In the gray of the early morning, hours before the dwellers1 on Fairlands Heights thought of leaving their beds, Aaron King and Conrad Lagrange made ready for their going.
The burro, Croesus--so named by the novelist because, as the famous writer explained, "that ancient multi-millionaire, you know, really was an ass3"--was to be entrusted4 with all the available worldly possessions of the little party. An arrangement--the more experienced man carefully pointed5 out--that, considering the chief characteristics of Croesus, was quite in accord with the customs of modern pilgrimages. Conrad Lagrange, himself, skillfully fixed6 the pack in place--adjusting the saddle with careful hand; accurately7 dividing the weight, with the blankets on top, and, over all, the canvas tarpaulin8 folded the proper size and neatly9 tucked in around the ends; and finally securing the whole with the, to the uninitiated, intricate and complicated diamond hitch10. The order of their march, also, would place Croesus first; which position--the novelist, again, gravely explained, as he drew the cinches tight--is held by all who value good form, to be the donkey's proper place in the procession. As he watched his friend, the artist felt that, indeed, he was about to go far from the ways of life that he had always known.
When all was ready, the two men--dressed in flannels11, corduroys, and high-laced, mountain boots--called good-by to Yee Kee, respectfully invited Croesus to proceed, and set out--with Czar, the fourth member of the party, flying here and there in such a whirlwind of good spirits that not a shred12 of his usual dignity was left. The sun was still below the mountain's crest13, though the higher points were gilded14 with its light, when they turned their backs upon the city made by men, and set their faces toward the hills that bore in every ridge15 and peak and cliff and crag and canyon16 the signature of God.
As Conrad Lagrange said--they might have hired a wagon17, or even an automobile18, to take them and their goods to some mountain ranch19 where they would have had no trouble in securing a burro for their wanderings A team would have made the trip by noon. A machine would have set them down in Clear Creek20 Canyon before the sun could climb high enough to look over the canyon walls. "But that"--explained the novelist, as they trudged21 leisurely22 along between rows of palms that bordered the orange groves24 on either side of their road, and sensed the mystery that marks the birth of a new day--"but that is not a proper way to go to the mountains.
"The mountains"--he continued, with his eyes upon the distant heights--"are not seen by those who would visit them with a rattle25 and clatter26 and rush and roar--as one would visit the cities of men. They are to be seen only by those who have the grace to go quietly; who have the understanding to go thoughtfully; the heart to go lovingly; and the spirit to go worshipfully. They are to be approached, not in the manner of one going to a horse-race, or a circus, but in the mood of one about to enter a great cathedral; or, indeed, of one seeking admittance to the very throne-room of God. When going to the mountains, one should take time to feel them drawing near. They are never intimate with those who hurry. Mere28 sight-seers seldom see much of anything. If possible,"--insisted the speaker, smiling gravely upon his companion,--"one should always spend, at least, a full day in the approach. Before entering the immediate29 presence of the hills, one should first view them from a distance, seeing them from base to peak--in the glory of the day's beginning, as they watch the world awake; in the majesty30 of full noon, as they maintain their calm above the turmoil31 of the day's doing; and in the glory of the sun's departure, as it lights last their crests32 and peaks. And then, after such a day, one should sleep, one night, at their feet."
The artist listened with delight, as he always did when his friend spoke33 in those rare moods that revealed a nature so unknown to the world that had made him famous. When the novelist finished, the young man said gently, "And your words, my friend, are almost a direct quotation34 from that anonymous35 book which my mother so loved."
"Perhaps they are, Aaron"--admitted Conrad Lagrange--"perhaps they are."
So it was that they spent that day--in leisure approach--the patient Croesus, with his burden, always in the lead, and Czar, like a merry sprite, playing here and there. Several times they stopped to rest beside the road, while provident36 Croesus gathered a few mouthfuls of grass or weeds. Many times they halted to enjoy the scene that changed with every step.
Their road led always upward, with a gradual, easy grade; and by noon they had left the cultivated section of the lower valley for the higher, untilled lands. The dark, glossy-green of the orange and the lighter37 shining tints38 of the lemon groves, with the rich, satiny-gray tones of the olive-trees, were replaced now by the softer grays, greens, yellows, and browns of the chaparral. The air was no longer heavy with the perfume of roses and orange-blossoms, but came to their nostrils39 laden40 with the pungent41 odors of yerba santa and greasewood and sage42. Looking back, they could see the valley--marked off by its roads into many squares of green, and dotted here and there by small towns and cities--stretching away toward the western ocean until it was lost in a gray-blue haze43 out of which the distant San Gabriels, beyond Cajon Pass, lifted into the clear sky above, like the shore-line of dreamland rising out of a dream sea. Before them, the San Bernardinos drew ever nearer and more intimate--silently inviting44 them; patiently, with a world old patience, bidding them come; in the majestic45 humbleness46 of their lofty spirit, offering themselves and the wealth of their teaching.
So they came, in the late afternoon, to that spot where the road for the first time crosses the alder47 and cottonwood bordered stream that, before it reaches the valley, is drawn48 from its natural course by the irrigation flumes and pipes.
The sound of the mountain waters leaping down their granite49-bouldered way reached the men while they were yet some distance. Croesus pointed his long ears forward in burro anticipation--his experience telling him that the day's work was about to end. Czar was already ranging along the side of the creek--sending a colony of squirrels scampering51 to the tree tops, and a bevy52 of quail53 whirring to the chaparral in frightened flight. The artist greeted the waters with a schoolboy shout of gladness. Conrad Lagrange, with the smile and the voice of a man miraculously54 recreated, said quietly, "This is the place where we stop for the night."
Their camp was a simple matter. Croesus asked nothing but to be released from his burden--being quite capable of caring for himself. A wash in the clear, cold water of the brook55; a simple meal, prepared by Conrad Lagrange over a small fire made of sticks gathered by the artist; their tarpaulin and blankets spread within sound of the music of the stream; a watching of the sun's glorious going down; a quiet pipe in the hush56 of the mysterious twilight57; a "good night" in the soft darkness, when the myriad58 stars looked down upon the dull red glow of their camp-fire embers; with the guarding spirit of the mighty59 hills to give them peace--and they lay down to sleep at the mountain's feet.
There is no sleeping late in the morning when one sleeps in the open, under the stars. After breakfast, the artist received another lesson in packing, and they moved on toward the world that already seemed to dwarf60 that other world which they had left, by one day's walking, so far below. A heavy fog, rolling in from the ocean in the night, submerged the valley in its dull, gray depths--leaving to the eye no view but the view of the mountains before them, and forcing upon the artist's mind the weird61 impression that the life he had always known was a fantastically unreal dream.
And now,--as they approached,--the frowning entrance of Clear Creek Canyon grew more and more clearly defined. The higher peaks appeared to draw back and hide themselves behind the foothills, which--as the men came closer under their immediate slopes and walls--seemed to grow magically in height and bulk. A little before noon, they were in the rocky vestibule of the canyon. On either hand, the walls rose almost sheer, while their road, now, was but a narrow shelf under the overhanging cliffs, below which the white waters of the stream--cold from the snows so far above--tumbled impetuously over the boulders62 that obstructed63 their way--filling the hall-like gorge64 with tumultuous melody. Soon, the canyon narrowed to less than a stone's throw in width. The walls grew more grim and forbidding in their rocky nearness. And then they came to that point where, on either side, great cliffs, projecting, form the massive, rugged65 portals of the mountain's gate.
First seen, from a point where the road rounds a jutting66 corner on the extreme right, the projecting cliffs ahead appear as a blank wall of rock that forbids further progress. But, as the men moved forward,--the road swinging more toward the center of the gorge,--the cliffs seemed to draw apart, and, through the way thus opened, they saw the great canyon and the mountains beyond. It was as though a mighty, invisible hand rolled silently back those awful doors to give them entrance.
Abruptly67, upon the inner side of the narrow passage the canyon widens to many times the width of the outer vestibule; and the road, crossing the creek, curves to the left; so that, looking back as they went, the two men saw the mighty doors closing again, behind them--as they had opened to let them in. It was as though that spirit sentinel, guarding the treasures of the hills, had jealously barred the way, that no one else from the world of men might follow.
Aaron King stopped. Drawing a deep breath, and removing his hat, he turned his face from that mountain wall, upward to the encircling pine-fringed ridges68 and towering peaks. He had, indeed, come far from the world that he had always known.
Conrad Lagrange, smiling, watched his friend, but spoke no word.
Clear Creek Canyon is a deep, narrow valley, some fifteen miles in length, and approaching a mile in its greatest width; lying between the main range of the San Bernardinos and the lower ridge of the Galenas. The lower end of the canyon is shut in by the sheer cliff walls, and by the rugged portals of the narrow entrance; the upper end is formed by the dividing ridge that separates the Clear Creek from the Cold Water country which opens out onto the Colorado Desert below San Gorgonio Pass and the peaks of the San Jacintos. Perhaps two miles above the entrance the canyon widens to its greatest width; and in this portion of the little valley,--which extends some five miles to where the walls again draw close,--located on the benches above the boulder50-strewn wash of Clear Creek, are the homes of several mountain ranchers, and the Government Forest Ranger69 Station.
At the Ranger Station, they stopped--Conrad Lagrange wishing to greet the mountaineer official, whom he had learned to know on his former trip. But the Ranger was away somewhere, riding his lonely trails, and they did not tarry.
Just above the Station, they left the main road to follow the way that leads to the Morton Ranch in the mouth of Alder Canyon--a small side canyon leading steeply up to a low gap in the main range. Beyond Morton's, there is only a narrow trail. Three hundred yards above the ranch corral, where the road ends and the trail begins, the buildings of the mountaineer's home were lost to view. Except for the narrow winding71 path that they must follow single file, there was no sign of human life.
For three weeks, they knew no roads other than those lonely, mountain trails. At times, they walked under dark pines where the ground was thickly carpeted with the dead, brown needles and the air was redolent with the odor of the majestic trees; or made their camps at night, feeding their blazing fires with the pitchy knots and cones72. At other times, they found their way through thickets73 of manzanita and buckthorn, along the mountain's flank; or, winding zigzag75 down some narrow canyon wall, made themselves at home under the slender, small-trunked alders76; and added to the stores that Croesus packed, many a lusty trout77 from the tumbling, icy torrent78. Again, high up on some wind-swept granite ridge or peak, where the pines were twisted and battered79 and torn by the warring elements, they looked far down upon the rolling sea of clouds that hid the world below; or, in the shelter of some mighty cliff, built their fires; and, when the night was clear, saw, miles away and below, the thousands of twinkling star-like lights of the world they had left behind. Or, again, they halted in some forest and hill encircled glen; where the lush grass in the cienaga grew almost as high as Croesus' back, and the lilies even higher; and where, through the dark green brakes, the timid deer come down to drink at the beginning of some mountain stream. At last, their wanderings carried them close under the snowy heights of San Gorgonio--the loftiest of all the peaks. That night, they camped at timber-line and in the morning,--leaving Croesus and the outfit80, while it was still dark,--made their way to the top, in time to see the sun come up from under the edge of the world.
So they were received into the inner life of the mountains; so the spirit that dwells in that unmarred world whispered to them the secrets of its enduring strength and lofty peace.
From San Gorgonio, they followed the trail that leads down to upper Clear Creek--halting, one night, at Burnt Pine Camp on Laurel Creek, above the falls. Then--leaving the Laurel trail--they climbed over a spur of the main range, and so down the steep wall of the gorge to Lone70 Cabin on Fern Creek. The next day, they made their way on down to the floor of the main canyon--five miles above the point where they had left it at the beginning of their wanderings.
Crossing the canyon at the Clear Creek Power Company's intake81, they took the company trail that follows the pipe-line along the southern wall. From the headwork to the reservoir two thousand feet above the power-house at the mouth of Clear Creek Canyon, this trail is cut in the steep side of the Galena range--overhanging the narrow valley below--nine beautiful miles of it. At Oak Knoll82,--where a Government trail for the Forest Ranger zigzags83 down from the pipe-line to the wagon road below,--they halted.
Conrad Lagrange explained that there were three ways back to the world they had left, nearly a month before--the pipe-line trail to the reservoir and so down to the power-house and the Fairlands road; the Government trail from the pipe-line, over the Galenas to the valley on the other side; or, the Oak Knoll trail down to Clear Creek and out through the canyon gates--the way they had come.
"But," objected Aaron King, lazily,--from where he lay under a live-oak on the mountainside, a few feet above the trail,--"either route presupposes our wish to return to Fairlands."
The novelist laughed. "Listen to him, Czar,"--he said to the dog lying at his feet,--"listen to that painter-man. He doesn't want to go back to Fairlands any more than we do, does he?"
Rising, Czar looked at his master a moment, with slow waving tail, then turned inquiringly toward the artist.
"Well," said the young man, "what about it, old boy? Which trail shall we take? Or shall we take any of them?"
With a prodigious84 yawn,--as though to indicate that he wearied of their foolish indecision,--Czar turned, with a low "woof," toward the fourth member of the company, who was browsing85 along the edge of the trail. Whenever Czar was in doubt as to the wants of his human companions he always barked at the burro.
"He says, 'ask Croesus'," commented the artist.
"Good!" cried the older man, with another laugh. "Let's put it up to the financier and let him choose."
"Wait,"--said the artist, as the other turned toward the burro,--"don't be hasty--the occasion calls for solemn meditation86 and lofty discourse87."
"Your pardon,"--returned the novelist,--"'tis so. I will orate." Carefully selecting a pebble88 in readiness to emphasize his remarks, he addressed the shaggy arbiter89 of their fate. "Sir Croesus, thy pack is lighter by many meals than when first thou didst set out from that land where we did rescue thee from the hands of thy tormenting90 trader; but thy responsibilities are weightier, many fold. Upon the wisdom of thy choice, now, great issue rests. Thou hast thy chance, O illustrious ass, to recompense the world, this day, for the many evils wrought91 by thy odious92 ancestor and by all his long-eared kin2. Choose, now, the way thy benefactors93' feet shall go; and see to it, Croesus, that thou dost choose wisely; or, by thy ears, we'll flay94 thy woolly hide and hang it on the mountainside--a warning to thy kind."
The well-thrown pebble struck that part of the burro's anatomy95 at which it was aimed; the dog barked; and Croesus--with an indignant jerk of his head, and a flirt96 of his tail--started forward. At the fork of the trail, he paused. The two men waited with breathless interest. With an air of accepting the responsibility placed upon him, the burro whirled and trotted97 down the narrow path that led to the floor of the canyon below. Laughing, the men followed--but far enough in the rear to permit their leader to choose his own way when they should reach the wagon road at the foot of the mountain wall. Without an instant's hesitation99, Croesus turned down the road--quickening his pace, almost, into a trot98.
"By George!" ejaculated the novelist, "he acts like he knew where he was going."
"He's taking you at your word," returned the artist. "Look at him go! Evidently, he's still under the inspiration of your oratory100."
The burro had broken into a ridiculous, little gallop101 that caused the frying-pan and coffee-pot, lashed102 on the outside of the pack, to rattle merrily. Splashing through the creek, he disappeared in the dark shadow of a thicket74 of alders and willows103, where the road crosses a tiny rivulet104 that flows from a spring a hundred yards above. Climbing out of this gloomy hollow, the road turns sharply to the left, and the men hurried on to overtake their four-footed guide before he should be too long out of their sight. Just at the top of the little rise, before rounding the turn, they stopped. A few feet to the right of the road, with his nose at an old gate, stood Croesus. Nor would he heed105 Czar's bark commanding him to go on.
On the other side of the fence, an old and long neglected apple orchard106, a tumble-down log barn, and the wreck107 of a house with the fireplace and chimney standing27 stark108 and alone, told the story. The place was one of those old ranches109, purchased by the Power Company for the water rights, and deserted110 by those who once had called it home. From the gate, ancient wagon tracks, overgrown with weeds, led somewhere around the edge of the orchard and were lost in the tangle111 of trees and brush on its lower side.
The two men looked at each other in laughing surprise. The burro, turning his head, gazed at them over his shoulder, inquiringly, as much as to say, "Well, what's the matter now? Why don't you come along?"
"When in doubt, ask Croesus," said the artist, gravely.
Conrad Lagrange calmly opened the gate.
Promptly112, the burro trotted ahead. Following the ancient weed-grown tracks, he led them around the lower end of the orchard; crossed a little stream; and, turning again, climbed a gentle rise of open, grassy113 land behind the orchard; stopping at last, with an air of having accomplished114 his purpose, in a beautiful little grove23 of sycamore trees that bordered a small cienaga.
Completely hidden by the old orchard from the road in front, and backed by the foot of the mountain spur that here forms the northern wall of the little valley, the spot commanded a magnificent view of the encircling peaks and ridges. San Bernardino was almost above their heads. To the east, were the more rugged walls of the upper and narrower end of the canyon; in their front, the beautiful Oak Knoll, with the dark steeps and pine-fringed crest of the Galenas against the sky; while to the west, the blue peaks of the far San Gabriels showed above the lower spurs and foothills of the more immediate range. The foreground was filled in by the gentle slope leading down to the tiny stream at the edge of the old orchard and, a little to the left, by the cienaga--rich in the color of its tall marsh115 grass and reeds, gemmed116 with brilliant flowers of gold and scarlet117, bordered by graceful118 willows, and screened from the eye of the chance traveler by the lattice of tangled119 orchard boughs120.
Seated in the shade of the sycamores on the little knoll, the two friends enjoyed the beauty of the scene, and the charming seclusion121 of the lovely retreat; while Croesus stood patiently, as though waiting to be rewarded for his virtue122, by the removal of his pack. Even Czar refrained from charging here and there, and lay down contentedly123 at their feet, with an air of having reached at last the place they had been seeking.
A few days later found them established in a comfortable camp; with tents and furniture and hammocks and books and the delighted Yee Kee to take care of them. It had been easy to secure permission from the neighboring rancher who leased the orchard from the Company. Conrad Lagrange, with the man and his big mountain wagon, had made a trip to town--returning the next day with Yee Kee and the outfit. He brought, also, things from the studio; for the artist declared that he would no longer be without the materials of his art.
The first day after the camp was built, the artist--declaring that he would settle the question, at once, as to whether Yee Kee could cook a trout as skillfully as the novelist--took rod and flies, and--leaving the famous author in a hammock, with Czar lying near--set out up the canyon. For perhaps two miles, the painter followed the creek--taking here and there from clear pool or swirling124 eddy125 a fish for his creel, and pausing often, as he went, to enjoy--in artist fashion--the beauties of the ever changing landscape.
The afternoon was almost gone when he finally turned back toward camp. He had been away, already longer than he intended; but still--as all fishermen will understand--he could not, on his way back down the stream, refrain from casting here and there over the pools that tempted126 him.
The sun was touching127 the crest of the mountains when he had made but little more than half the distance of his return. He had just sent his fly skillfully over a deep pool in the shadow of a granite boulder, for what he determined128 must be his last cast, when, startlingly clear and sweet, came the tones of a violin.
A master trout leaped. The hand of the unheeding fisherman felt the tug129 as the leader broke. Giving the victorious130 fish no thought, Aaron King slowly reeled in his line.
There was no mistaking the pure, vibrant131 tones of the music to which the man listened with amazed delight. It was the music of the, to him, unknown violinist who lived hidden in the orange grove next door to his studio home in Fairlands.
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dwellers
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| n.居民，居住者( dweller的名词复数 ) | |
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kin
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| n.家族，亲属，血缘关系；adj.亲属关系的，同类的 | |
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ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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entrusted
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| v.委托，托付( entrust的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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accurately
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| adv.准确地，精确地 | |
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tarpaulin
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| n.涂油防水布，防水衣，防水帽 | |
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neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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hitch
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| v.免费搭(车旅行)；系住；急提；n.故障；急拉 | |
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flannels
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| 法兰绒男裤； 法兰绒( flannel的名词复数 ) | |
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shred
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| v.撕成碎片，变成碎片；n.碎布条，细片，些少 | |
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crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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gilded
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| a.镀金的，富有的 | |
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ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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canyon
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| n.峡谷，溪谷 | |
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wagon
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| n.四轮马车，手推车，面包车；无盖运货列车 | |
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automobile
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ranch
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| n.大牧场，大农场 | |
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creek
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| n.小溪，小河，小湾 | |
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trudged
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| vt.& vi.跋涉，吃力地走（trudge的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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grove
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| n.林子，小树林，园林 | |
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groves
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| 树丛，小树林( grove的名词复数 ) | |
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rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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clatter
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| v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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turmoil
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| n.骚乱，混乱，动乱 | |
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crests
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| v.到达山顶（或浪峰）( crest的第三人称单数 )；到达洪峰，达到顶点 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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quotation
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| n.引文，引语，语录；报价，牌价，行情 | |
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anonymous
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| adj.无名的；匿名的；无特色的 | |
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provident
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| adj.为将来做准备的，有先见之明的 | |
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lighter
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| n.打火机，点火器；驳船；v.用驳船运送；light的比较级 | |
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tints
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| 色彩( tint的名词复数 )； 带白的颜色； （淡色）染发剂； 痕迹 | |
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nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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40
laden
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| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
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41
pungent
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| adj.（气味、味道）刺激性的，辛辣的；尖锐的 | |
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42
sage
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| n.圣人，哲人；adj.贤明的，明智的 | |
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43
haze
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| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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44
inviting
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| adj.诱人的，引人注目的 | |
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45
majestic
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| adj.雄伟的，壮丽的，庄严的，威严的，崇高的 | |
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46
humbleness
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| n.谦卑，谦逊；恭顺 | |
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47
alder
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| n.赤杨树 | |
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48
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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49
granite
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| adj.花岗岩，花岗石 | |
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50
boulder
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| n.巨砾；卵石，圆石 | |
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51
scampering
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| v.蹦蹦跳跳地跑，惊惶奔跑( scamper的现在分词 ) | |
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52
bevy
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| n.一群 | |
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53
quail
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| n.鹌鹑；vi.畏惧，颤抖 | |
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54
miraculously
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| ad.奇迹般地 | |
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55
brook
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| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
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56
hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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57
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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58
myriad
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| adj.无数的；n.无数，极大数量 | |
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59
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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60
dwarf
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| n.矮子，侏儒，矮小的动植物；vt.使…矮小 | |
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61
weird
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| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
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62
boulders
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| n.卵石( boulder的名词复数 )；巨砾；（受水或天气侵蚀而成的）巨石；漂砾 | |
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63
obstructed
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| 阻塞( obstruct的过去式和过去分词 )； 堵塞； 阻碍； 阻止 | |
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64
gorge
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| n.咽喉，胃，暴食，山峡；v.塞饱，狼吞虎咽地吃 | |
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65
rugged
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| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
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66
jutting
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| v.（使）突出( jut的现在分词 )；伸出；（从…）突出；高出 | |
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67
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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68
ridges
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| n.脊( ridge的名词复数 )；山脊；脊状突起；大气层的)高压脊 | |
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69
ranger
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| n.国家公园管理员，护林员；骑兵巡逻队员 | |
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70
lone
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| adj.孤寂的，单独的；唯一的 | |
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71
winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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72
cones
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| n.（人眼）圆锥细胞；圆锥体( cone的名词复数 )；球果；圆锥形东西；（盛冰淇淋的）锥形蛋卷筒 | |
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73
thickets
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| n.灌木丛( thicket的名词复数 )；丛状物 | |
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74
thicket
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| n.灌木丛，树林 | |
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75
zigzag
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| n.曲折，之字形；adj.曲折的，锯齿形的；adv.曲折地，成锯齿形地；vt.使曲折；vi.曲折前行 | |
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76
alders
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| n.桤木( alder的名词复数 ) | |
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77
trout
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| n.鳟鱼；鲑鱼(属) | |
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78
torrent
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| n.激流，洪流；爆发，(话语等的)连发 | |
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79
battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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80
outfit
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| n.（为特殊用途的）全套装备，全套服装 | |
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81
intake
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| n.吸入，纳入；进气口，入口 | |
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82
knoll
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| n.小山，小丘 | |
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83
zigzags
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| n.锯齿形的线条、小径等( zigzag的名词复数 )v.弯弯曲曲地走路，曲折地前进( zigzag的第三人称单数 ) | |
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84
prodigious
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| adj.惊人的，奇妙的；异常的；巨大的；庞大的 | |
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85
browsing
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| v.吃草( browse的现在分词 )；随意翻阅；（在商店里）随便看看；（在计算机上）浏览信息 | |
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86
meditation
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| n.熟虑，（尤指宗教的）默想，沉思，（pl.）冥想录 | |
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87
discourse
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| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
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88
pebble
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| n.卵石，小圆石 | |
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89
arbiter
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| n.仲裁人，公断人 | |
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90
tormenting
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| 使痛苦的，使苦恼的 | |
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91
wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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92
odious
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| adj.可憎的，讨厌的 | |
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93
benefactors
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| n.捐助者，施主( benefactor的名词复数 )；恩人 | |
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94
flay
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| vt.剥皮；痛骂 | |
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95
anatomy
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| n.解剖学，解剖；功能，结构，组织 | |
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96
flirt
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| v.调情，挑逗，调戏；n.调情者，卖俏者 | |
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97
trotted
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| 小跑，急走( trot的过去分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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98
trot
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| n.疾走，慢跑；n.老太婆；现成译本；(复数）trots:腹泻（与the 连用）；v.小跑，快步走，赶紧 | |
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99
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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100
oratory
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| n.演讲术；词藻华丽的言辞 | |
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101
gallop
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| v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔；飞速发展 | |
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102
lashed
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| adj.具睫毛的v.鞭打( lash的过去式和过去分词 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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103
willows
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| n.柳树( willow的名词复数 )；柳木 | |
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104
rivulet
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| n.小溪，小河 | |
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105
heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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106
orchard
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| n.果园，果园里的全部果树，(美俚)棒球场 | |
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107
wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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108
stark
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| adj.荒凉的；严酷的；完全的；adv.完全地 | |
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109
ranches
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| 大农场， （兼种果树，养鸡等的）大牧场( ranch的名词复数 ) | |
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110
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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111
tangle
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| n.纠缠；缠结；混乱；v.(使)缠绕；变乱 | |
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112
promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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113
grassy
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| adj.盖满草的；长满草的 | |
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114
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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115
marsh
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| n.沼泽，湿地 | |
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116
gemmed
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| 点缀（gem的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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117
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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118
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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119
tangled
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| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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120
boughs
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| 大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
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121
seclusion
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| n.隐遁，隔离 | |
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122
virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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123
contentedly
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| adv.心满意足地 | |
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124
swirling
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| v.旋转，打旋( swirl的现在分词 ) | |
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125
eddy
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| n.漩涡，涡流 | |
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126
tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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127
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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128
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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129
tug
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| v.用力拖(或拉)；苦干；n.拖；苦干；拖船 | |
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130
victorious
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| adj.胜利的，得胜的 | |
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131
vibrant
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| adj.震颤的，响亮的，充满活力的，精力充沛的，(色彩)鲜明的 | |
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