His baptismal name was William Barclay, but before the corn-coloured pencilling on his upper lip had foretold1 the coming of a moustache, he was known throughout that wide-flung region lying between the Platte and the Rio Grande, the Missouri and the Mountains, as Bat. This honour fell to the boyish share of Mr. Masterson because his quick eye, steady hand, and stealthy foot rendered him invincible2 against bears and buffaloes4 and other animals, ferae naturae, and gray oldsters of the plains were thereby5 reminded of a Batiste Brown who had been celebrated6 as a hunter in the faraway heroic days of Chouteau, Sublette, Bridger, and St. Vrain.
There is no such season as boyhood on the plains, folk are children one day, men the next, and thus it befell with Mr. Masterson. He owned, while yet his cheek was as hairless as an egg, primeval gravities and silences, and neither asked nor answered questions, neither took nor gave advice. Among his companions of the range he gained the reputation of one who “attends strictly8 to his own business”; and this contributed to his vogue9 and standing10, and laid the bedplates of a popular confidence in Mr. Masterson.
Also, Mr. Masterson, being few of years and not without a dash of the artistic12, was in his way a swell13. His spurs were of wrought14 steel traced with gold, the handkerchief—an arterial red for hue—knotted about his brown throat was silk, not cotton, while his gray sombrero had been enriched with a bullion15 band of braided gold and silver, made in the likeness16 of a rattlesnake, fanged18 and ruby-eyed. This latter device cost Mr. Masterson the price of one hundred buffalo3 robes, and existed a source of wondering admiration19 from Dodge20 to the Pueblos21.
As a final expression of dandyism, Mr. Masterson wore a narrow crimson22 sash wound twice about his waist, the fringed ends descending23 gallantly25 down his left leg. The sash had come from Mexico, smuggled26 in with a waggon27 load of Chihuahua hats, and when Mr. Masterson donned it, being privily28 a-blush to find himself so garish29, he explained the same as something wherewith he might hogtie steers30 when in the course of duty he must rope and throw them. Doubtless the sash, being of a soft, reluctant texture31 and calculated to tie very tight into knots that would not slip, was of the precise best material with which to hogtie steers; but since Mr. Masterson never wore it on the range and always in the dance halls, it is suspected that he viewed it wholly in the light of a decoration.
Mr. Masterson’s saddle, as exhibiting still further his sumptuous32 nature, was of stamped leather; while his war-bags and leggings were faced with dogskin, the long black fell warranted to shed rain like a tin roof. The one thing wanting a least flourish of ornament33 was Mr. Masterson’s heavy, eight-square buffalo gun—a Sharp’s 50-calibre rifle.
And yet this absence of embellishment was not because of Mr. Masterson’s want of respect for the weapon; rather he respected it too much. A rifle was a serious creature in the eyes of Mr. Masterson, and not to be regarded as jewelry34; to mount it with silver or inlay its stock with gold would have been as unbecoming as to encrust a prayer-book with diamonds. Mr. Masterson’s rifle’s name was Marie; and when abroad on the range he made remarks to it, and took it into his confidence, apropos35 of events which transpired36 as part of the day’s work.
When Mr. Dixon, for whom Mr. Masterson was killing37 buffaloes along the Canadian, told that young gentleman how his visiting sister and niece would pass a fortnight at the ’Dobe Walls, the better to realise a virgin38 wilderness39 in all its charms, Mr. Masterson made no comment. Behind his wordlessness, however, Mr. Masterson nourished a poor opinion of this social movement. At its best, the ’Dobe Walls, as well as the buffalo range of which it lived at once the centre and the ragged40 flower, was rude beyond description, and by no means calculated—so Mr. Masterson thought—to dovetail with the tastes of ladies fresh from Beacon41 Hill. Besides, Mr. Masterson was not satisfied as to the depth and breadth of what friendships were professed42 by certain Cheyennes, who hunted buffaloes in the neighbourhood of the Canadian, for their paleface brothers and sisters.
Mr. Masterson’s opinions on this point of Cheyenne friendship was not the offspring of surmise43. Within the month, eight Cheyennes, supposed by the authorities in Washington to be profoundly peaceful, had come upon him while busy with both hands husking the hide from a buffalo bull. Full of the Washington impression of a Cheyenne peace, at least so far as deeds done of daylight and on the surface were concerned, Mr. Masterson paid no mighty44 heed45 to the visitors. Indeed, he paid none at all until one of them caught up his rifle from the grass, and smote46 him with it on the head. The Cheyenne, cocking the gun and aiming it, told him in English learned at Carlisle, and, with epithets47 learned at the agencies, to vamos or he’d shoot him in two. With the blood running down his face, Mr. Masterson so far accepted the Cheyenne suggestion as to back slowly from the muzzle48 of the rifle until he reached the edge of a ravine, upon which he had had his mind’s eye from the beginning. Then he suddenly vanished out of harm’s way.
Once in the ravine, Mr. Masterson flew for his camp, distant not a quarter of a mile. Getting a second rifle, Mr. Masterson bushwhacked those vivacious49 Cheyennes at the mouth of Mitchell’s Canyon50, and killed four, among them the violent individual who had so smote upon him with his own personal gun. The lost rifle, which was as the honour of Mr. Masterson, was recovered; and inasmuch as the four scalps were worth one hundred dollars in Dodge—for which amount they were a lien51 upon funds heaped together by public generosity52 to encourage the collection of such mementoes—it might be said that Mr. Masterson was repaid for his wound. He thought so, and in the language of diplomacy53 regarded the incident as closed.
For all that, the business was so frankly54 hostile in its transaction that Mr. Masterson, young of years yet ripe of Western wisdom, went more than half convinced that the Panhandle, at the time when Mr. Dixon decided55 to have his fair relatives pay it a visit, did not offer those conditions of a civilised safe refinement56 for which ladies of culture would look as their due. Mr. Masterson was right. Mr. Dixon’s approval of his sister and her daughter in their descent upon the ’Dobe Walls was weakly foolish. Still, neither Mr. Masterson nor any one else felt free to show this truth to Mr. Dixon, and preparations for the tender invasion went briskly forward.
As Mr. Masterson was buying cartridges59 in the outfitting61 store, which emporium was one of the mud structures that constituted the ’Dobe Walls, he observed that Mr. Wright was clearing away the furniture from the office, this latter being a small room to the rear of the store.
“Going to give it to Billy Dixon’s sister and her girl,” explained Mr. Wright.
“When do they hit camp?” asked Mr. Masterson, mildly curious.
“Day after to-morrow, I reckon; they’re coming over in a buckboard. Billy says there’s a French party, a Count or something, who is coming with them. It looks like he’s going to marry Billy’s niece. If he shows up, he’ll have to bunk63 in with you buffalo killers64 over in Hanrahan’s saloon.”
“Just so he don’t talk French to us,” said Mr. Masterson, “I won’t care. I’ve put up with Mexican and Cheyenne, but I draw the line at French.”
There were a score of men at the ’Dobe Walls, and Ruth Pemberton confessed to herself that Mr. Masterson was the Admirable Crichton of the array. She secretly admired his powerful shoulders, and compared him—graceful and limber and lithe65 as a mountain lion—with the tubby Count Banti to that patrician’s disadvantage. Also, Mr. Masterson’s hands and feet were smaller than those of Count Banti.
Ruth Pemberton and Count Banti made brief saddle excursions up and down the banks of the Canadian. Mr. Wright, using sundry66 ingenious devices to that end, had trained one of the more sedate68 of the ’Dobe Walls’ ponies69 to carry a lady without going insane. The training was successful, and the bronco thus taught to defy the dread70 mysteries of skirts and sidesaddle, had been presented to Ruth Pemberton. While Ruth Pemberton and Count Banti rode abroad, Madam Pemberton uplifted herself with George Eliot’s novels, and the sermons of Theodore Parker.
Ruth Pemberton and her noble escort never traveled far from camp, for Mr. Wright had convinced them that Cheyennes were not to be trusted. The several specimens71 of this interesting sept whom they saw about the ’Dobe Walls, trading robes for calico and cartridges, served by their appearance to confirm the warnings of Mr. Wright.
When not abroad in the saddle, Ruth Pemberton developed a surprising passion to know intimately the West and its methods, rude and rough. She asked Mr. Masterson if she might go to school to him in this study so near her pretty heart. That young gentleman, looking innocently into her slumberous72 brown eyes, said “Yes” directly. Or rather Mr. Masterson, lapsing73 into the Panhandle idiom, said,
“Shore!”
Being thus permitted, Ruth Pemberton, when Mr. Masterson galloped75 in from his buffalo killing and the Mexican skinners had brought home the hides in a waggon, would repair to the curing grounds, the latter being a flat, grassy76 stretch within two hundred yards of Mr. Wright’s store. Once there, she looked on while Mr. Masterson pegged77 out the green hides. It interested her to see him sprinkle them, and the nearby grass, with poisoned water to keep off hidebugs. The hidebug, according to Mr. Masterson, must have been an insect cousin of the buffalo, for he came and went with the robe-hunters, and lived but to spoil hides with the holes that he bored in them.
Ruth Pemberton asked Mr. Masterson questions, to which he replied in one syllable78. Also she did not pay sufficient attention to Count Banti—giving her whole bright-eyed time to Mr. Masterson. Whereat Count Banti sulked; and presently deserting Ruth Pemberton he withdrew to Mr. Hanrahan’s saloon, where he was taught draw-poker to his detriment79. Count Banti, when he left Ruth Pemberton, expected that she would call him back; she did not, and the oversight80 made him savage81.
One morning, while they were riding among the riverside cottonwoods, Count Banti became hysterical82 in his reproaches; he averred83 that Ruth Pemberton tortured in order to try his love. Proceeding84 to extremes, he said that, should she drive him desperate, he would destroy Mr. Masterson. At this, Ruth Pemberton’s rice-white teeth showed between roseleaf lips; she smiled in half admiration upon Count Banti.
“Oh!” thought Ruth Pemberton, “if only he would kill somebody I might love him from my heart!”
The soul of Ruth Pemberton of Beacon Hill and Vassar, having been west of the Missouri one month and at the ’Dobe Walls two days, was slipping into savagery—so friendly is retrogression, so easy comes reversion to type! She had supposed she loved Count Banti; and here was her soul going out to Mr. Masterson! How she dwelt upon him, when, bronzed of brow, cool of eye, alert, indomitable, he rode in from the day’s kill! The rattle17 of his spurs as he swung from the saddle was like a tune85 of music!
Not that Ruth Pemberton wore these thoughts on her face. She hid them from others, she even concealed86 them from herself. Had one told her that she was beginning to love Mr. Masterson, she would have stared. Count Banti himself never thought of so hideous87 a possibility; his jealous petulance88 arose solely89 from her calm neglect of himself. Ruth Pemberton asked Mr. Masterson how old he was, and it pleased her to hear that he was several months her superior.
Civilisation90 is a disguise, and in travel one loses one’s mask. One’s nature comes out and basks91 openly in new suns. This is so true that the West, when a compliment is intended, says of a man: “He’ll do to cross the plains with.” What the West means is that on such an expedition, what is treacherous92 or selfish or cowardly in a man will appear. Wherefore, to say of one that he will do to cross the plains with, is a most emphatic93 declaration that the one thus exalted94 is unmarked of vices67.
Ruth Pemberton, who on Beacon Hill would have paled at a pin-prick and the red bead95 of blood it provoked, now thought kindly96 of mere97 slaughter98, and insisted on riding ten miles with Mr. Masterson to the buffalo grounds to witness the day’s work.
“But, my child!” cried Madam Pemberton.
“It’s the only chance, mamma, I’ll ever have to see a buffalo killed.”
Madam Pemberton was not a deep mind, but exceeding shallow; to say that any chance was an only chance struck her as a reason for embracing it.
Ruth Pemberton was to journey to the buffalo grounds in the buckboard; Count Banti might accompany her, a Mexican would drive. Mr. Masterson, when told of the good company he would have on his next day’s hunt, made no objection. To the direct question as to whether the country were possible for buckboards, he said it was.
“What do you think yourself, Bob?” asked Mr. Masterson, when that evening he met Mr. Wright in Mr. Hanrahan’s bar, and they discussed this feminine eagerness to see dead buffaloes. “If we cross up with a bunch of Cheyennes, there may be trouble. It’s a chance they’d try to capture the girl. Besides, they’ve got it in for me about that hair on my bridle99.”
“There’s no Cheyennes about,” said Mr. Wright. “When they drift within twenty miles of us, they are sure to show up at the store, and I haven’t seen an Indian for two days.”
Count Banti took a Winchester rifle with him. There were two seats in the buckboard; Ruth Pemberton and Count Banti occupied the rear seat, the front seat being given over to the Mexican, and a basket flowing with a refection prepared by Mr. Hanrahan’s darky cook. Mr. Masterson, on his buckskin pony101, Houston, rode by Ruth Pemberton’s side of the buckboard. Madam Pemberton remained behind with The Mill on the Floss.
The expedition skirted the suburbs of a prairie dog village, and the shrill102 citizens were set a-flutter, or pretended to be, and dived into their houses. The polite diminutive103 owls104, the prairie dogs’ companions, stood their ground and made obeisances105. Ruth Pemberton’s cheek flushed with an odd interest as she gazed at the prairie dogs and the little polite ground owls.
Off to one side a dozen coyotes loafed along, not unlike a dozen loafing dogs, keeping abreast106 of the buckboard. Ruth Pemberton pointed107 to them:
“Isn’t it strange,” she asked, “that they should accompany us?”
There was the emphasis of a half alarm in her tones; a coyote was not, to her eyes, without formidable characteristics. Mr. Masterson explained.
“They go with us to the kill. When we leave, there will be a battle royal between them and the buzzards for the beef.”
Mr. Masterson pushed forward to show the buckboard Mexican his way across a piece of broken ground. Count Banti took note of the parted lips, and that soft sparkle of the brown eyes, as Ruth Pemberton followed him with her glances. Count Banti made no criticism of these dulcet108 phenomena109; he was too much of a gentleman and she too much of an heiress.
Count Banti, moved of a purpose to recall Ruth Pemberton from her train of fancy, did say that since a waggon, with the skinners, must go and come every day to bring in the buffalo hides, he was surprised that Mr. Masterson didn’t ride in that waggon. It was superfluous110, nay111 foolish, to saddle a pony under such waggon circumstances.
This idiotic112 conversation earned the commentator113 on buffalo hunters and their ways immediate114 grief. Ruth Pemberton wheeled upon Count Banti like a little lioness, that is, a little lioness subdued115 of Vassar and Beacon Hill. Ruth Pemberton said that she had never been treated to a more preposterous116 remark! It was unworthy, Count Banti! Mr. Masterson in a waggon! One might as easily conceive of Sir Launcelot or Richard the Lion Heart in a waggon.
When Mr. Masterson returned to the buckboard, Ruth Pemberton deftly117 lost her handkerchief overboard. Mr. Masterson brought Houston to the right about, and riding back stooped from the saddle and swept up the scrap118 of cambric from the short grass.
“Because you are so good,” said Ruth Pemberton, with a smile, “you may keep it for your reward.”
Count Banti ground his teeth; he expected that Mr. Masterson would bind119 the sweet trophy120 in his sombrero. Count Banti gasped121; instead of tucking the dainty guerdon behind that gold and silver rattlesnake, the favoured dull one continued to offer it to Ruth Pemberton.
“I’ve no place for it,” said Mr. Masterson; “I’d lose it.”
Ruth Pemberton’s brow was red as she received her property; for one wrathful moment a flame showed in the brown eye like a fire in a forest. Mr. Masterson’s own eye was as guileless as an antelope’s. Was he a fool? Was he deriding122 her? Ruth Pemberton decided that he was merely a white Indian. She appeased123 her vanity by turning her shoulder on the criminal and giving her conversation to Count Banti. Under these direct rays of the sun, our Frenchman’s noble soul expanded like a flower; as the fruit of that blossoming he began to brag124 like a Sioux.
Having caught some glint of the lady’s spirit, Count Banti told of adventures in India and Africa. He was a hero; he had haunted water-holes by night and killed black-maned lions; he had stalked tigers on foot; he had butchered Zulus who, moved of a tropical venom125, assailed126 him with battle axes.
Count Banti, pressing forward, set forth127 that he had been sustained as he crossed the Atlantic by a hope that he might war with America’s red natives. Alas128, they were broken and cowed; their spirit had been beaten down! He must return wrapped in disappointment.
Still—and now Count Banti became tender—it had been the most fortunate journey of his career. If not Mars then Venus! Count Banti had found the most lovely and most lovable woman in the world! And, by the way, would Ruth Pemberton make Count Banti delirious129 with joy by presenting him the handkerchief which the aborigine on the pony had had neither the wit nor the gentle fineness to accept?
For reply, Ruth Pemberton furtively130 wadded the poor rejected cambric into a ball about the size of a buckshot, and dropped it overboard again. And, because neither Mr. Masterson nor Count Banti saw its fall, there it lies among the buffalo grasses on the flat banks of the Canadian to this day.
Count Banti repeated his request and backed it with a sigh. Thereupon Ruth Pemberton opened both small hands to show how that desirable cambric had disappeared. Count Banti made rueful eyes rearward as though contemplating131 a search.
Mr. Masterson halted the buckboard; they had arrived within a mile of the buffaloes; he pointed where hundreds of them were grazing or reposing132 about the base of a gently sloping hill. The heavy dust-coloured creatures looked like farm cattle to the untaught Ruth Pemberton.
There was a bowl-like depression a few yards from where the buckboard came to a stop. It was grassed and regular, and one might have imagined that it had been shaped and sodded by a gardener. Mr. Masterson defined it as a buffalo wallow; he tried to make clear how, pivoting133 on one horn, a buffalo bull, shoulder to the ground, had excavated134 the cup-fashioned hollow they beheld135.
While the Mexican was slipping free the team’s traces, and making the few camp arrangements required for their stay, Count Banti began a lively talk with Mr. Masterson.
How long would it take Mr. Masterson to complete his day’s kill?
Mr. Masterson, it seems, would kill thirty buffaloes; that would take an hour.
And then they would return? Yes; or if the visitors tired, they might hook up and start at any moment. It was not worth while to sit through the slaughter of thirty buffaloes. The killing of one would be as the killing of another; to see the first was to see all.
Ruth Pemberton interposed; she would wait and return with Mr. Masterson.
Count Banti said he could see that killing buffaloes was slow, insipid136 sport. Now there might be a gallant24 thrill in fighting Indians—painted and perilous138! Count Banti would have summoned up an interest for Indians. Had Mr. Masterson ever slain139 an Indian? Probably not; Mr. Masterson was a young man.
Mr. Masterson bent140 a cold eye upon Count Banti. Saying never a word, he sauntered over to Houston, and began twisting a pair of rawhide141 hopples about his fetlocks, for Mr. Masterson, like all professional buffalo hunters, killed his game on foot. As Count Banti was ruffling142 over Mr. Masterson’s want of courtesy, the Mexican plucked him by the sleeve.
“See!” said the Mexican, pointing to the four braids of black hair hanging from Mr. Masterson’s bridle. “Cheyenne skelps; four!” And the Mexican held up four fingers.
“Scalps!” returned Count Banti, the burgundy colour deserting his heavy face. “Where did he get them?”
“Killed ’em here—anywhere!” vouchsafed143 the Mexican, waving a vague paw. “Killed ’em twelve weeks ago—mebby eight—no?”
What Count Banti might have thought concerning the sinister144 character of the region into which he had stumbled, he was given no chance to divulge145, for Mr. Masterson came up, rifle in hand, and speaking to Ruth Pemberton, said:
“Make yourself comfortable; you will be able to follow all that goes on, should you be interested in it, from the buckboard. You’ve brought a pair of field glasses, I see. Lucky we’re down the wind! I can go straight to them.”
As the ground between him and the buffaloes on the slope lay flat and open, with not so much as a bush to act as a screen, Mr. Masterson’s remark about going straight to his quarry146 appeared a bit optimistic. However, Mr. Masterson did not think so, but seemed the sublimation147 of certainty; he started off at a slow, careless walk directly towards the herd148.
Mr. Masterson had covered half the distance, that is to say, he had approached within a half mile of his game, before the buffaloes displayed a least excitement. When he had travelled thus far, however, those nearest began to exhibit a slow, angry alarm. They would paw the grass and toss a threatening horn; at times one would throw up his nose and sniff149 the air. The wind being from the buffaloes to Mr. Masterson, these nose experiments went without reward.
Yielding to the restless timidity of the perturbed150 ones, who if set running would infallibly stampede the herd, Mr. Masterson threw himself on his face and began to creep. His brown right hand gripped the stock of his rifle, and he dragged it over the grass, muzzle to the rear. Also, he was careful to keep his face hidden from the buffaloes behind the wide brim of his sombrero.
The herd’s interest was sensibly abated151 when Mr. Masterson forsook152 the perpendicular153. So long as they were granted no terrifying glimpses of his face, the buffaloes would believe him some novel form of wolf, and nobody to fly from. Acting154 upon this wolf theory, they watched the creeping Mr. Masterson curiously155; they stood their ground, and some even walked towards him in a threatening mood, disposed to bully156.
As Mr. Masterson, eyes to the grass, crept slowly forward, a dry “Bzz-z-z-z-z!” broke on his ear from a little distance in advance. Cautiously he lifted his eyes; the rattlesnake lay, coiled and open-mouthed, in his path. Mr. Masterson pushed the Sharp’s towards the reptile157; at that it uncoiled and crawled aside.
For twenty minutes Mr. Masterson continued his slow, creeping advance. When he was within four hundred yards of the herd he rose on one knee. There was a big bull, evidently an individual of consequence, who, broadside on, stood furthest up the wind. Deliberately158 and without excitement, the Sharp’s came to Mr. Masterson’s shoulder and his steady eye brought the sights to bear upon a spot twelve inches square, just behind the foreshoulder.
For the sliver159 of a second Mr. Masterson hung on the aim; then the heavy buffalo gun, burning one hundred and twenty grains of powder and throwing a bullet eight to the pound, roared, and the bull leaped heavily forward, shot through the lungs. With forefeet spread wide, blood pumping from both nostrils160, the buffalo fought desperately161 for breath and for strength to stand. The battle was against him; he staggered, caught himself, tottered162, stumbled, and then with a sigh of despair sank forward on his knees to roll at last upon his side—dead.
At the roar of the buffalo gun, the herd, fear at their hearts’ roots, began to run. Instantly a change came over them. The dying bull was to windward gushing163 blood, and the scent57 of that blood swept down upon them in a kind of madness. Their wits forsook them; they forgot their peril137 in the blood-frenzy that possessed164 them, and charged ferociously165 upon their dying comrade. When he fell, they gored166 him with crazy horns—a herd of humped, four-legged, shaggy, senseless, bellowing167 lunatics!
“Bang!” from the big buffalo gun, and another bull stood bleeding out his life. The herd, wild and frantic168, fell upon him.
“Bang!” spoke169 the buffalo gun; a third, shot through and through, became the object of the herd’s crazy rage.
Killing always to windward, Mr. Masterson might have stood in his tracks and slain a dozen score; the scent of the new blood would hold the fury-bitten buffaloes like a spell.
Knowing this to be the nature of buffaloes, Mr. Masterson felt profound surprise when after his third fire, and while still the last stricken bleeding buffalo was on his feet, the whole band seemed suddenly restored to their senses, and went lumbering170 off at a right angle.
“Cheyennes!” exclaimed the sophisticated Mr. Masterson; “they are over the brow of the hill!” Then he turned, and started for Ruth Pemberton and the others at a sharp trot171.
While Mr. Masterson was creeping on the buffaloes, Ruth Pemberton from her buckboard perch172, followed him through the field glasses. She saw him pause, and push forward with his rifle at the rattlesnake; while she could not see the reptile, by some instinct she realised it—coiled and fanged and venomous—and shuddered173. She drew a breath of relief as Mr. Masterson re-began his stalk. She saw him when he rose to his knee; then came the straight, streaky puff174 of white smoke, and the dying bull stood staggering and bleeding. Next there drifted to her on the loitering breeze the boom of the buffalo gun, blunted by distance and direction. Her glasses covered the herd when in its blood-rage it held furious wake about the dying ones.
And, what was most strange, Ruth Pemberton took a primal175 joy therein. She was conscious of the free, original sweep of the plains about her, with the white shimmer177 of the Canadian beyond. And sensations claimed her, to flow in her veins178 and race along her nerves, which archery and tennis had never called up. There abode179 a glow in her blood that was like a brightness and a new joy. If the handkerchief-declining Mr. Masterson were a white Indian, what now was she? Only she never once thought on that.
Mr. Masterson came up at top speed, and said something in Spanish to the Mexican. That hare-heart became pale as paper; instead of bringing in his team, as Mr. Masterson had commanded, he cut the hopples of the nearest horse, and went powdering away towards the ’Dobe Walls. Mr. Masterson tossed up his Sharp’s with a half-notion of stopping him; then he shook his head cynically180.
“He’s only a Mexican,” said he. Helping181 Ruth Pemberton from the buckboard, where she sat in startled ignorance, he remarked: “Get into the buffalo wallow; you’ll be safer there.”
“Safe?” whispered Ruth Pemberton.
Mr. Masterson pointed to eleven Cheyennes on the far crest182 of the hill. Then he led Ruth Pemberton to the buffalo wallow, where Count Banti was already crouching184.
“You’ve left your Winchester on the buckboard,” said Mr. Masterson.
Count Banti stared glassily, the purple of his face a dingy185 gray. The man was helpless; the nearness of death had paralyzed him.
Mr. Masterson shifted his glance to Ruth Pemberton. Her eyes, shining like strange jewels, met him squarely look for look; there was a heave to her bosom186 and a red in her cheek. His own eyes were jade187, and his brows had come sternly forward, masking his face with the very spirit of war. The two looked upon one another—the boy and the girl whose rearings had been so far apart and whose natures were so close together.
“I’ll get it,” she said, meaning the Winchester.
Mr. Masterson made her crouch183 down in the bottom of the buffalo wallow, where neither bullet nor arrow might reach her. Then, walking to the buckboard, he got the Winchester and the cartridge58 belt that belonged with it.
“It’s Baldy Smith’s,” remarked Mr. Masterson, as though Ruth Pemberton might be interested in the news. “It’s a good gun—for a Winchester.”
One of the Cheyennes, glimpsing the recreant188 Mexican, started in pursuit; the others rode down the slope for a closer survey of the trio in the buffalo wallow. Mr. Masterson threw the loop of a lariat189 over the head of Houston and fastened him, hopples and all, to the buckboard.
Understanding that no surprise was possible, the Cheyennes began at a sweeping190 gallop74 to circle the garrison191 in the buffalo wallow, their dainty little war ponies a-flutter of eagle feathers and strips of red cloth. As they circled, they closed in nearer and nearer; at less than six hundred yards they opened fire.
Each attacking buck62 kept his pony between himself and Mr. Masterson, firing from beneath the pony’s neck. The shooting was bad; the bullets struck the grass and kicked up puffs192 of dirt one hundred yards in front, and then came singing forty feet overhead. Count Banti heard the zip! zip! zip! and groaned193 as he lay on his face.
Mr. Masterson, who—being on his feet—was head and shoulders above the level of the flat, paid no heed to the terror-ridden Count Banti. Once he cast a look at Ruth Pemberton, making sure she was below the danger level. She, for her side, watched his expression as he stood, rifle in hand, observing the attack. She felt no fear, felt nothing only a sweep and choke of exultation194. It was as though she were the prize for which a battle was being fought—a battle, one against ten! Also, she could read in the falconed frown of Mr. Masterson somewhat of that temper wherewith he had harvested those scalps on his bridle.
While Ruth Pemberton gazed in a kind of fondness without fear, the heavy Sharp’s came to the sudden shoulder of Mr. Masterson. The roar of it fell upon her so close and loud that it was like a fog to her senses. Mr. Masterson threw open his gun, and clipped in a second cartridge. The brass195 shell flirted196 over his shoulder by the extractor, struck Count Banti’s face. That hero—who had hunted lions by night and tigers on foot—gave a little scream, and then lay mute.
“It was this!” said Ruth Pemberton, holding up the empty shell to Mr. Masterson.
Mr. Masterson’s bullet had gone through pony and rider as though they were papier-mâché. What life might have been left in the latter was crushed out by the falling pony who smashed chest and ribs197 beneath his heavy shoulder.
The nine other circling bucks100 gathered about the one who had died. Clustered as they were, there could be no thought of missing, and Mr. Masterson emptied another saddle. With that, the others swooped198 on the slain and bore them off beyond the hill.
As they did so, far away to the right a single Cheyenne came riding; he was yelping199 like twenty wolves at once, and tossing something and catching200 it in his hand. The single Cheyenne was he who had followed the craven Mexican, and the thing he tossed and played with was the Mexican’s scalp. When he had joined the others, and they had laid their dead in a safe place, the whole party again came riding—open order—down the long slope towards the fatal buffalo wallow.
Mr. Masterson picked up the Winchester and forced cartridges into the magazine until it would hold no more.
“They’re going to charge,” said Mr. Masterson, apologising for the Winchester. “It’ll come handy to back up my Sharp’s in a case of quick work. There won’t be time to load, and a Sharp’s is only a single-shot gun, you know.”
Ruth Pemberton did not know, and her mind was running on other matters than guns, single-shot or magazine.
“They’re going to charge?” she asked.
“Yes; but don’t lose your nerve. They’ll make a heap of hubbub201, but it’s two for one I stand them off.”
The assurance came as coolly as though Mr. Masterson considered the possibilities of a shower, and was confident of the integrity of Ruth Pemberton’s umbrella.
“One thing!” said Ruth Pemberton wistfully.
“Yes?” said Mr. Masterson, his eye on the Cheyennes, his ear on Ruth Pemberton.
“Don’t let them take me! Kill me first!”
“I’ve intended to from the beginning,” said Mr. Masterson steadily202. “First you, then me! You know the Western saying for an Indian fight: Always save your last shot for yourself!”
There was nothing of despair or lack of resolution; he spoke as speaks one who but gives a promise to one who has reason to receive it. He offered it without fear to one who accepted it without fear, and when he had spoken Ruth Pemberton felt as cheerfully light as a bird. She had a desire to seize on the Winchester and take her stand with Mr. Masterson. But her ignorance of Winchesters was there to baffle her; moreover Mr. Masterson, as though he read her impulse, interfered203.
“Stay where you are!” he commanded. From where she crouched204 in the buffalo wallow, Ruth Pemberton heard a whirl of yells, and the grass-muffled drumming of many hoofs205; and the yells and the hoof-beats were bearing down upon her with the rush of a tempest. There came a rattle of rifles, and the chuck! chuck! of bullets into the soft earth. In the midst of the din11 and the clamour she heard the bold roar of the buffalo gun. Then she saw Mr. Masterson snatch up the Winchester, and spring clear of the buffalo wallow to the flat, grassy ground in front. Feeling nothing, knowing nothing beyond a resolution to be near him, live or die, she was out of the buffalo wallow as soon as was he, and on her knees at his feet. She could seize on no one element as distinct and separate from a whirling whole, made up of blur206 and smoke and yell and rifle crash, with feathers dancing and little ponies charging like meteors! She was sure only of the rock-bound fact to which she clung that Mr. Masterson never moved from where he stood. She heard the spitting, whip-like crack of the Winchester, so different from the menacing voice of the buffalo gun, as working it with the rapidity of a bell-punch he fired it faster than she could count.
The thing was on and by and over in a moment; the charging Cheyennes went to right and left, unable to ride up against that tide of death which set so fiercely in their faces. Nine Cheyennes made that charge upon the buffalo wallow; Ruth Pemberton counted but four to flash to the rear at the close. The four never paused; their hearts had turned weak, and they kept on along the river’s bank, until at a low place they rode in and went squattering across. Five riderless ponies, running wild and lost, gave chase with neighs of protest at being left behind.
Out in front, one of the five Cheyennes who had been shot from his saddle in the charge raised himself, wounded, on his elbow. Mr. Masterson, who had recovered his Sharp’s, sent a bullet into his head. Ruth Pemberton, even through the tingling207 trance of battle that still wrapped her close, turned cold.
Ruth Pemberton made no reply: her fascinated eyes saw where a trickle208 of blood guttered209 the cheek of Mr. Masterson. She thought no more on dead or living Cheyennes, but with a great sob210 of horror came towards him, eyeing the blood.
“Only a nick,” said he. “You can’t fight all day without a scratch or two.”
Count Banti began to stir. He sat up in a foolish way and looked at Ruth Pemberton. She turned from him, ashamed, and let her gaze rove to where the Cheyennes, far beyond the river, were rounding the corner of a hill. There was nothing she could say to Count Banti.
Mr. Masterson loosened and mounted Houston, which seasoned pony had comported211 himself throughout the mêlée with the steadiness which should go with his name. Presently he rode back to the buffalo wallow, and instead of four, there were eleven scalps on his bridle rein176.
“A man should count his coups,” he vouchsafed in explanation.
There was no need of defence; Ruth Pemberton, without understanding the argument which convinced her own breast, looked upon those scalps as the fitting finale of the morning’s work.
Mr. Masterson caught up the buckboard horse, mate to the one upon which the Mexican had fled, and strapped212 a blanket on its back for the use and behoof of Count Banti—still speechless, nerves a-tangle. Then Mr. Masterson, taking a spare cinch from his war-bags, to the disgust of Houston, proceeded with more blankets to construct a pillion upon which Ruth Pemberton might ride behind him. Houston, as he felt the cinch drawing, pointed his ears resentfully.
“Well?” threatened Mr. Masterson.
Houston relaxed the resentful ears and acquiesced213 with grace, fearing worse.
Mr. Masterson from the saddle held out his hand; Ruth Pemberton took it and, making a step of the stirrup which he tendered, sprang to the pillion.
“You can hold on by my belt,” quoth Mr. Masterson.
And so they came back to the ’Dobe Walls; Ruth Pemberton’s arms about Mr. Masterson, her cheek against his shoulder, while her soul wandered up and down in a world of strange happinesses, as one might walk among trees and flowers, with birds singing overhead.
Four days; and the buckboard bearing Ruth Pemberton, Madam Pemberton and Count Banti drew away for the North. A lieutenant214 with ten cavalrymen, going from Fort Elliot to Dodge, accompanied them by way of escort.
“And so you hate the East?” Ruth Pemberton had asked Mr. Masterson that morning before the start, her eyes dim, and her cheeks much too pale for so innocent a question.
“No, not hate,” returned Mr. Masterson, “but my life is in the West.”
As the buckboard reached the ridge7 from which would come the last glimpse of the Canadian, off to the south and west, outlined against the sky, stood a pony and rider. The rider waved his sombrero in farewell. Ruth Pemberton gazed and still gazed; the hunger of the brown eyes was as though her love lay starving. The trail sloped sharply downward, and the picture of the statue horseman on the hill was snatched away. With that—her life turned drab and desolate—Ruth Pemberton slipped to the floor of the buckboard, and buried her face in her mother’s kindly lap.
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1
foretold
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| v.预言，预示( foretell的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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invincible
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| adj.不可征服的，难以制服的 | |
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buffalo
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| n.(北美)野牛；(亚洲)水牛 | |
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buffaloes
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| n.水牛（分非洲水牛和亚洲水牛两种）( buffalo的名词复数 )；（南非或北美的）野牛；威胁；恐吓 | |
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thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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7
ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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Vogue
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| n.时髦，时尚；adj.流行的 | |
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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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din
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| n.喧闹声，嘈杂声 | |
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artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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14
wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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15
bullion
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| n.金条，银条 | |
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16
likeness
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| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
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17
rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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18
fanged
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| adj.有尖牙的，有牙根的，有毒牙的 | |
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19
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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20
dodge
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| v.闪开，躲开，避开；n.妙计，诡计 | |
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21
pueblos
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| n.印第安人村庄( pueblo的名词复数 ) | |
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22
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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23
descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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24
gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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gallantly
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| adv. 漂亮地，勇敢地，献殷勤地 | |
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26
smuggled
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| 水货 | |
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27
waggon
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| n.运货马车，运货车；敞篷车箱 | |
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28
privily
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| adv.暗中，秘密地 | |
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29
garish
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| adj.华丽而俗气的，华而不实的 | |
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30
steers
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| n.阉公牛，肉用公牛( steer的名词复数 )v.驾驶( steer的第三人称单数 )；操纵；控制；引导 | |
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31
texture
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| n.(织物)质地；(材料)构造；结构；肌理 | |
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32
sumptuous
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| adj.豪华的，奢侈的，华丽的 | |
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33
ornament
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| v.装饰，美化；n.装饰，装饰物 | |
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34
jewelry
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| n.（jewllery）（总称）珠宝 | |
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35
apropos
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| adv.恰好地；adj.恰当的；关于 | |
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transpired
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| （事实，秘密等）被人知道( transpire的过去式和过去分词 )； 泄露； 显露； 发生 | |
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killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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38
virgin
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| n.处女，未婚女子；adj.未经使用的；未经开发的 | |
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39
wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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40
ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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41
beacon
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| n.烽火，（警告用的）闪火灯，灯塔 | |
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42
professed
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| 公开声称的，伪称的，已立誓信教的 | |
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43
surmise
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| v./n.猜想，推测 | |
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44
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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45
heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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46
smote
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| v.猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去式 ) | |
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47
epithets
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| n.（表示性质、特征等的）词语( epithet的名词复数 ) | |
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48
muzzle
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| n.鼻口部；口套；枪(炮)口；vt.使缄默 | |
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49
vivacious
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| adj.活泼的，快活的 | |
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50
canyon
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| n.峡谷，溪谷 | |
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51
lien
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| n.扣押权，留置权 | |
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52
generosity
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| n.大度，慷慨，慷慨的行为 | |
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53
diplomacy
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| n.外交；外交手腕，交际手腕 | |
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54
frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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55
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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56
refinement
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| n.文雅；高尚；精美；精制；精炼 | |
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57
scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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58
cartridge
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| n.弹壳，弹药筒；(装磁带等的)盒子 | |
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59
cartridges
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| 子弹( cartridge的名词复数 )； （打印机的）墨盒； 录音带盒； （唱机的）唱头 | |
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60
outfit
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| n.（为特殊用途的）全套装备，全套服装 | |
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61
outfitting
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| v.装备，配置设备，供给服装( outfit的现在分词 ) | |
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62
buck
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| n.雄鹿，雄兔；v.马离地跳跃 | |
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63
bunk
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| n.(车、船等倚壁而设的)铺位；废话 | |
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64
killers
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| 凶手( killer的名词复数 )； 消灭…者； 致命物； 极难的事 | |
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65
lithe
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| adj.(指人、身体)柔软的，易弯的 | |
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66
sundry
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| adj.各式各样的，种种的 | |
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67
vices
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| 缺陷( vice的名词复数 )； 恶习； 不道德行为； 台钳 | |
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68
sedate
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| adj.沉着的，镇静的，安静的 | |
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69
ponies
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| 矮种马，小型马( pony的名词复数 )； ￡25 25 英镑 | |
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70
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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71
specimens
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| n.样品( specimen的名词复数 )；范例；（化验的）抽样；某种类型的人 | |
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72
slumberous
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| a.昏昏欲睡的 | |
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73
lapsing
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| v.退步( lapse的现在分词 )；陷入；倒退；丧失 | |
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74
gallop
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| v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔；飞速发展 | |
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75
galloped
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| （使马）飞奔，奔驰( gallop的过去式和过去分词 )； 快速做[说]某事 | |
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76
grassy
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| adj.盖满草的；长满草的 | |
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77
pegged
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| v.用夹子或钉子固定( peg的过去式和过去分词 )；使固定在某水平 | |
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78
syllable
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| n.音节；vt.分音节 | |
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79
detriment
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| n.损害；损害物，造成损害的根源 | |
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80
oversight
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| n.勘漏，失察，疏忽 | |
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81
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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82
hysterical
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| adj.情绪异常激动的，歇斯底里般的 | |
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83
averred
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| v.断言( aver的过去式和过去分词 )；证实；证明…属实；作为事实提出 | |
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84
proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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85
tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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86
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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87
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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88
petulance
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| n.发脾气，生气，易怒，暴躁，性急 | |
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89
solely
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| adv.仅仅，唯一地 | |
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90
civilisation
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| n.文明，文化，开化，教化 | |
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91
basks
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| v.晒太阳，取暖( bask的第三人称单数 )；对…感到乐趣；因他人的功绩而出名；仰仗…的余泽 | |
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92
treacherous
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| adj.不可靠的，有暗藏的危险的；adj.背叛的，背信弃义的 | |
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93
emphatic
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| adj.强调的，着重的；无可置疑的，明显的 | |
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94
exalted
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| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
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95
bead
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| n.念珠；(pl.)珠子项链；水珠 | |
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96
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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97
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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98
slaughter
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| n.屠杀，屠宰；vt.屠杀，宰杀 | |
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99
bridle
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| n.笼头，束缚；vt.抑制，约束；动怒 | |
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100
bucks
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| 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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101
pony
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| adj.小型的；n.小马 | |
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102
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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103
diminutive
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| adj.小巧可爱的，小的 | |
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104
owls
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| n.猫头鹰( owl的名词复数 ) | |
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105
obeisances
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| n.敬礼，行礼( obeisance的名词复数 )；敬意 | |
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106
abreast
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| adv.并排地；跟上(时代)的步伐，与…并进地 | |
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107
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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108
dulcet
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| adj.悦耳的 | |
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109
phenomena
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| n.现象 | |
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110
superfluous
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| adj.过多的，过剩的，多余的 | |
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111
nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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112
idiotic
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| adj.白痴的 | |
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113
commentator
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| n.注释者，解说者；实况广播评论员 | |
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114
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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115
subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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116
preposterous
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| adj.荒谬的，可笑的 | |
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117
deftly
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| adv.灵巧地，熟练地，敏捷地 | |
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118
scrap
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| n.碎片；废料；v.废弃，报废 | |
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119
bind
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| vt.捆，包扎；装订；约束；使凝固；vi.变硬 | |
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120
trophy
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| n.优胜旗，奖品，奖杯，战胜品，纪念品 | |
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121
gasped
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| 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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122
deriding
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| v.取笑，嘲笑( deride的现在分词 ) | |
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123
appeased
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| 安抚，抚慰( appease的过去式和过去分词 )； 绥靖（满足另一国的要求以避免战争） | |
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124
brag
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| v./n.吹牛，自夸；adj.第一流的 | |
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125
venom
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| n.毒液，恶毒，痛恨 | |
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126
assailed
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| v.攻击( assail的过去式和过去分词 )；困扰；质问；毅然应对 | |
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127
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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128
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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129
delirious
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| adj.不省人事的，神智昏迷的 | |
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130
furtively
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| adv. 偷偷地, 暗中地 | |
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131
contemplating
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| 深思，细想，仔细考虑( contemplate的现在分词 )； 注视，凝视； 考虑接受（发生某事的可能性）； 深思熟虑，沉思，苦思冥想 | |
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132
reposing
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| v.将（手臂等）靠在某人（某物）上( repose的现在分词 ) | |
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133
pivoting
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| n.绕轴旋转，绕公共法线旋转v.（似）在枢轴上转动( pivot的现在分词 )；把…放在枢轴上；以…为核心，围绕（主旨）展开 | |
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134
excavated
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| v.挖掘( excavate的过去式和过去分词 )；开凿；挖出；发掘 | |
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135
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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136
insipid
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| adj.无味的，枯燥乏味的，单调的 | |
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137
peril
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| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
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138
perilous
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| adj.危险的，冒险的 | |
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139
slain
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| 杀死，宰杀，杀戮( slay的过去分词 )； (slay的过去分词) | |
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140
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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141
rawhide
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| n.生牛皮 | |
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142
ruffling
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| 弄皱( ruffle的现在分词 )； 弄乱； 激怒； 扰乱 | |
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143
vouchsafed
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| v.给予，赐予( vouchsafe的过去式和过去分词 )；允诺 | |
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144
sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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145
divulge
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| v.泄漏(秘密等)；宣布，公布 | |
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146
quarry
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| n.采石场；v.采石；费力地找 | |
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147
sublimation
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| n.升华，升华物，高尚化 | |
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148
herd
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| n.兽群，牧群；vt.使集中，把…赶在一起 | |
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149
sniff
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| vi.嗅…味道；抽鼻涕；对嗤之以鼻，蔑视 | |
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150
perturbed
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| adj.烦燥不安的v.使（某人）烦恼，不安( perturb的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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151
abated
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| 减少( abate的过去式和过去分词 )； 减去； 降价； 撤消（诉讼） | |
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152
forsook
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| forsake的过去式 | |
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153
perpendicular
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| adj.垂直的，直立的；n.垂直线，垂直的位置 | |
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154
acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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155
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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156
bully
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| n.恃强欺弱者，小流氓；vt.威胁，欺侮 | |
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157
reptile
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| n.爬行动物；两栖动物 | |
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158
deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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159
sliver
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| n.裂片，细片，梳毛；v.纵切，切成长片，剖开 | |
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160
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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161
desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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162
tottered
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| 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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163
gushing
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| adj.迸出的；涌出的；喷出的；过分热情的v.喷，涌( gush的现在分词 )；滔滔不绝地说话 | |
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164
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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165
ferociously
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| 野蛮地，残忍地 | |
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166
gored
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| v.（动物）用角撞伤，用牙刺破( gore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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167
bellowing
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| v.发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的现在分词 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫 | |
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168
frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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169
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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170
lumbering
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| n.采伐林木 | |
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171
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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172
perch
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| n.栖木，高位，杆；v.栖息，就位，位于 | |
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173
shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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174
puff
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| n.一口(气)；一阵(风)；v.喷气，喘气 | |
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175
primal
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| adj.原始的；最重要的 | |
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176
rein
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| n.疆绳，统治，支配；vt.以僵绳控制，统治 | |
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177
shimmer
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| v./n.发微光，发闪光；微光 | |
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178
veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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179
abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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180
cynically
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| adv.爱嘲笑地，冷笑地 | |
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181
helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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182
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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183
crouch
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| v.蹲伏，蜷缩，低头弯腰；n.蹲伏 | |
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184
crouching
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的现在分词 ) | |
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185
dingy
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| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
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186
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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187
jade
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| n.玉石；碧玉；翡翠 | |
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188
recreant
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| n.懦夫；adj.胆怯的 | |
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189
lariat
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| n.系绳，套索；v.用套索套捕 | |
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190
sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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191
garrison
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| n.卫戍部队；驻地，卫戍区；vt.派(兵)驻防 | |
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192
puffs
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| n.吸( puff的名词复数 )；（烟斗或香烟的）一吸；一缕（烟、蒸汽等）；（呼吸或风的）呼v.使喷出( puff的第三人称单数 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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193
groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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194
exultation
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| n.狂喜，得意 | |
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195
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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196
flirted
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| v.调情，打情骂俏( flirt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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197
ribs
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| n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 )；（船或屋顶等的）肋拱；肋骨状的东西；（织物的）凸条花纹 | |
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198
swooped
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| 俯冲，猛冲( swoop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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199
yelping
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| v.发出短而尖的叫声( yelp的现在分词 ) | |
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200
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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201
hubbub
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| n.嘈杂；骚乱 | |
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202
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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203
interfered
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| v.干预( interfere的过去式和过去分词 )；调停；妨碍；干涉 | |
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204
crouched
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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205
hoofs
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| n.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的名词复数 )v.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的第三人称单数 ) | |
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206
blur
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| n.模糊不清的事物；vt.使模糊，使看不清楚 | |
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207
tingling
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| v.有刺痛感( tingle的现在分词 ) | |
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208
trickle
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| vi.淌，滴，流出，慢慢移动，逐渐消散 | |
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209
guttered
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| vt.形成沟或槽于…（gutter的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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210
sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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211
comported
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| v.表现( comport的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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212
strapped
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| 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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213
acquiesced
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| v.默认，默许( acquiesce的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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214
lieutenant
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| n.陆军中尉，海军上尉；代理官员，副职官员 | |
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