiful—the only white woman Labiskwee had ever seen. She said this wistfully, and wistfully, in a thousand ways, she showed that she knew of the great outside world on which her father had closed the door. But this knowledge was secret. She had early learned that mention of it threw her father into a rage.
Anton had told a squaw of her mother, and that her mother had been a daughter of a high official in the Hudson Bay Company. Later, the squaw had told Labiskwee. But her mother's name she had never learned.
As a source of information, Danny McCan was impossible. He did not like adventure. Wild life was a horror, and he had had nine years of it. Shanghaied in San Francisco, he had deserted144 the whaleship at Point Barrow with three companions. Two had died, and the third had abandoned him on the terrible traverse south. Two years he had lived with the Eskimos before raising the courage to attempt the south traverse, and then, within several days of a Hudson Bay Company post, he had been gathered in by a party of Snass's young men. He was a small, stupid man, afflicted145 with sore eyes, and all he dreamed or could talk about was getting back to his beloved San Francisco and his blissful trade of bricklaying.
“You're the first intelligent man we've had,” Snass complimented Smoke one night by the fire. “Except old Four Eyes. The Indians named him so. He wore glasses and was short-sighted. He was a professor of zoology146.” (Smoke noted the correctness of the pronunciation of the word.) “He died a year ago. My young men picked him up strayed from an expedition on the upper Porcupine147. He was intelligent, yes; but he was also a fool. That was his weakness—straying. He knew geology, though, and working in metals. Over on the Luskwa, where there's coal, we have several creditable hand-forges he made. He repaired our guns and taught the young men how. He died last year, and we really missed him. Strayed—that's how it happened—froze to death within a mile of camp.”
It was on the same night that Snass said to Smoke:
“You'd better pick out a wife and have a fire of your own. You will be more comfortable than with those young bucks148. The maidens149' fires—a sort of feast of the virgins150, you know—are not lighted until full summer and the salmon, but I can give orders earlier if you say the word.”
Smoke laughed and shook his head.
“Remember,” Snass concluded quietly, “Anton is the only one that ever got away. He was lucky, unusually lucky.”
Her father had a will of iron, Labiskwee told Smoke.
“Four Eyes used to call him the Frozen Pirate—whatever that means—the Tyrant151 of the Frost, the Cave Bear, the Beast Primitive, the King of the Caribou, the Bearded Pard, and lots of such things. Four Eyes loved words like these. He taught me most of my English. He was always making fun. You could never tell. He called me his cheetah152-chum after times when I was angry. What is cheetah? He always teased me with it.”
She chattered153 on with all the eager naivete of a child, which Smoke found hard to reconcile with the full womanhood of her form and face.
Yes, her father was very firm. Everybody feared him. He was terrible when angry. There were the Porcupines154. It was through them, and through the Luskwas, that Snass traded his skins at the posts and got his supplies of ammunition155 and tobacco. He was always fair, but the chief of the Porcupines began to cheat. And after Snass had warned him twice, he burned his log village, and over a dozen of the Porcupines were killed in the fight. But there was no more cheating. Once, when she was a little girl, there was one white man killed while trying to escape. No, her father did not do it, but he gave the order to the young men. No Indian ever disobeyed her father.
And the more Smoke learned from her, the more the mystery of Snass deepened.
“And tell me if it is true,” the girl was saying, “that there was a man and a woman whose names were Paolo and Francesca and who greatly loved each other?”
Smoke nodded.
“Four Eyes told me all about it,” she beamed happily. “And so he did not make it up, after all. You see, I was not sure. I asked father, but, oh, he was angry. The Indians told me he gave poor Four Eyes an awful talking to. Then there were Tristan and Iseult—two Iseults. It was very sad. But I should like to love that way. Do all the young men and women in the world do that? They do not here. They just get married. They do not seem to have time. I am English, and I will never marry an Indian—would you? That is why I have not lighted my maiden's fire. Some of the young men are bothering father to make me do it. Libash is one of them. He is a great hunter. And Mahkook comes around singing songs. He is funny. To-night, if you come by my tent after dark, you will hear him singing out in the cold. But father says I can do as I please, and so I shall not light my fire. You see, when a girl makes up her mind to get married, that is the way she lets young men know. Four Eyes always said it was a fine custom. But I noticed he never took a wife. Maybe he was too old. He did not have much hair, but I do not think he was really very old. And how do you know when you are in love?—like Paolo and Francesca, I mean.”
Smoke was disconcerted by the clear gaze of her blue eyes. “Why, they say,” he stammered156, “those who are in love say it, that love is dearer than life. When one finds out that he or she likes somebody better than everybody else in the world—why, then, they know they are in love. That's the way it goes, but it's awfully157 hard to explain. You just know it, that's all.”
She looked off across the camp-smoke, sighed, and resumed work on the fur mitten she was sewing. “Well,” she announced with finality, “I shall never get married anyway.”
“The place is a big trap,” Smoke agreed.
From the crest of a bald knob they gazed out over Snass's snowy domain159. East, west, and south they were hemmed160 in by the high peaks and jumbled161 ranges. Northward162, the rolling country seemed interminable; yet they knew, even in that direction, that half a dozen transverse chains blocked the way.
“At this time of the year I could give you three days' start,” Snass told Smoke that evening. “You can't hide your trail, you see. Anton got away when the snow was gone. My young men can travel as fast as the best white man; and, besides, you would be breaking trail for them. And when the snow is off the ground, I'll see to it that you don't get the chance Anton had. It's a good life. And soon the world fades. I have never quite got over the surprise of finding how easy it is to get along without the world.”
“What's eatin' me is Danny McCan,” Shorty confided163 to Smoke. “He's a weak brother on any trail. But he swears he knows the way out to the westward164, an' so we got to put up with him, Smoke, or you sure get yours.”
“We're all in the same boat,” Smoke answered.
“Not on your life. It's a-comin' to you straight down the pike.”
“What is?”
“You ain't heard the news?”
Smoke shook his head.
“The bachelors told me. They just got the word. To-night it comes off, though it's months ahead of the calendar.”
“Ain't interested in hearin'?” Shorty teased.
“I'm waiting to hear.”
“Well, Danny's wife just told the bachelors,” Shorty paused impressively. “An' the bachelors told me, of course, that the maidens' fires is due to be lighted to-night. That's all. Now how do you like it?”
“I don't get your drift, Shorty.”
“Don't, eh? Why, it's plain open and shut. They's a skirt after you, an' that skirt is goin' to light a fire, an' that skirt's name is Labiskwee. Oh, I've been watchin' her watch you when you ain't lookin'. She ain't never lighted her fire. Said she wouldn't marry a Indian. An' now, when she lights her fire, it's a cinch it's my poor old friend Smoke.”
“It sounds like a syllogism,” Smoke said, with a sinking heart reviewing Labiskwee's actions of the past several days.
“Cinch is shorter to pronounce,” Shorty returned. “An' that's always the way—just as we're workin' up our get-away, along comes a skirt to complicate167 everything. We ain't got no luck. Hey! Listen to that, Smoke!”
Three ancient squaws had halted midway between the bachelors' camp and the camp of McCan, and the oldest was declaiming in shrill falsetto.
Smoke recognized the names, but not all the words, and Shorty translated with melancholy168 glee.
“Labiskwee, the daughter of Snass, the Rainmaker, the Great Chief, lights her first maiden's fire to-night. Maka, the daughter of Owits, the Wolf-Runner—”
The recital169 ran through the names of a dozen maidens, and then the three heralds170 tottered171 on their way to make announcement at the next fires.
The bachelors, who had sworn youthful oaths to speak to no maidens, were uninterested in the approaching ceremony, and to show their disdain172 they made preparations for immediate40 departure on a mission set them by Snass and upon which they had planned to start the following morning. Not satisfied with the old hunters' estimates of the caribou, Snass had decided that the run was split. The task set the bachelors was to scout173 to the north and west in quest of the second division of the great herd.
Smoke, troubled by Labiskwee's fire-lighting, announced that he would accompany the bachelors. But first he talked with Shorty and with McCan.
“You be there on the third day, Smoke,” Shorty said. “We'll have the outfit an' the dogs.”
“But remember,” Smoke cautioned, “if there is any slip-up in meeting me, you keep on going and get out to the Yukon. That's flat. If you make it, you can come back for me in the summer. If I get the chance, I'll make it, and come back for you.”
McCan, standing49 by his fire, indicated with his eyes a rugged166 mountain where the high western range out-jutted on the open country.
“That's the one,” he said. “A small stream on the south side. We go up it. On the third day you meet us. We'll pass by on the third day. Anywhere you tap that stream you'll meet us or our trail.”
But the chance did not come to Smoke on the third day. The bachelors had changed the direction of their scout, and while Shorty and McCan plodded174 up the stream with their dogs, Smoke and the bachelors were sixty miles to the northeast picking up the trail of the second caribou herd. Several days later, through a dim twilight of falling snow, they came back to the big camp. A squaw ceased from wailing by a fire and darted175 up to Smoke. Harsh tongued, with bitter, venomous eyes, she cursed him, waving her arms toward a silent, fur-wrapped form that still lay on the sled which had hauled it in.
What had happened, Smoke could only guess, and as he came to McCan's fire he was prepared for a second cursing. Instead, he saw McCan himself industriously176 chewing a strip of caribou meat.
“I'm not a fightin' man,” he whiningly177 explained. “But Shorty got away, though they're still after him. He put up a hell of a fight. They'll get him, too. He ain't got a chance. He plugged two bucks that'll get around all right. An' he croaked178 one square through the chest.”
“Yes, I know,” Smoke answered. “I just met the widow.”
“Old Snass'll be wantin' to see you,” McCan added. “Them's his orders. Soon as you come in you was to go to his fire. I ain't squealed179. You don't know nothing. Keep that in mind. Shorty went off on his own along with me.”
At Snass's fire Smoke found Labiskwee. She met him with eyes that shone with such softness and tenderness as to frighten him.
“I'm glad you did not try to run away,” she said. “You see, I—” She hesitated, but her eyes didn't drop. They swam with a light unmistakable. “I lighted my fire, and of course it was for you. It has happened. I like you better than everybody else in the world. Better than my father. Better than a thousand Libashes and Mahkooks. I love. It is very strange. I love as Francesca loved, as Iseult loved. Old Four Eyes spoke90 true. Indians do not love this way. But my eyes are blue, and I am white. We are white, you and I.”
Smoke had never been proposed to in his life, and he was unable to meet the situation. Worse, it was not even a proposal. His acceptance was taken for granted. So thoroughly180 was it all arranged in Labiskwee's mind, so warm was the light in her eyes, that he was amazed that she did not throw her arms around him and rest her head on his shoulder. Then he realized, despite her candor181 of love, that she did not know the pretty ways of love. Among the primitive savages182 such ways did not obtain. She had had no chance to learn.
She prattled183 on, chanting the happy burden of her love, while he strove to grip himself in the effort, somehow, to wound her with the truth. This, at the very first, was the golden opportunity.
“But, Labiskwee, listen,” he began. “Are you sure you learned from Four Eyes all the story of the love of Paolo and Francesca?”
She clasped her hands and laughed with an immense certitude of gladness. “Oh! There is more! I knew there must be more and more of love! I have thought much since I lighted my fire. I have—”
And then Snass strode in to the fire through the falling snowflakes, and Smoke's opportunity was lost.
“Good evening,” Snass burred gruffly. “Your partner has made a mess of it. I am glad you had better sense.”
“You might tell me what's happened,” Smoke urged.
The flash of white teeth through the stained beard was not pleasant. “Certainly, I'll tell you. Your partner has killed one of my people. That sniveling shrimp, McCan, deserted at the first shot. He'll never run away again. But my hunters have got your partner in the mountains, and they'll get him. He'll never make the Yukon basin. As for you, from now on you sleep at my fire. And there'll be no more scouting185 with the young men. I shall have my eye on you.”
Smoke's new situation at Snass's fire was embarrassing. He saw more of Labiskwee than ever. In its sweetness and innocence186, the frankness of her love was terrible. Her glances were love glances; every look was a caress187. A score of times he nerved himself to tell her of Joy Gastell, and a score of times he discovered that he was a coward. The damnable part of it was that Labiskwee was so delightful. She was good to look upon. Despite the hurt to his self-esteem of every moment spent with her, he pleasured in every such moment. For the first time in his life he was really learning woman, and so clear was Labiskwee's soul, so appalling188 in its innocence and ignorance, that he could not misread a line of it. All the pristine189 goodness of her sex was in her, uncultured by the conventionality of knowledge or the deceit of self-protection. In memory he reread his Schopenhauer and knew beyond all cavil190 that the sad philosopher was wrong. To know woman, as Smoke came to know Labiskwee, was to know that all woman-haters were sick men.
Labiskwee was wonderful, and yet, beside her face in the flesh burned the vision of the face of Joy Gastell. Joy had control, restraint, all the feminine inhibitions of civilization, yet, by the trick of his fancy and the living preachment of the woman before him, Joy Gastell was stripped to a goodness at par5 with Labiskwee's. The one but appreciated the other, and all women of all the world appreciated by what Smoke saw in the soul of Labiskwee at Snass's fire in the snow-land.
And Smoke learned about himself. He remembered back to all he knew of Joy Gastell, and he knew that he loved her. Yet he delighted in Labiskwee. And what was this feeling of delight but love? He could demean it by no less a name. Love it was. Love it must be. And he was shocked to the roots of his soul by the discovery of this polygamous strain in his nature. He had heard it argued, in the San Francisco studios, that it was possible for a man to love two women, or even three women, at a time. But he had not believed it. How could he believe it when he had not had the experience? Now it was different. He did truly love two women, and though most of the time he was quite convinced that he loved Joy Gastell more, there were other moments when he felt with equal certainty that he loved Labiskwee more.
“There must be many women in the world,” she said one day. “And women like men. Many women must have liked you. Tell me.”
He did not reply.
“Tell me,” she insisted.
“And there is no one else? No other Iseult out there beyond the mountains?”
Then it was that Smoke knew himself a coward. He lied. Reluctantly he did it, but he lied. He shook his head with a slow indulgent smile, and in his face was more of fondness than he dreamed as he noted Labiskwee's swift joy-transfiguration.
He excused himself to himself. His reasoning was jesuitical beyond dispute, and yet he was not Spartan192 enough to strike this child-woman a quivering heart-stroke.
Snass, too, was a perturbing193 factor in the problem. Little escaped his black eyes, and he spoke significantly.
“No man cares to see his daughter married,” he said to Smoke. “At least, no man of imagination. It hurts. The thought of it hurts, I tell you. Just the same, in the natural order of life, Margaret must marry some time.”
A pause fell; Smoke caught himself wondering for the thousandth time what Snass's history must be.
“I am a harsh, cruel man,” Snass went on. “Yet the law is the law, and I am just. Nay194, here with this primitive people, I am the law and the justice. Beyond my will no man goes. Also, I am a father, and all my days I have been cursed with imagination.”
Whither his monologue tended, Smoke did not learn, for it was interrupted by a burst of chiding195 and silvery laughter from Labiskwee's tent, where she played with a new-caught wolf-cub. A spasm196 of pain twitched197 Snass's face.
“I can stand it,” he muttered grimly. “Margaret must be married, and it is my fortune, and hers, that you are here. I had little hopes of Four Eyes. McCan was so hopeless I turned him over to a squaw who had lighted her fire twenty seasons. If it hadn't been you, it would have been an Indian. Libash might have become the father of my grandchildren.”
And then Labiskwee came from her tent to the fire, the wolf-cub in her arms, drawn198 as by a magnet, to gaze upon the man, in her eyes the love that art had never taught to hide.
* * * * * *
“Listen to me,” said McCan. “The spring thaw199 is here, an' the crust is comin' on the snow. It's the time to travel, exceptin' for the spring blizzards200 in the mountains. I know them. I would run with no less a man than you.”
“But you can't run,” Smoke contradicted. “You can keep up with no man. Your backbone is limber as thawed202 marrow. If I run, I run alone. The world fades, and perhaps I shall never run. Caribou meat is very good, and soon will come summer and the salmon.”
Said Snass: “Your partner is dead. My hunters did not kill him. They found the body, frozen in the first of the spring storms in the mountains. No man can escape. When shall we celebrate your marriage?”
And Labiskwee: “I watch you. There is trouble in your eyes, in your face. Oh, I do know all your face. There is a little scar on your neck, just under the ear. When you are happy, the corners of your mouth turn up. When you think sad thoughts they turn down. When you smile there are three and four wrinkles at the corners of your eyes. When you laugh there are six. Sometimes I have almost counted seven. But I cannot count them now. I have never read books. I do not know how to read. But Four Eyes taught me much. My grammar is good. He taught me. And in his own eyes I have seen the trouble of the hunger for the world. He was often hungry for the world. Yet here was good meat, and fish in plenty, and the berries and the roots, and often flour came back for the furs through the Porcupines and the Luskwas. Yet was he hungry for the world. Is the world so good that you, too, are hungry for it? Four Eyes had nothing. But you have me.” She sighed and shook her head. “Four Eyes died still hungry for the world. And if you lived here always would you, too, die hungry for the world? I am afraid I do not know the world. Do you want to run away to the world?”
Smoke could not speak, but by his mouth-corner lines was she convinced.
Minutes of silence passed, in which she visibly struggled, while Smoke cursed himself for the unguessed weakness that enabled him to speak the truth about his hunger for the world while it kept his lips tight on the truth of the existence of the other woman.
Again Labiskwee sighed.
“Very well. I love you more than I fear my father's anger, and he is more terrible in anger than a mountain storm. You told me what love is. This is the test of love. I shall help you to run away back to the world.”
Smoke awakened204 softly and without movement. Warm small fingers touched his cheek and slid gently to a pressure on his lips. Fur, with the chill of frost clinging in it, next tingled205 his skin, and the one word, “Come,” was breathed in his ear. He sat up carefully and listened. The hundreds of wolf-dogs in the camp had lifted their nocturnal song, but under the volume of it, close at hand, he could distinguish the light, regular breathing of Snass.
Labiskwee tugged206 gently at Smoke's sleeve, and he knew she wished him to follow. He took his moccasins and German socks in his hand and crept out into the snow in his sleeping moccasins. Beyond the glow from the dying embers of the fire, she indicated to him to put on his outer foot-gear, and while he obeyed, she went back under the fly where Snass slept.
Feeling the hands of his watch Smoke found it was one in the morning. Quite warm it was, he decided, not more than ten below zero. Labiskwee rejoined him and led him on through the dark runways of the sleeping camp. Walk lightly as they could, the frost crunched207 crisply under their moccasins, but the sound was drowned by the clamor of the dogs, too deep in their howling to snarl at the man and woman who passed.
“Now we can talk,” she said, when the last fire had been left half a mile behind.
And now, in the starlight, facing him, Smoke noted for the first time that her arms were burdened, and, on feeling, discovered she carried his snowshoes, a rifle, two belts of ammunition, and his sleeping-robes.
“I have everything fixed,” she said, with a happy little laugh. “I have been two days making the cache. There is meat, even flour, matches, and skees, which go best on the hard crust and, when they break through, the webs will hold up longer. Oh, I do know snow-travel, and we shall go fast, my lover.”
Smoke checked his speech. That she had been arranging his escape was surprise enough, but that she had planned to go with him was more than he was prepared for. Unable to think immediate action, he gently, one by one, took her burdens from her. He put his arm around her and pressed her close, and still he could not think what to do.
“God is good,” she whispered. “He sent me a lover.”
Yet Smoke was brave enough not to suggest his going alone. And before he spoke again he saw all his memory of the bright world and the sun-lands reel and fade.
“We will go back, Labiskwee,” he said. “You will be my wife, and we shall live always with the Caribou People.”
“No! no!” She shook her head; and her body, in the circle of his arm, resented his proposal. “I know. I have thought much. The hunger for the world would come upon you, and in the long nights it would devour8 your heart. Four Eyes died of hunger for the world. So would you die. All men from the world hunger for it. And I will not have you die. We will go on across the snow mountains on the south traverse.”
“Dear, listen,” he urged. “We must go back.”
She pressed her mitten against his lips to prevent further speech. “You love me. Say that you love me.”
“I do love you, Labiskwee. You are my wonderful sweetheart.”
“We shall go on to the cache,” she said with decision. “It is three miles from here. Come.”
He held back, and her pull on his arm could not move him. Almost was he tempted13 to tell her of the other woman beyond the south traverse.
“It would be a great wrong to you to go back,” she said. “I—I am only a wild girl, and I am afraid of the world; but I am more afraid for you. You see, it is as you told me. I love you more than anybody else in the world. I love you more than myself. The Indian language is not a good language. The English language is not a good language. The thoughts in my heart for you, as bright and as many as the stars—there is no language for them. How can I tell you them? They are there—see?”
As she spoke she slipped the mitten from his hand and thrust the hand inside the warmth of her parka until it rested against her heart. Tightly and steadily she pressed his hand in its position. And in the long silence he felt the beat, beat of her heart, and knew that every beat of it was love. And then, slowly, almost imperceptibly, still holding his hand, her body began to incline away from his and toward the direction of the cache. Nor could he resist. It was as if he were drawn by her heart itself that so nearly lay in the hollow of his hand.
So firm was the crust, frozen during the night after the previous day's surface-thaw, that they slid along rapidly on their skees.
“Just here, in the trees, is the cache,” Labiskwee told Smoke.
The next moment she caught his arm with a startle of surprise. The flames of a small fire were dancing merrily, and crouched210 by the fire was McCan. Labiskwee muttered something in Indian, and so lashlike was the sound that Smoke remembered she had been called “cheetah” by Four Eyes.
“I was minded you'd run without me,” McCan explained when they came up, his small peering eyes glimmering211 with cunning. “So I kept an eye on the girl, an' when I seen her caching skees an' grub, I was on. I've brought my own skees an' webs an' grub. The fire? Sure, an' it was no danger. The camp's asleep an' snorin', an' the waitin' was cold. Will we be startin' now?”
Labiskwee looked swift consternation212 at Smoke, as swiftly achieved a judgement on the matter, and spoke. And in the speaking she showed, child-woman though she was in love, the quick decisiveness of one who in other affairs of life would be no clinging vine.
“McCan, you are a dog,” she hissed213, and her eyes were savage with anger. “I know it is in your heart to raise the camp if we do not take you. Very well. We must take you. But you know my father. I am like my father. You will do your share of the work. You will obey. And if you play one dirty trick, it would be better for you if you had never run.”
McCan looked up at her, his small pig-eyes hating and cringing214, while in her eyes, turned to Smoke, the anger melted into luminous215 softness.
“Is it right, what I have said?” she queried.
Daylight found them in the belt of foothills that lay between the rolling country and the mountains. McCan suggested breakfast, but they held on. Not until the afternoon thaw softened216 the crust and prevented travel would they eat.
The foothills quickly grew rugged, and the stream, up whose frozen bed they journeyed, began to thread deeper and deeper canyons217. The signs of spring were less frequent, though in one canyon they found foaming218 bits of open water, and twice they came upon clumps219 of dwarf221 willow upon which were the first hints of swelling222 buds.
Labiskwee explained to Smoke her knowledge of the country and the way she planned to baffle pursuit. There were but two ways out, one west, the other south. Snass would immediately dispatch parties of young men to guard the two trails. But there was another way south. True, it did no more than penetrate223 half-way into the high mountains, then, twisting to the west and crossing three divides, it joined the regular trail. When the young men found no traces on the regular trail they would turn back in the belief that the escape had been made by the west traverse, never dreaming that the runaways224 had ventured the harder and longer way around.
Glancing back at McCan, in the rear, Labiskwee spoke in an undertone to Smoke. “He is eating,” she said. “It is not good.”
“No eating between meals, McCan,” he commanded. “There's no game in the country ahead, and the grub will have to be whacked227 in equal rations from the start. The only way you can travel with us is by playing fair.”
By one o'clock the crust had thawed so that the skees broke through, and before two o'clock the web-shoes were breaking through. Camp was made and the first meal eaten. Smoke took stock of the food. McCan's supply was a disappointment. So many silver fox-skins had he stuffed in the bottom of the meat bag that there was little space left for meat.
“Sure an' I didn't know there was so many,” he explained. “I done it in the dark. But they're worth good money. An' with all this ammunition we'll be gettin' game a-plenty.”
“The wolves will eat you a-plenty,” was Smoke's hopeless comment, while Labiskwee's eyes flashed their anger.
Enough food for a month, with careful husbanding and appetites that never blunted their edge, was Smoke's and Labiskwee's judgment228. Smoke apportioned229 the weight and bulk of the packs, yielding in the end to Labiskwee's insistence230 that she, too, should carry a pack.
Next day the stream shallowed out in a wide mountain valley, and they were already breaking through the crust on the flats when they gained the harder surface of the slope of the divide.
“Ten minutes later and we wouldn't have got across the flats,” Smoke said, when they paused for breath on the bald crest of the summit. “We must be a thousand feet higher here.”
But Labiskwee, without speaking, pointed down to an open flat among the trees. In the midst of it, scattered231 abreast232, were five dark specks233 that scarcely moved.
“The young men,” said Labiskwee.
“They are wallowing to their hips,” Smoke said. “They will never gain the hard footing this day. We have hours the start of them. Come on, McCan. Buck24 up. We don't eat till we can't travel.”
McCan groaned234, but there was no caribou suet in his pocket, and he doggedly235 brought up the rear.
In the higher valley in which they now found themselves, the crust did not break till three in the afternoon, at which time they managed to gain the shadow of a mountain where the crust was already freezing again. Once only they paused to get out McCan's confiscated236 suet, which they ate as they walked. The meat was frozen solid, and could be eaten only after thawing237 over a fire. But the suet crumbled238 in their mouths and eased the palpitating faintness in their stomachs.
Black darkness, with an overcast239 sky, came on after a long twilight at nine o'clock, when they made camp in a clump220 of dwarf spruce. McCan was whining and helpless. The day's march had been exhausting, but in addition, despite his nine years' experience in the arctic, he had been eating snow and was in agony with his parched240 and burning mouth. He crouched by the fire and groaned, while they made the camp.
Labiskwee was tireless, and Smoke could not but marvel241 at the life in her body, at the endurance of mind and muscle. Nor was her cheerfulness forced. She had ever a laugh or a smile for him, and her hand lingered in caress whenever it chanced to touch his. Yet, always, when she looked at McCan, her face went hard and pitiless and her eyes flashed frostily.
In the night came wind and snow, and through a day of blizzard201 they fought their way blindly, missing the turn of the way that led up a small stream and crossed a divide to the west. For two more days they wandered, crossing other and wrong divides, and in those two days they dropped spring behind and climbed up into the abode242 of winter.
“The young men have lost our trail, an' what's to stop us restin' a day?” McCan begged.
But no rest was accorded. Smoke and Labiskwee knew their danger. They were lost in the high mountains, and they had seen no game nor signs of game. Day after day they struggled on through an iron configuration243 of landscape that compelled them to labyrinthine244 canyons and valleys that led rarely to the west. Once in such a canyon, they could only follow it, no matter where it led, for the cold peaks and higher ranges on either side were unscalable and unendurable. The terrible toil122 and the cold ate up energy, yet they cut down the size of the ration112 they permitted themselves.
One night Smoke was awakened by a sound of struggling. Distinctly he heard a gasping245 and strangling from where McCan slept. Kicking the fire into flame, by its light he saw Labiskwee, her hands at the Irishman's throat and forcing from his mouth a chunk246 of partly chewed meat. Even as Smoke saw this, her hand went to her hip52 and flashed with the sheath-knife in it.
“Labiskwee!” Smoke cried, and his voice was peremptory247.
The hand hesitated.
“Don't,” he said, coming to her side.
She was shaking with anger, but the hand, after hesitating a moment longer, descended248 reluctantly to the sheath. As if fearing she could not restrain herself, she crossed to the fire and threw on more wood. McCan sat up, whimpering and snarling, between fright and rage spluttering an inarticulate explanation.
“Where did you get it?” Smoke demanded.
“Feel around his body,” Labiskwee said.
It was the first word she had spoken, and her voice quivered with the anger she could not suppress.
McCan strove to struggle, but Smoke gripped him cruelly and searched him, drawing forth249 from under his armpit, where it had been thawed by the heat of his body, a strip of caribou meat. A quick exclamation250 from Labiskwee drew Smoke's attention. She had sprung to McCan's pack and was opening it. Instead of meat, out poured moss251, spruce-needles, chips—all the light refuse that had taken the place of the meat and given the pack its due proportion minus its weight.
Again Labiskwee's hand went to her hip, and she flew at the culprit only to be caught in Smoke's arms, where she surrendered herself, sobbing252 with the futility253 of her rage.
“Oh, lover, it is not the food,” she panted. “It is you, your life. The dog! He is eating you, he is eating you!”
“We will yet live,” Smoke comforted her. “Hereafter he shall carry the flour. He can't eat that raw, and if he does I'll kill him myself, for he will be eating your life as well as mine.” He held her closer. “Sweetheart, killing is men's work. Women do not kill.”
“You would not love me if I killed the dog?” she questioned in surprise.
“Not so much,” Smoke temporized254.
She sighed with resignation. “Very well,” she said. “I shall not kill him.”
The pursuit by the young men was relentless255. By miracles of luck, as well as by deduction256 from the topography of the way the runaways must take, the young men picked up the blizzard-blinded trail and clung to it. When the snow flew, Smoke and Labiskwee took the most improbable courses, turning east when the better way opened south or west, rejecting a low divide to climb a higher. Being lost, it did not matter. Yet they could not throw the young men off. Sometimes they gained days, but always the young men appeared again. After a storm, when all trace was lost, they would cast out like a pack of hounds, and he who caught the later trace made smoke signals to call his comrades on.
Smoke lost count of time, of days and nights and storms and camps. Through a vast mad phantasmagoria of suffering and toil he and Labiskwee struggled on, with McCan somehow stumbling along in the rear, babbling257 of San Francisco, his everlasting258 dream. Great peaks, pitiless and serene259 in the chill blue, towered about them. They fled down black canyons with walls so precipitous that the rock frowned naked, or wallowed across glacial valleys where frozen lakes lay far beneath their feet. And one night, between two storms, a distant volcano glared the sky. They never saw it again, and wondered whether it had been a dream.
Crusts were covered with yards of new snow, that crusted and were snow-covered again. There were places, in canyon- and pocket-drifts, where they crossed snow hundreds of feet deep, and they crossed tiny glaciers261, in drafty rifts260, wind-scurried and bare of any snow. They crept like silent wraiths262 across the faces of impending263 avalanches265, or roused from exhausted266 sleep to the thunder of them. They made fireless camps above timber-line, thawing their meat-rations with the heat of their bodies ere they could eat. And through it all Labiskwee remained Labiskwee. Her cheer never vanished, save when she looked at McCan, and the greatest stupor267 of fatigue268 and cold never stilled the eloquence269 of her love for Smoke.
Like a cat she watched the apportionment of the meager270 ration, and Smoke could see that she grudged271 McCan every munch225 of his jaws272. Once, she distributed the ration. The first Smoke knew was a wild harangue273 of protest from McCan. Not to him alone, but to herself, had she given a smaller portion than to Smoke. After that, Smoke divided the meat himself. Caught in a small avalanche264 one morning after a night of snow, and swept a hundred yards down the mountain, they emerged half-stifled and unhurt, but McCan emerged without his pack in which was all the flour. A second and larger snow-slide buried it beyond hope of recovery. After that, though the disaster had been through no fault of his, Labiskwee never looked at McCan, and Smoke knew it was because she dared not.
It was a morning, stark275 still, clear blue above, with white sun-dazzle on the snow. The way led up a long, wide slope of crust. They moved like weary ghosts in a dead world. No wind stirred in the stagnant276, frigid277 calm. Far peaks, a hundred miles away, studding the backbone of the Rockies up and down, were as distinct as if no more than five miles away.
“Something is going to happen,” Labiskwee whispered. “Don't you feel it?—here, there, everywhere? Everything is strange.”
“I feel a chill that is not of cold,” Smoke answered. “Nor is it of hunger.”
“It is in your head, your heart,” she agreed excitedly. “That is the way I feel it.”
“It is not of my senses,” Smoke diagnosed. “I sense something, from without, that is tingling278 me with ice; it is a chill of my nerves.”
A quarter of an hour later they paused for breath.
“I can no longer see the far peaks,” Smoke said.
“The air is getting thick and heavy,” said Labiskwee. “It is hard to breathe.”
There was a mock sun on either side of the real sun.
“There are five,” said Labiskwee; and as they looked, new suns formed and flashed before their eyes.
“By Heaven, the sky is filled with suns beyant all countin',” McCan cried in fear.
Which was true, for look where they would, half the circle of the sky dazzled and blazed with new suns forming.
Then Labiskwee cried out, and Smoke felt a prickling stab on his cheek so cold that it burned like acid. It reminded him of swimming in the salt sea and being stung by the poisonous filaments281 of Portuguese282 men-of-war. The sensations were so similar that he automatically brushed his cheek to rid it of the stinging substance that was not there.
And then a shot rang out, strangely muffled283. Down the slope were the young men, standing on their skees, and one after another opened fire.
“Spread out!” Smoke commanded. “And climb for it! We're almost to the top. They're a quarter of a mile below, and that means a couple of miles the start of them on the down-going of the other side.”
With faces prickling and stinging from invisible atmospheric284 stabs, the three scattered widely on the snow surface and toiled upward. The muffled reports of the rifles were weird285 to their ears.
“Thank the Lord,” Smoke panted to Labiskwee, “that four of them are muskets286, and only one a Winchester. Besides, all these suns spoil their aim. They are fooled. They haven't come within a hundred feet of us.”
“It shows my father's temper,” she said. “They have orders to kill.”
“How strange you talk,” Smoke said. “Your voice sounds far away.”
“Cover your mouth,” Labiskwee cried suddenly. “And do not talk. I know what it is. Cover your mouth with your sleeve, thus, and do not talk.”
McCan fell first, and struggled wearily to his feet. And after that all fell repeatedly ere they reached the summit. Their wills exceeded their muscles, they knew not why, save that their bodies were oppressed by a numbness287 and heaviness of movement. From the crest, looking back, they saw the young men stumbling and falling on the upward climb.
“They will never get here,” Labiskwee said. “It is the white death. I know it, though I have never seen it. I have heard the old men talk. Soon will come a mist—unlike any mist or fog or frost-smoke you ever saw. Few have seen it and lived.”
“Keep your mouth covered,” Smoke commanded.
A pervasive289 flashing of light from all about them drew Smoke's eyes upward to the many suns. They were shimmering and veiling. The air was filled with microscopic290 fire-glints. The near peaks were being blotted291 out by the weird mist; the young men, resolutely292 struggling nearer, were being engulfed293 in it. McCan had sunk down, squatting, on his skees, his mouth and eyes covered by his arms.
“Come on, make a start,” Smoke ordered.
“I can't move,” McCan moaned.
His doubled body set up a swaying motion. Smoke went toward him slowly, scarcely able to will movement through the lethargy that weighed his flesh. He noted that his brain was clear. It was only the body that was afflicted.
“Let him be,” Labiskwee muttered harshly.
But Smoke persisted, dragging the Irishman to his feet and facing him down the long slope they must go. Then he started him with a shove, and McCan, braking and steering294 with his staff, shot into the sheen of diamond-dust and disappeared.
Smoke looked at Labiskwee, who smiled, though it was all she could do to keep from sinking down. He nodded for her to push off, but she came near to him, and side by side, a dozen feet apart, they flew down through the stinging thickness of cold fire.
Brake as he would, Smoke's heavier body carried him past her, and he dashed on alone, a long way, at tremendous speed that did not slacken till he came out on a level, crusted plateau. Here he braked till Labiskwee overtook him, and they went on, again side by side, with diminishing speed which finally ceased. The lethargy had grown more pronounced. The wildest effort of will could move them no more than at a snail's pace. They passed McCan, again crouched down on his skees, and Smoke roused him with his staff in passing.
“Now we must stop,” Labiskwee whispered painfully, “or we will die. We must cover up—so the old men said.”
She did not delay to untie295 knots, but began cutting her pack-lashings. Smoke cut his, and, with a last look at the fiery296 death-mist and the mockery of suns, they covered themselves over with the sleeping-furs and crouched in each other's arms. They felt a body stumble over them and fall, then heard feeble whimpering and blaspheming drowned in a violent coughing fit, and knew it was McCan who huddled297 against them as he wrapped his robe about him.
Their own lung-strangling began, and they were racked and torn by a dry cough, spasmodic and uncontrollable. Smoke noted his temperature rising in a fever, and Labiskwee suffered similarly. Hour after hour the coughing spells increased in frequency and violence, and not till late afternoon was the worst reached. After that the mend came slowly, and between spells they dozed298 in exhaustion299.
McCan, however, steadily coughed worse, and from his groans300 and howls they knew he was in delirium301. Once, Smoke made as if to throw the robes back, but Labiskwee clung to him tightly.
“No,” she begged. “It is death to uncover now. Bury your face here, against my parka, and breathe gently and do no talking—see, the way I am doing.”
They dozed on through the darkness, though the decreasing fits of coughing of one invariably aroused the other. It was after midnight, Smoke judged, when McCan coughed his last. After that he emitted low and bestial302 moanings that never ceased.
Smoke awoke with lips touching303 his lips. He lay partly in Labiskwee's arms, his head pillowed on her breast. Her voice was cheerful and usual. The muffled sound of it had vanished.
“It is day,” she said, lifting the edge of the robes a trifle. “See, O my lover. It is day; we have lived through; and we no longer cough. Let us look at the world, though I could stay here thus forever and always. This last hour has been sweet. I have been awake, and I have been loving you.”
“I do not hear McCan,” Smoke said. “And what has become of the young men that they have not found us?”
He threw back the robes and saw a normal and solitary304 sun in the sky. A gentle breeze was blowing, crisp with frost and hinting of warmer days to come. All the world was natural again. McCan lay on his back, his unwashed face, swarthy from camp-smoke, frozen hard as marble. The sight did not affect Labiskwee.
“Look!” she cried. “A snow bird! It is a good sign.”
There was no evidence of the young men. Either they had died on the other side of the divide or they had turned back.
There was so little food that they dared not eat a tithe305 of what they needed, nor a hundredth part of what they desired, and in the days that followed, wandering through the lone96 mountain-land, the sharp sting of life grew blunted and the wandering merged274 half into a dream. Smoke would become abruptly conscious, to find himself staring at the never-ending hated snow-peaks, his senseless babble306 still ringing in his ears. And the next he would know, after seeming centuries, was that again he was roused to the sound of his own maunderings. Labiskwee, too, was light-headed most of the time. In the main their efforts were unreasoned, automatic. And ever they worked toward the west, and ever they were baffled and thrust north or south by snow-peaks and impassable ranges.
“There is no way south,” Labiskwee said. “The old men know. West, only west, is the way.”
The young men no longer pursued, but famine crowded on the trail.
Came a day when it turned cold, and a thick snow, that was not snow but frost crystals of the size of grains of sand, began to fall. All day and night it fell, and for three days and nights it continued to fall. It was impossible to travel until it crusted under the spring sun, so they lay in their furs and rested, and ate less because they rested. So small was the ration they permitted that it gave no appeasement307 to the hunger pang308 that was much of the stomach, but more of the brain. And Labiskwee, delirious309, maddened by the taste of her tiny portion, sobbing and mumbling310, yelping311 sharp little animal cries of joy, fell upon the next day's portion and crammed312 it into her mouth.
Then it was given to Smoke to see a wonderful thing. The food between her teeth roused her to consciousness. She spat it out, and with a great anger struck herself with her clenched313 fist on the offending mouth.
It was given to Smoke to see many wonderful things in the days yet to come. After the long snow-fall came on a great wind that drove the dry and tiny frost-particles as sand is driven in a sand-storm. All through the night the sand-frost drove by, and in the full light of a clear and wind-blown day, Smoke looked with swimming eyes and reeling brain upon what he took to be the vision of a dream. All about towered great peaks and small, lone sentinels and groups and councils of mighty19 Titans. And from the tip of every peak, swaying, undulating, flaring314 out broadly against the azure315 sky, streamed gigantic snow-banners, miles in length, milky316 and nebulous, ever waving lights and shadows and flashing silver from the sun.
“Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord,” Smoke chanted, as he gazed upon these dusts of snow wind-driven into sky-scarves of shimmering silken light.
And still he gazed, and still the bannered peaks did not vanish, and still he considered that he dreamed, until Labiskwee sat up among the furs.
“I dream, Labiskwee,” he said. “Look. Do you, too, dream within my dream?”
“It is no dream,” she replied. “This have the old men told me. And after this will blow the warm winds, and we shall live and win west.”
Smoke shot a snow-bird, and they divided it. Once, in a valley where willows budded standing in the snow, he shot a snowshoe rabbit. Another time he got a lean, white weasel. This much of meat they encountered, and no more, though, once, half-mile high and veering317 toward the west and the Yukon, they saw a wild-duck wedge drive by.
“It is summer in the lower valleys,” said Labiskwee. “Soon it will be summer here.”
Labiskwee's face had grown thin, but the bright, large eyes were brighter and larger, and when she looked at him she was transfigured by a wild, unearthly beauty.
The days lengthened318, and the snow began to sink. Each day the crust thawed, each night it froze again; and they were afoot early and late, being compelled to camp and rest during the midday hours of thaw when the crust could not bear their weight. When Smoke grew snow-blind, Labiskwee towed him on a thong319 tied to her waist. And when she was so blinded, she towed behind a thong to his waist. And starving, in a deeper dream, they struggled on through an awakening320 land bare of any life save their own.
Exhausted as he was, Smoke grew almost to fear sleep, so fearful and bitter were the visions of that mad, twilight land. Always were they of food, and always was the food, at his lips, snatched away by the malign321 deviser of dreams. He gave dinners to his comrades of the old San Francisco days, himself, with whetting322 appetite and jealous eye, directing the arrangements, decorating the table with crimson-leafed runners of the autumn grape. The guests were dilatory323, and while he greeted them and all sparkled with their latest cleverness, he was frantic324 with desire for the table. He stole to it, unobserved, and clutched a handful of black ripe olives, and turned to meet still another guest. And others surrounded him, and the laugh and play of wit went on, while all the time, hidden in his closed hand, was this madness of ripe olives.
He gave many such dinners, all with the same empty ending. He attended Gargantuan325 feasts, where multitudes fed on innumerable bullocks roasted whole, prying326 them out of smoldering327 pits and with sharp knives slicing great strips of meat from the steaming carcasses. He stood, with mouth agape, beneath long rows of turkeys which white-aproned shopmen sold. And everybody bought save Smoke, mouth still agape, chained by a leadenness of movement to the pavement. A boy again, he sat with spoon poised high above great bowls of bread and milk. He pursued shy heifers through upland pastures and centuries of torment328 in vain effort to steal from them their milk, and in noisome329 dungeons330 he fought with rats for scraps331 and refuse. There was no food that was not a madness to him, and he wandered through vast stables, where fat horses stood in mile-long rows of stalls, and sought but never found the bran-bins from which they fed.
Once, only, he dreamed to advantage. Famishing, shipwrecked or marooned332, he fought with the big Pacific surf for rock-clinging mussels, and carried them up the sands to the dry flotsam of the spring tides. Of this he built a fire, and among the coals he laid his precious trove184. He watched the steam jet forth and the locked shells pop apart, exposing the salmon-colored meat. Cooked to a turn—he knew it; and this time there was no intruding333 presence to whisk the meal away. At last—so he dreamed within the dream—the dream would come true. This time he would eat. Yet in his certitude he doubted, and he was steeled for the inevitable shift of vision until the salmon-colored meat, hot and savory334, was in his mouth. His teeth closed upon it. He ate! The miracle had happened! The shock aroused him. He awoke in the dark, lying on his back, and heard himself mumbling little piggish squeals335 and grunts336 of joy. His jaws were moving, and between his teeth meat was crunching337. He did not move, and soon small fingers felt about his lips, and between them was inserted a tiny sliver338 of meat. And in that he would eat no more, rather than that he was angry, Labiskwee cried and in his arms sobbed339 herself to sleep. But he lay on awake, marveling at the love and the wonder of woman.
The time came when the last food was gone. The high peaks receded340, the divides became lower, and the way opened promisingly341 to the west. But their reserves of strength were gone, and, without food, the time quickly followed when they lay down at night and in the morning did not arise. Smoke weakly gained his feet, collapsed342, and on hands and knees crawled about the building of a fire. But try as she would Labiskwee sank back each time in an extremity343 of weakness. And Smoke sank down beside her, a wan15 sneer344 on his face for the automatism that had made him struggle for an unneeded fire. There was nothing to cook, and the day was warm. A gentle breeze sighed in the spruce-trees, and from everywhere, under the disappearing snow, came the trickling345 music of unseen streamlets.
Labiskwee lay in a stupor, her breathing so imperceptible that often Smoke thought her dead. In the afternoon the chattering346 of a squirrel aroused him. Dragging the heavy rifle, he wallowed through the crust that had become slush. He crept on hands and knees, or stood upright and fell forward in the direction of the squirrel that chattered its wrath and fled slowly and tantalizingly347 before him. He had not the strength for a quick shot, and the squirrel was never still. At times Smoke sprawled348 in the wet snow-melt and cried out of weakness. Other times the flame of his life flickered349, and blackness smote350 him. How long he lay in the last faint he did not know, but he came to, shivering in the chill of evening, his wet clothing frozen to the re-forming crust. The squirrel was gone, and after a weary struggle he won back to the side of Labiskwee. So profound was his weakness that he lay like a dead man through the night, nor did dreams disturb him.
The sun was in the sky, the same squirrel chattering through the trees, when Labiskwee's hand on Smoke's cheek awakened him.
“Put your hand on my heart, lover,” she said, her voice clear but faint and very far away. “My heart is my love, and you hold it in your hand.”
A long time seemed to go by, ere she spoke again.
“Remember always, there is no way south. That is well known to the Caribou People. West—that is the way—and you are almost there—and you will make it.”
And Smoke drowsed in the numbness that is near to death, until once more she aroused him.
“Put your lips on mine,” she said. “I will die so.”
“We will die together, sweetheart,” was his answer.
“No.” A feeble flutter of her hand checked him, and so thin was her voice that scarcely did he hear it, yet did he hear all of it. Her hand fumbled and groped in the hood of her parka, and she drew forth a pouch351 that she placed in his hand. “And now your lips, my lover. Your lips on my lips, and your hand on my heart.”
And in that long kiss darkness came upon him again, and when again he was conscious he knew that he was alone and he knew that he was to die. He was wearily glad that he was to die.
He found his hand resting on the pouch. With an inward smile at the curiosity that made him pull the draw-string, he opened it. Out poured a tiny flood of food. There was no particle of it that he did not recognize, all stolen by Labiskwee from Labiskwee—bread-fragments saved far back in the days ere McCan lost the flour; strips and strings352 of caribou-meat, partly gnawed353; crumbles354 of suet; the hind-leg of the snowshoe rabbit, untouched; the hind-leg and part of the fore-leg of the white weasel; the wing dented355 still by her reluctant teeth, and the leg of the snow-bird—pitiful remnants, tragic356 renunciations, crucifixions of life, morsels357 stolen from her terrible hunger by her incredible love.
With maniacal358 laughter Smoke flung it all out on the hardening snow-crust and went back into the blackness.
He dreamed. The Yukon ran dry. In its bed, among muddy pools of water and ice-scoured rocks, he wandered, picking up fat nugget-gold. The weight of it grew to be a burden to him, till he discovered that it was good to eat. And greedily he ate. After all, of what worth was gold that men should prize it so, save that it was good to eat?
He awoke to another sun. His brain was strangely clear. No longer did his eyesight blur359. The familiar palpitation that had vexed360 him through all his frame was gone. The juices of his body seemed to sing, as if the spring had entered in. Blessed well-being361 had come to him. He turned to awaken203 Labiskwee, and saw, and remembered. He looked for the food flung out on the snow. It was gone. And he knew that in delirium and dream it had been the Yukon nugget-gold. In delirium and dream he had taken heart of life from the life sacrifice of Labiskwee, who had put her heart in his hand and opened his eyes to woman and wonder.
He was surprised at the ease of his movements, astounded362 that he was able to drag her fur-wrapped body to the exposed thawed gravel-bank, which he undermined with the ax and caved upon her.
Three days, with no further food, he fought west. In the mid33 third day he fell beneath a lone spruce beside a wide stream that ran open and which he knew must be the Klondike. Ere blackness conquered him, he unlashed his pack, said good-by to the bright world, and rolled himself in the robes.
Chirping363, sleepy noises awoke him. The long twilight was on. Above him, among the spruce boughs, were ptarmigan. Hunger bit him into instant action, though the action was infinitely364 slow. Five minutes passed before he was able to get his rifle to his shoulder, and a second five minutes passed ere he dared, lying on his back and aiming straight upward, to pull the trigger. It was a clean miss. No bird fell, but no bird flew. They ruffled365 and rustled366 stupidly and drowsily367. His shoulder pained him. A second shot was spoiled by the involuntary wince368 he made as he pulled trigger. Somewhere, in the last three days, though he had no recollection how, he must have fallen and injured it.
The ptarmigan had not flown. He doubled and redoubled the robe that had covered him, and humped it in the hollow between his right arm and his side. Resting the butt80 of the rifle on the fur, he fired again, and a bird fell. He clutched it greedily and found that he had shot most of the meat out of it. The large-caliber bullet had left little else than a mess of mangled369 feathers. Still the ptarmigan did not fly, and he decided that it was heads or nothing. He fired only at heads. He reloaded and reloaded the magazine. He missed; he hit; and the stupid ptarmigan, that were loath370 to fly, fell upon him in a rain of food—lives disrupted that his life might feed and live. There had been nine of them, and in the end he clipped the head of the ninth, and lay and laughed and wept he knew not why.
The first he ate raw. Then he rested and slept, while his life assimilated the life of it. In the darkness he awoke, hungry, with strength to build a fire. And until early dawn he cooked and ate, crunching the bones to powder between his long-idle teeth. He slept, awoke in the darkness of another night, and slept again to another sun.
He noted with surprise that the fire crackled with fresh fuel and that a blackened coffee-pot steamed on the edge of the coals. Beside the fire, within arm's length, sat Shorty, smoking a brown-paper cigarette and intently watching him. Smoke's lips moved, but a throat paralysis371 seemed to come upon him, while his chest was suffused372 with the menace of tears. He reached out his hand for the cigarette and drew the smoke deep into his lungs again and again.
“I have not smoked for a long time,” he said at last, in a low calm voice. “For a very long time.”
“Nor eaten, from your looks,” Shorty added gruffly.
Smoke nodded and waved his hand at the ptarmigan feathers that lay all about.
“Not until recently,” he returned. “Do you know, I'd like a cup of coffee. It will taste strange. Also flapjacks and a strip of bacon.”
“And beans?” Shorty tempted.
“They would taste heavenly. I find I am quite hungry again.”
While the one cooked and the other ate, they told briefly373 what had happened to them in the days since their separation.
“The Klondike was breakin' up,” Shorty concluded his recital, “an' we just had to wait for open water. Two polin' boats, six other men—you know 'em all, an' crackerjacks—an' all kinds of outfit. An' we've sure been a-comin'—polin', linin' up, and portagin'. But the falls'll stick 'em a solid week. That's where I left 'em a-cuttin' a trail over the tops of the bluffs374 for the boats. I just had a sure natural hunch375 to keep a-comin'. So I fills a pack with grub an' starts. I knew I'd find you a-driftin' an' all in.”
Smoke nodded, and put forth his hand in a silent grip. “Well, let's get started,” he said.
“Started hell!” Shorty exploded. “We stay right here an' rest you up an' feed you up for a couple of days.”
Smoke shook his head.
“If you could just see yourself,” Shorty protested.
And what he saw was not nice. Smoke's face, wherever the skin showed, was black and purple and scabbed from repeated frost-bite. The cheeks were fallen in, so that, despite the covering of beard, the upper rows of teeth ridged the shrunken flesh. Across the forehead and about the deep-sunk eyes, the skin was stretched drum-tight, while the scraggly beard, that should have been golden, was singed376 by fire and filthy377 with camp-smoke.
“Better pack up,” Smoke said. “I'm going on.”
“But you're feeble as a kid baby. You can't hike. What's the rush?”
“Shorty, I am going after the biggest thing in the Klondike, and I can't wait. That's all. Start packing. It's the biggest thing in the world. It's bigger than lakes of gold and mountains of gold, bigger than adventure, and meat-eating, and bear-killing.”
Shorty sat with bulging378 eyes. “In the name of the Lord, what is it?” he queried huskily. “Or are you just simple loco?”
“No, I'm all right. Perhaps a fellow has to stop eating in order to see things. At any rate, I have seen things I never dreamed were in the world. I know what a woman is,—now.”
Shorty's mouth opened, and about the lips and in the light of the eyes was the whimsical advertisement of the sneer forthcoming.
“Don't, please,” Smoke said gently. “You don't know. I do.”
Shorty gulped379 and changed his thought. “Huh! I don't need no hunch to guess HER name. The rest of 'em has gone up to the drainin' of Surprise Lake, but Joy Gastell allowed she wouldn't go. She's stickin' around Dawson, waitin' to see if I come back with you. An' she sure swears, if I don't, she'll sell her holdin's an' hire a army of gun-fighters, an' go into the Caribou Country an' knock the everlastin' stuffin' outa old Snass an' his whole gang. An' if you'll hold your horses a couple of shakes, I reckon I'll get packed up an' ready to hike along with you.”
点击收听单词发音
1 lapsed | |
adj.流失的,堕落的v.退步( lapse的过去式和过去分词 );陷入;倒退;丧失 | |
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2 snarl | |
v.吼叫,怒骂,纠缠,混乱;n.混乱,缠结,咆哮 | |
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3 snarling | |
v.(指狗)吠,嗥叫, (人)咆哮( snarl的现在分词 );咆哮着说,厉声地说 | |
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4 propped | |
支撑,支持,维持( prop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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5 par | |
n.标准,票面价值,平均数量;adj.票面的,平常的,标准的 | |
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6 aurora | |
n.极光 | |
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7 frivolous | |
adj.轻薄的;轻率的 | |
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8 devour | |
v.吞没;贪婪地注视或谛听,贪读;使着迷 | |
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9 hyenas | |
n.鬣狗( hyena的名词复数 ) | |
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10 monologue | |
n.长篇大论,(戏剧等中的)独白 | |
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11 languished | |
长期受苦( languish的过去式和过去分词 ); 受折磨; 变得(越来越)衰弱; 因渴望而变得憔悴或闷闷不乐 | |
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12 cuffed | |
v.掌打,拳打( cuff的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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13 tempted | |
v.怂恿(某人)干不正当的事;冒…的险(tempt的过去分词) | |
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14 bruised | |
[医]青肿的,瘀紫的 | |
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15 wan | |
(wide area network)广域网 | |
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16 vouchsafed | |
v.给予,赐予( vouchsafe的过去式和过去分词 );允诺 | |
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17 caribou | |
n.北美驯鹿 | |
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18 almighty | |
adj.全能的,万能的;很大的,很强的 | |
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19 mighty | |
adj.强有力的;巨大的 | |
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20 hearsay | |
n.谣传,风闻 | |
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21 plumb | |
adv.精确地,完全地;v.了解意义,测水深 | |
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22 streak | |
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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23 yarn | |
n.纱,纱线,纺线;奇闻漫谈,旅行轶事 | |
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24 buck | |
n.雄鹿,雄兔;v.马离地跳跃 | |
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25 strapped | |
adj.用皮带捆住的,用皮带装饰的;身无分文的;缺钱;手头紧v.用皮带捆扎(strap的过去式和过去分词);用皮带抽打;包扎;给…打绷带 | |
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26 gorge | |
n.咽喉,胃,暴食,山峡;v.塞饱,狼吞虎咽地吃 | |
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27 crest | |
n.顶点;饰章;羽冠;vt.达到顶点;vi.形成浪尖 | |
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28 creek | |
n.小溪,小河,小湾 | |
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29 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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30 retraced | |
v.折回( retrace的过去式和过去分词 );回忆;回顾;追溯 | |
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31 backbone | |
n.脊骨,脊柱,骨干;刚毅,骨气 | |
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32 conspired | |
密谋( conspire的过去式和过去分词 ); 搞阴谋; (事件等)巧合; 共同导致 | |
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33 mid | |
adj.中央的,中间的 | |
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34 canyon | |
n.峡谷,溪谷 | |
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35 pricked | |
刺,扎,戳( prick的过去式和过去分词 ); 刺伤; 刺痛; 使剧痛 | |
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36 prick | |
v.刺伤,刺痛,刺孔;n.刺伤,刺痛 | |
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37 whined | |
v.哀号( whine的过去式和过去分词 );哀诉,诉怨 | |
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38 outfit | |
n.(为特殊用途的)全套装备,全套服装 | |
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39 outfits | |
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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40 immediate | |
adj.立即的;直接的,最接近的;紧靠的 | |
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41 musket | |
n.滑膛枪 | |
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42 inevitable | |
adj.不可避免的,必然发生的 | |
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43 trudged | |
vt.& vi.跋涉,吃力地走(trudge的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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44 eastward | |
adv.向东;adj.向东的;n.东方,东部 | |
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45 tributary | |
n.支流;纳贡国;adj.附庸的;辅助的;支流的 | |
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46 salmon | |
n.鲑,大马哈鱼,橙红色的 | |
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47 pointed | |
adj.尖的,直截了当的 | |
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48 jumble | |
vt.使混乱,混杂;n.混乱;杂乱的一堆 | |
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49 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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50 bleak | |
adj.(天气)阴冷的;凄凉的;暗淡的 | |
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51 infancy | |
n.婴儿期;幼年期;初期 | |
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52 hip | |
n.臀部,髋;屋脊 | |
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53 tortuous | |
adj.弯弯曲曲的,蜿蜒的 | |
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54 winding | |
n.绕,缠,绕组,线圈 | |
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55 willow | |
n.柳树 | |
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56 willows | |
n.柳树( willow的名词复数 );柳木 | |
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57 skulls | |
颅骨( skull的名词复数 ); 脑袋; 脑子; 脑瓜 | |
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58 trampled | |
踩( trample的过去式和过去分词 ); 践踏; 无视; 侵犯 | |
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59 killing | |
n.巨额利润;突然赚大钱,发大财 | |
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60 twilight | |
n.暮光,黄昏;暮年,晚期,衰落时期 | |
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61 steadily | |
adv.稳定地;不变地;持续地 | |
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62 vapor | |
n.蒸汽,雾气 | |
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63 pricking | |
刺,刺痕,刺痛感 | |
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64 whining | |
n. 抱怨,牢骚 v. 哭诉,发牢骚 | |
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65 murmur | |
n.低语,低声的怨言;v.低语,低声而言 | |
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66 soothing | |
adj.慰藉的;使人宽心的;镇静的 | |
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67 murmurs | |
n.低沉、连续而不清的声音( murmur的名词复数 );低语声;怨言;嘀咕 | |
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68 shrill | |
adj.尖声的;刺耳的;v尖叫 | |
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69 strenuous | |
adj.奋发的,使劲的;紧张的;热烈的,狂热的 | |
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70 abrupt | |
adj.突然的,意外的;唐突的,鲁莽的 | |
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71 tumult | |
n.喧哗;激动,混乱;吵闹 | |
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72 furry | |
adj.毛皮的;似毛皮的;毛皮制的 | |
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73 projectiles | |
n.抛射体( projectile的名词复数 );(炮弹、子弹等)射弹,(火箭等)自动推进的武器 | |
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74 wrath | |
n.愤怒,愤慨,暴怒 | |
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75 wailing | |
v.哭叫,哀号( wail的现在分词 );沱 | |
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76 pandemonium | |
n.喧嚣,大混乱 | |
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77 primitive | |
adj.原始的;简单的;n.原(始)人,原始事物 | |
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78 wilderness | |
n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等,荒漠 | |
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79 butts | |
笑柄( butt的名词复数 ); (武器或工具的)粗大的一端; 屁股; 烟蒂 | |
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80 butt | |
n.笑柄;烟蒂;枪托;臀部;v.用头撞或顶 | |
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81 awed | |
adj.充满敬畏的,表示敬畏的v.使敬畏,使惊惧( awe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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82 bristled | |
adj. 直立的,多刺毛的 动词bristle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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83 prance | |
v.(马)腾跃,(人)神气活现地走 | |
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84 squatted | |
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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85 broiling | |
adj.酷热的,炽热的,似烧的v.(用火)烤(焙、炙等)( broil的现在分词 );使卷入争吵;使混乱;被烤(或炙) | |
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86 boughs | |
大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
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87 irritation | |
n.激怒,恼怒,生气 | |
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88 whimsy | |
n.古怪,异想天开 | |
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89 spat | |
n.口角,掌击;v.发出呼噜呼噜声 | |
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90 spoke | |
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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91 lingo | |
n.语言不知所云,外国话,隐语 | |
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92 apparently | |
adv.显然地;表面上,似乎 | |
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93 devoured | |
吞没( devour的过去式和过去分词 ); 耗尽; 津津有味地看; 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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94 pickle | |
n.腌汁,泡菜;v.腌,泡 | |
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95 scotch | |
n.伤口,刻痕;苏格兰威士忌酒;v.粉碎,消灭,阻止;adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
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96 lone | |
adj.孤寂的,单独的;唯一的 | |
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97 queried | |
v.质疑,对…表示疑问( query的过去式和过去分词 );询问 | |
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98 shrimp | |
n.虾,小虾;矮小的人 | |
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99 herd | |
n.兽群,牧群;vt.使集中,把…赶在一起 | |
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100 greasy | |
adj. 多脂的,油脂的 | |
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101 squatting | |
v.像动物一样蹲下( squat的现在分词 );非法擅自占用(土地或房屋);为获得其所有权;而占用某片公共用地。 | |
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102 broiled | |
a.烤过的 | |
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103 savage | |
adj.野蛮的;凶恶的,残暴的;n.未开化的人 | |
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104 marrow | |
n.骨髓;精华;活力 | |
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105 concealed | |
a.隐藏的,隐蔽的 | |
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106 noted | |
adj.著名的,知名的 | |
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107 flare | |
v.闪耀,闪烁;n.潮红;突发 | |
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108 nostrils | |
鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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109 spaciousness | |
n.宽敞 | |
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110 mitten | |
n.连指手套,露指手套 | |
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111 rations | |
定量( ration的名词复数 ); 配给量; 正常量; 合理的量 | |
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112 ration | |
n.定量(pl.)给养,口粮;vt.定量供应 | |
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113 transformation | |
n.变化;改造;转变 | |
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114 wilt | |
v.(使)植物凋谢或枯萎;(指人)疲倦,衰弱 | |
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115 recoil | |
vi.退却,退缩,畏缩 | |
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116 hatred | |
n.憎恶,憎恨,仇恨 | |
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117 abruptly | |
adv.突然地,出其不意地 | |
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118 recollecting | |
v.记起,想起( recollect的现在分词 ) | |
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119 casually | |
adv.漠不关心地,无动于衷地,不负责任地 | |
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120 delectable | |
adj.使人愉快的;美味的 | |
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121 scattering | |
n.[物]散射;散乱,分散;在媒介质中的散播adj.散乱的;分散在不同范围的;广泛扩散的;(选票)数量分散的v.散射(scatter的ing形式);散布;驱散 | |
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122 toil | |
vi.辛劳工作,艰难地行动;n.苦工,难事 | |
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123 toiled | |
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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124 virtue | |
n.德行,美德;贞操;优点;功效,效力 | |
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125 segregated | |
分开的; 被隔离的 | |
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126 apparition | |
n.幽灵,神奇的现象 | |
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127 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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128 hood | |
n.头巾,兜帽,覆盖;v.罩上,以头巾覆盖 | |
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129 mittens | |
不分指手套 | |
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130 tassels | |
n.穗( tassel的名词复数 );流苏状物;(植物的)穗;玉蜀黍的穗状雄花v.抽穗, (玉米)长穗须( tassel的第三人称单数 );使抽穗, (为了使作物茁壮生长)摘去穗状雄花;用流苏装饰 | |
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131 varied | |
adj.多样的,多变化的 | |
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132 shimmered | |
v.闪闪发光,发微光( shimmer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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133 shimmering | |
v.闪闪发光,发微光( shimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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134 poised | |
a.摆好姿势不动的 | |
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135 rosy | |
adj.美好的,乐观的,玫瑰色的 | |
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136 chestnut | |
n.栗树,栗子 | |
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137 coruscating | |
v.闪光,闪烁( coruscate的现在分词 ) | |
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138 fumbled | |
(笨拙地)摸索或处理(某事物)( fumble的过去式和过去分词 ); 乱摸,笨拙地弄; 使落下 | |
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139 delightful | |
adj.令人高兴的,使人快乐的 | |
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140 attuned | |
v.使协调( attune的过去式和过去分词 );调音 | |
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141 mumble | |
n./v.喃喃而语,咕哝 | |
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142 ripple | |
n.涟波,涟漪,波纹,粗钢梳;vt.使...起涟漪,使起波纹; vi.呈波浪状,起伏前进 | |
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143 tundra | |
n.苔原,冻土地带 | |
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144 deserted | |
adj.荒芜的,荒废的,无人的,被遗弃的 | |
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145 afflicted | |
使受痛苦,折磨( afflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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146 zoology | |
n.动物学,生态 | |
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147 porcupine | |
n.豪猪, 箭猪 | |
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148 bucks | |
n.雄鹿( buck的名词复数 );钱;(英国十九世纪初的)花花公子;(用于某些表达方式)责任v.(马等)猛然弓背跃起( buck的第三人称单数 );抵制;猛然震荡;马等尥起后蹄跳跃 | |
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149 maidens | |
处女( maiden的名词复数 ); 少女; 未婚女子; (板球运动)未得分的一轮投球 | |
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150 virgins | |
处女,童男( virgin的名词复数 ); 童贞玛利亚(耶稣之母) | |
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151 tyrant | |
n.暴君,专制的君主,残暴的人 | |
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152 cheetah | |
n.(动物)猎豹 | |
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153 chattered | |
(人)喋喋不休( chatter的过去式 ); 唠叨; (牙齿)打战; (机器)震颤 | |
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154 porcupines | |
n.豪猪,箭猪( porcupine的名词复数 ) | |
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155 ammunition | |
n.军火,弹药 | |
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156 stammered | |
v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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157 awfully | |
adv.可怕地,非常地,极端地 | |
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158 dismally | |
adv.阴暗地,沉闷地 | |
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159 domain | |
n.(活动等)领域,范围;领地,势力范围 | |
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160 hemmed | |
缝…的褶边( hem的过去式和过去分词 ); 包围 | |
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161 jumbled | |
adj.混乱的;杂乱的 | |
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162 northward | |
adv.向北;n.北方的地区 | |
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163 confided | |
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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164 westward | |
n.西方,西部;adj.西方的,向西的;adv.向西 | |
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165 shrugged | |
vt.耸肩(shrug的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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166 rugged | |
adj.高低不平的,粗糙的,粗壮的,强健的 | |
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167 complicate | |
vt.使复杂化,使混乱,使难懂 | |
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168 melancholy | |
n.忧郁,愁思;adj.令人感伤(沮丧)的,忧郁的 | |
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169 recital | |
n.朗诵,独奏会,独唱会 | |
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170 heralds | |
n.使者( herald的名词复数 );预报者;预兆;传令官v.预示( herald的第三人称单数 );宣布(好或重要) | |
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171 tottered | |
v.走得或动得不稳( totter的过去式和过去分词 );踉跄;蹒跚;摇摇欲坠 | |
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172 disdain | |
n.鄙视,轻视;v.轻视,鄙视,不屑 | |
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173 scout | |
n.童子军,侦察员;v.侦察,搜索 | |
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174 plodded | |
v.沉重缓慢地走(路)( plod的过去式和过去分词 );努力从事;沉闷地苦干;缓慢进行(尤指艰难枯燥的工作) | |
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175 darted | |
v.投掷,投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 );向前冲,飞奔 | |
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176 industriously | |
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177 whiningly | |
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178 croaked | |
v.呱呱地叫( croak的过去式和过去分词 );用粗的声音说 | |
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179 squealed | |
v.长声尖叫,用长而尖锐的声音说( squeal的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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180 thoroughly | |
adv.完全地,彻底地,十足地 | |
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181 candor | |
n.坦白,率真 | |
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182 savages | |
未开化的人,野蛮人( savage的名词复数 ) | |
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183 prattled | |
v.(小孩般)天真无邪地说话( prattle的过去式和过去分词 );发出连续而无意义的声音;闲扯;东拉西扯 | |
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184 trove | |
n.被发现的东西,收藏的东西 | |
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185 scouting | |
守候活动,童子军的活动 | |
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186 innocence | |
n.无罪;天真;无害 | |
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187 caress | |
vt./n.爱抚,抚摸 | |
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188 appalling | |
adj.骇人听闻的,令人震惊的,可怕的 | |
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189 pristine | |
adj.原来的,古时的,原始的,纯净的,无垢的 | |
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190 cavil | |
v.挑毛病,吹毛求疵 | |
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191 evaded | |
逃避( evade的过去式和过去分词 ); 避开; 回避; 想不出 | |
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192 spartan | |
adj.简朴的,刻苦的;n.斯巴达;斯巴达式的人 | |
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193 perturbing | |
v.使(某人)烦恼,不安( perturb的现在分词 ) | |
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194 nay | |
adv.不;n.反对票,投反对票者 | |
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195 chiding | |
v.责骂,责备( chide的现在分词 ) | |
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196 spasm | |
n.痉挛,抽搐;一阵发作 | |
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197 twitched | |
vt.& vi.(使)抽动,(使)颤动(twitch的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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198 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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199 thaw | |
v.(使)融化,(使)变得友善;n.融化,缓和 | |
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200 blizzards | |
暴风雪( blizzard的名词复数 ); 暴风雪似的一阵,大量(或大批) | |
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201 blizzard | |
n.暴风雪 | |
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202 thawed | |
解冻 | |
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203 awaken | |
vi.醒,觉醒;vt.唤醒,使觉醒,唤起,激起 | |
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204 awakened | |
v.(使)醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 );(使)觉醒;弄醒;(使)意识到 | |
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205 tingled | |
v.有刺痛感( tingle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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206 tugged | |
v.用力拉,使劲拉,猛扯( tug的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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207 crunched | |
v.嘎吱嘎吱地咬嚼( crunch的过去式和过去分词 );嘎吱作响;(快速大量地)处理信息;数字捣弄 | |
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208 caressing | |
爱抚的,表现爱情的,亲切的 | |
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209 utterance | |
n.用言语表达,话语,言语 | |
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210 crouched | |
v.屈膝,蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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211 glimmering | |
n.微光,隐约的一瞥adj.薄弱地发光的v.发闪光,发微光( glimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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212 consternation | |
n.大为吃惊,惊骇 | |
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213 hissed | |
发嘶嘶声( hiss的过去式和过去分词 ); 发嘘声表示反对 | |
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214 cringing | |
adj.谄媚,奉承 | |
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215 luminous | |
adj.发光的,发亮的;光明的;明白易懂的;有启发的 | |
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216 softened | |
(使)变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 ); 缓解打击; 缓和; 安慰 | |
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217 canyons | |
n.峡谷( canyon的名词复数 ) | |
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218 foaming | |
adj.布满泡沫的;发泡 | |
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219 clumps | |
n.(树、灌木、植物等的)丛、簇( clump的名词复数 );(土、泥等)团;块;笨重的脚步声v.(树、灌木、植物等的)丛、簇( clump的第三人称单数 );(土、泥等)团;块;笨重的脚步声 | |
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220 clump | |
n.树丛,草丛;vi.用沉重的脚步行走 | |
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221 dwarf | |
n.矮子,侏儒,矮小的动植物;vt.使…矮小 | |
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222 swelling | |
n.肿胀 | |
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223 penetrate | |
v.透(渗)入;刺入,刺穿;洞察,了解 | |
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224 runaways | |
(轻而易举的)胜利( runaway的名词复数 ) | |
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225 munch | |
v.用力嚼,大声咀嚼 | |
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226 munching | |
v.用力咀嚼(某物),大嚼( munch的现在分词 ) | |
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227 whacked | |
a.精疲力尽的 | |
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228 judgment | |
n.审判;判断力,识别力,看法,意见 | |
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229 apportioned | |
vt.分摊,分配(apportion的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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230 insistence | |
n.坚持;强调;坚决主张 | |
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231 scattered | |
adj.分散的,稀疏的;散步的;疏疏落落的 | |
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232 abreast | |
adv.并排地;跟上(时代)的步伐,与…并进地 | |
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233 specks | |
n.眼镜;斑点,微粒,污点( speck的名词复数 ) | |
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234 groaned | |
v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 );发牢骚;抱怨;受苦 | |
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235 doggedly | |
adv.顽强地,固执地 | |
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236 confiscated | |
没收,充公( confiscate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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237 thawing | |
n.熔化,融化v.(气候)解冻( thaw的现在分词 );(态度、感情等)缓和;(冰、雪及冷冻食物)溶化;软化 | |
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238 crumbled | |
(把…)弄碎, (使)碎成细屑( crumble的过去式和过去分词 ); 衰落; 坍塌; 损坏 | |
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239 overcast | |
adj.阴天的,阴暗的,愁闷的;v.遮盖,(使)变暗,包边缝;n.覆盖,阴天 | |
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240 parched | |
adj.焦干的;极渴的;v.(使)焦干 | |
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241 marvel | |
vi.(at)惊叹vt.感到惊异;n.令人惊异的事 | |
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242 abode | |
n.住处,住所 | |
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243 configuration | |
n.结构,布局,形态,(计算机)配置 | |
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244 labyrinthine | |
adj.如迷宫的;复杂的 | |
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245 gasping | |
adj. 气喘的, 痉挛的 动词gasp的现在分词 | |
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246 chunk | |
n.厚片,大块,相当大的部分(数量) | |
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247 peremptory | |
adj.紧急的,专横的,断然的 | |
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248 descended | |
a.为...后裔的,出身于...的 | |
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249 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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250 exclamation | |
n.感叹号,惊呼,惊叹词 | |
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251 moss | |
n.苔,藓,地衣 | |
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252 sobbing | |
<主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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253 futility | |
n.无用 | |
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254 temporized | |
v.敷衍( temporize的过去式和过去分词 );拖延;顺应时势;暂时同意 | |
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255 relentless | |
adj.残酷的,不留情的,无怜悯心的 | |
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256 deduction | |
n.减除,扣除,减除额;推论,推理,演绎 | |
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257 babbling | |
n.胡说,婴儿发出的咿哑声adj.胡说的v.喋喋不休( babble的现在分词 );作潺潺声(如流水);含糊不清地说话;泄漏秘密 | |
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258 everlasting | |
adj.永恒的,持久的,无止境的 | |
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259 serene | |
adj. 安详的,宁静的,平静的 | |
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260 rifts | |
n.裂缝( rift的名词复数 );裂隙;分裂;不和 | |
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261 glaciers | |
冰河,冰川( glacier的名词复数 ) | |
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262 wraiths | |
n.幽灵( wraith的名词复数 );(传说中人在将死或死后不久的)显形阴魂 | |
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263 impending | |
a.imminent, about to come or happen | |
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264 avalanche | |
n.雪崩,大量涌来 | |
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265 avalanches | |
n.雪崩( avalanche的名词复数 ) | |
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266 exhausted | |
adj.极其疲惫的,精疲力尽的 | |
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267 stupor | |
v.昏迷;不省人事 | |
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268 fatigue | |
n.疲劳,劳累 | |
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269 eloquence | |
n.雄辩;口才,修辞 | |
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270 meager | |
adj.缺乏的,不足的,瘦的 | |
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271 grudged | |
怀恨(grudge的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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272 jaws | |
n.口部;嘴 | |
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273 harangue | |
n.慷慨冗长的训话,言辞激烈的讲话 | |
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274 merged | |
(使)混合( merge的过去式和过去分词 ); 相融; 融入; 渐渐消失在某物中 | |
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275 stark | |
adj.荒凉的;严酷的;完全的;adv.完全地 | |
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276 stagnant | |
adj.不流动的,停滞的,不景气的 | |
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277 frigid | |
adj.寒冷的,凛冽的;冷淡的;拘禁的 | |
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278 tingling | |
v.有刺痛感( tingle的现在分词 ) | |
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279 hoarsely | |
adv.嘶哑地 | |
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280 yelped | |
v.发出短而尖的叫声( yelp的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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281 filaments | |
n.(电灯泡的)灯丝( filament的名词复数 );丝极;细丝;丝状物 | |
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282 Portuguese | |
n.葡萄牙人;葡萄牙语 | |
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283 muffled | |
adj.(声音)被隔的;听不太清的;(衣服)裹严的;蒙住的v.压抑,捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 );用厚厚的衣帽包着(自己) | |
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284 atmospheric | |
adj.大气的,空气的;大气层的;大气所引起的 | |
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285 weird | |
adj.古怪的,离奇的;怪诞的,神秘而可怕的 | |
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286 muskets | |
n.火枪,(尤指)滑膛枪( musket的名词复数 ) | |
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287 numbness | |
n.无感觉,麻木,惊呆 | |
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288 gasped | |
v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 );喘息;倒抽气;很想要 | |
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289 pervasive | |
adj.普遍的;遍布的,(到处)弥漫的;渗透性的 | |
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290 microscopic | |
adj.微小的,细微的,极小的,显微的 | |
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291 blotted | |
涂污( blot的过去式和过去分词 ); (用吸墨纸)吸干 | |
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292 resolutely | |
adj.坚决地,果断地 | |
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293 engulfed | |
v.吞没,包住( engulf的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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294 steering | |
n.操舵装置 | |
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295 untie | |
vt.解开,松开;解放 | |
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296 fiery | |
adj.燃烧着的,火红的;暴躁的;激烈的 | |
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297 huddled | |
挤在一起(huddle的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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298 dozed | |
v.打盹儿,打瞌睡( doze的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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299 exhaustion | |
n.耗尽枯竭,疲惫,筋疲力尽,竭尽,详尽无遗的论述 | |
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300 groans | |
n.呻吟,叹息( groan的名词复数 );呻吟般的声音v.呻吟( groan的第三人称单数 );发牢骚;抱怨;受苦 | |
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301 delirium | |
n. 神智昏迷,说胡话;极度兴奋 | |
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302 bestial | |
adj.残忍的;野蛮的 | |
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303 touching | |
adj.动人的,使人感伤的 | |
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304 solitary | |
adj.孤独的,独立的,荒凉的;n.隐士 | |
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305 tithe | |
n.十分之一税;v.课什一税,缴什一税 | |
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306 babble | |
v.含糊不清地说,胡言乱语地说,儿语 | |
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307 appeasement | |
n.平息,满足 | |
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308 pang | |
n.剧痛,悲痛,苦闷 | |
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309 delirious | |
adj.不省人事的,神智昏迷的 | |
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310 mumbling | |
含糊地说某事,叽咕,咕哝( mumble的现在分词 ) | |
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311 yelping | |
v.发出短而尖的叫声( yelp的现在分词 ) | |
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312 crammed | |
adj.塞满的,挤满的;大口地吃;快速贪婪地吃v.把…塞满;填入;临时抱佛脚( cram的过去式) | |
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313 clenched | |
v.紧握,抓紧,咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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314 flaring | |
a.火焰摇曳的,过份艳丽的 | |
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315 azure | |
adj.天蓝色的,蔚蓝色的 | |
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316 milky | |
adj.牛奶的,多奶的;乳白色的 | |
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317 veering | |
n.改变的;犹豫的;顺时针方向转向;特指使船尾转向上风来改变航向v.(尤指交通工具)改变方向或路线( veer的现在分词 );(指谈话内容、人的行为或观点)突然改变;(指风) (在北半球按顺时针方向、在南半球按逆时针方向)逐渐转向;风向顺时针转 | |
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318 lengthened | |
(时间或空间)延长,伸长( lengthen的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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319 thong | |
n.皮带;皮鞭;v.装皮带 | |
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320 awakening | |
n.觉醒,醒悟 adj.觉醒中的;唤醒的 | |
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321 malign | |
adj.有害的;恶性的;恶意的;v.诽谤,诬蔑 | |
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322 whetting | |
v.(在石头上)磨(刀、斧等)( whet的现在分词 );引起,刺激(食欲、欲望、兴趣等) | |
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323 dilatory | |
adj.迟缓的,不慌不忙的 | |
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324 frantic | |
adj.狂乱的,错乱的,激昂的 | |
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325 gargantuan | |
adj.巨大的,庞大的 | |
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326 prying | |
adj.爱打听的v.打听,刺探(他人的私事)( pry的现在分词 );撬开 | |
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327 smoldering | |
v.用文火焖烧,熏烧,慢燃( smolder的现在分词 ) | |
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328 torment | |
n.折磨;令人痛苦的东西(人);vt.折磨;纠缠 | |
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329 noisome | |
adj.有害的,可厌的 | |
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330 dungeons | |
n.地牢( dungeon的名词复数 ) | |
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331 scraps | |
油渣 | |
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332 marooned | |
adj.被围困的;孤立无援的;无法脱身的 | |
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333 intruding | |
v.侵入,侵扰,打扰( intrude的现在分词);把…强加于 | |
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334 savory | |
adj.风味极佳的,可口的,味香的 | |
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335 squeals | |
n.长而尖锐的叫声( squeal的名词复数 )v.长声尖叫,用长而尖锐的声音说( squeal的第三人称单数 ) | |
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336 grunts | |
(猪等)作呼噜声( grunt的第三人称单数 ); (指人)发出类似的哼声; 咕哝着说; 石鲈 | |
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337 crunching | |
v.嘎吱嘎吱地咬嚼( crunch的现在分词 );嘎吱作响;(快速大量地)处理信息;数字捣弄 | |
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338 sliver | |
n.裂片,细片,梳毛;v.纵切,切成长片,剖开 | |
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339 sobbed | |
哭泣,啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 ); 哭诉,呜咽地说 | |
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340 receded | |
v.逐渐远离( recede的过去式和过去分词 );向后倾斜;自原处后退或避开别人的注视;尤指问题 | |
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341 promisingly | |
(通常只是开头)给人以希望地,良好地 | |
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342 collapsed | |
adj.倒塌的 | |
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343 extremity | |
n.末端,尽头;尽力;终极;极度 | |
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344 sneer | |
v.轻蔑;嘲笑;n.嘲笑,讥讽的言语 | |
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345 trickling | |
n.油画底色含油太多而成泡沫状突起v.滴( trickle的现在分词 );淌;使)慢慢走;缓慢移动 | |
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346 chattering | |
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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347 tantalizingly | |
adv.…得令人着急,…到令人着急的程度 | |
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348 sprawled | |
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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349 flickered | |
(通常指灯光)闪烁,摇曳( flicker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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350 smote | |
v.猛打,重击,打击( smite的过去式 ) | |
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351 pouch | |
n.小袋,小包,囊状袋;vt.装...入袋中,用袋运输;vi.用袋送信件 | |
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352 strings | |
n.弦 | |
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353 gnawed | |
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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354 crumbles | |
酥皮水果甜点( crumble的名词复数 ) | |
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355 dented | |
v.使产生凹痕( dent的过去式和过去分词 );损害;伤害;挫伤(信心、名誉等) | |
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356 tragic | |
adj.悲剧的,悲剧性的,悲惨的 | |
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357 morsels | |
n.一口( morsel的名词复数 );(尤指食物)小块,碎屑 | |
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358 maniacal | |
adj.发疯的 | |
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359 blur | |
n.模糊不清的事物;vt.使模糊,使看不清楚 | |
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360 vexed | |
adj.争论不休的;(指问题等)棘手的;争论不休的问题;烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 );使苦恼;使生气;详细讨论 | |
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361 well-being | |
n.安康,安乐,幸福 | |
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362 astounded | |
v.使震惊(astound的过去式和过去分词);愕然;愕;惊讶 | |
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363 chirping | |
鸟叫,虫鸣( chirp的现在分词 ) | |
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364 infinitely | |
adv.无限地,无穷地 | |
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365 ruffled | |
adj. 有褶饰边的, 起皱的 动词ruffle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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366 rustled | |
v.发出沙沙的声音( rustle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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367 drowsily | |
adv.睡地,懒洋洋地,昏昏欲睡地 | |
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368 wince | |
n.畏缩,退避,(因痛苦,苦恼等)面部肌肉抽动;v.畏缩,退缩,退避 | |
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369 mangled | |
vt.乱砍(mangle的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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370 loath | |
adj.不愿意的;勉强的 | |
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371 paralysis | |
n.麻痹(症);瘫痪(症) | |
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372 suffused | |
v.(指颜色、水气等)弥漫于,布满( suffuse的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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373 briefly | |
adv.简单地,简短地 | |
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374 bluffs | |
恐吓( bluff的名词复数 ); 悬崖; 峭壁 | |
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375 hunch | |
n.预感,直觉 | |
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376 singed | |
v.浅表烧焦( singe的过去式和过去分词 );(毛发)燎,烧焦尖端[边儿] | |
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377 filthy | |
adj.卑劣的;恶劣的,肮脏的 | |
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378 bulging | |
膨胀; 凸出(部); 打气; 折皱 | |
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379 gulped | |
v.狼吞虎咽地吃,吞咽( gulp的过去式和过去分词 );大口地吸(气);哽住 | |
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