In the old golden days, gunshot wounds were never over-soberly regarded by Dodge1. Mr. Kelly, being creased2 by Rattlesnake Sanders and discovering that the bullet had done no more than just bore its sullen3 way through the muscular portion of his shoulder, came to look upon the incident as trivial, and nothing beyond a technical violation4 of his rights. He gave his word to that effect; and when Rattlesnake—in seclusion5 on Bear Creek—was made aware of that word, he returned to the ranges along the White Woman, and re-began a cowboy existence where his flight had broken it off. Mr. Kelly’s forbearance was approved by the public, the more readily since Dodge in the catholicity of its justice believed in punishing folk, not for what they did but for what they were, and Rattlesnake was an estimable youth.
This tolerant breadth was wholly of the olden day, and has not come down to modern men. Dodge now lies writhing6 beneath the wheel of Eastern convention. Starched7 shirts have crept in, derby hats have done their worst, and that frank fraternalism, so brightly a virtue8 of the heretofore, has disappeared. To-day the sound of a six-shooter in the timid streets of Dodge would produce a shock, and whatever gentleman was behind that alarming artillery9 meet the fate which would encounter him under similar explosive conditions in Philadelphia.
California is the proprietor10 of a past, and in moments of sentiment croons of:
The days of old,
The days of gold,
The days of Forty-nine.
Dodge also owns a day-that-was. Its memory appeals often and fondly to an hour when no one asked a stranger’s name, but politely reduced curiosity to a cautious “What may I call you?” The stranger might have been “Bill Jones” in the faraway, forgotten East. He could now become “Jack11 Robinson”; and if his case presented any personal argument favourable12 to such change, the liberality of Dodge not alone permitted but invited that amendment13. The stranger’s life for Dodge commenced with his advent14 in its friendly midst and went no further back. His past, with all that to him appertained, had fallen from him as fall the fetters15 from the bond slave when once he sets foot upon the sacred soil of England. Dodge refused to be involved in any question of what that stranger had done, or who he was. It received him, trusted him, watched him, and when popular judgment16 concerning him had ripened17, it either applauded or lynched him as circumstances seemed most to invite.
It is good to shut one’s eyes and ruminate18 upon a past. The old days are ever golden, and for those of Dodge this should be their portrait. What might the heart of the stranger desire that they do not offer him? If he be a-weary, there is the Wright House whereat he may repose19 himself. Does he crave20 relaxation21, there is Mr. Peacock’s Dance Hall, called sometimes the Bird Cage, where to the lively observations of the fiddle22 he shall loosen the boards of the floor until refreshed. At all hours of the night the master of ceremonies is to be heard above the subdued23 muttering of exuberant24 feet:
“Ally man left—all sasshay! Balance to yer podners—all hands ’round! Grand right an’ left—dozy do! Chaat ’n’ swing—right arm to yer podner! All prom’nade to the bar!”
If mere25 trade be the stranger’s purpose, where is that emporium superior to Mr. Wright’s? Should the appetite of speculation26 seize him, is there not the Alamo, the Alhambra and the Long Branch? From those latter clapboard palaces of chance, where Fortune holds unflagging court, comes the inviting28 soft flutter of chips, punctuated29 by such terse30 announcements from roulette wheel and faro table as “All’s set an’ th’ ball’s rollin’!” or “Ace lose, trey win!” Now and again a hush31 descends33 while through the blue tobacco smoke two sisters of charity—looking with their white faces and black hoods35 like pale pictures set in jet—make the silent round of the games, seeking aid for their hospital in Santa Fé. Each courtier of Fortune cashes a handful of chips, and passes the proceeds to them over his shoulder; knowing that should sickness lay skeleton hand upon him he will be welcome at their merciful gates.
If the stranger be not only strange but tender—having just made his appearance, possibly, on some belated “buckboard” from the South, where he has been touring the Panhandle or ransacking36 the ranges with thoughts of buying a ranch—the all-night whirl of Dodge excites his wonder. In such round-eyed case, he sets forth37 at four o’clock in the morning his amazement38 to Mr. Short.
“Aren’t you open rather late?” mildly observes the tender stranger.
“It is rather late,” responds Mr. Short, with an eye of tolerant cynicism, “it is rather late for night before last, but it’s jest th’ shank of th’ evenin’ for to-night.”
The tender stranger makes no response, for his faculties40 have become engaged upon an ebullient41 cowboy who, with unsteady step, swings in through the Long Branch’s open door, spurs a-jingle, wide hat set at an arrogant42 slant43.
“I’m Palo Duro Pete,” the invader44 remarks. “Which blood’s my colour, gents, an’ I kin34 whip my weight in wolves!”
The strain on the tender stranger’s nerves is redeemed45 by Mr. Short, who languidly fells Palo Duro Pete with his six-shooter. The strain gains additional relief when Palo Duro picks himself up with a gratified air, and says:
“Gents, this is shorely the sociablest crowd I’ve crossed up with as yet. Let’s libate!”
In a daze46 of admiration47 the tender stranger “libates” with Palo Duro, while Mr. Short makes a careless third. Mr. Short suggests cigars at the expense of the Long Branch, and Palo Duro, after lighting48 one, goes jingling49 out into the night to continue his happy exploits at the Alamo or the Alhambra.
Those old days are golden days! True, a centipede now and then makes a promenade50 of one’s slumbering51 countenance52; or a stinging lizard53 employs his sting upon one with all of the burning first effects that attend being shot with a Colt’s-45; or some sleepy rattlesnake insinuates54 himself into one’s unbidden blankets, having a plan to bunk55 in with one and a settled resolve to give battle if refused an honest half of the bed. But these adventures overtake one only in hottest summer weather, and this seasonal56 fact so narrows interest that Dodge seldom wears them on its mind.
In those old golden days Dodge is a democracy. Caste does not occur; no hill, no hollow of human inequality ruffles57 the bland58 surface of the body politic59. There is but one aristocracy and that is the aristocracy of courage, but one title of nobility and that the name of “a square man.”
And Dodge can exercise forbearance. Your cowboy, uplifted of Old Jordan, may ride his pony60 through the streets and spur it to the pace of meteors. But he must not ride it upon the sidewalks, for that would mean insult to the dignity and defiance62 of the power of Dodge. He may freely empty his midnight pistol, so that he empty it at the moon. But he must not enfilade the causeways or turn its muzzle63 upon any house of entertainment, however much the latter has offended. In brief, he may wax either vigorous or vociferous64 to what pitch best suits his fancy, saving this that his vigours and vociferations must not be transacted65 at the public’s expense. Dodge, too, takes cognisance of an impulse and construes66 a motive67. When Palo Duro Pete, from his seat in the Dodge Opera House, arises in a torrent68 of tears, pulls his six-shooter and slams away at Miss Witherspoon, while that cantatrice is singing “Home, Sweet Home,” Dodge wholly understands the sobbing69, shooting Palo Duro. Had he ridden away on another’s pony, or sought to shift the title to a mule70 by heating a running iron and changing its brand, Dodge would not have attributed the act to any excess of emotion. It would have recognised a crime, and dealt coldly with Palo Duro as with a criminal taken in the felon71 fact. On the Opera House occasion, however, it is plain that Palo Duro has opened upon Miss Witherspoon in on ecstasy72 of admiration. The shot is in its way a compliment, and meant for the exaltation of that celebrated73 soprano. The weeping Palo Duro is moved, not of murderous impulse, but a spirit of adoration74 that can only explain itself with a gun. Dodge knows this. Dodge feels it, admits it; and since Palo Duro works no harm with his testimonial, Dodge believes it has fully75 corrected him when it drags him from the theatre, and “buffaloes” him into a more week-a-day and less gala frame of mind.
While Dodge is capable of toleration, it can also draw the line. When Mr. Webster accepts a customer’s wooden leg as security for drinks, and sets the pledge behind the Alamo bar, it does much to endanger his standing77. Mr. Webster averts78 a scandal only by returning the wooden leg; and at that Cimarron Bill has already given his opinion.
“Any gent,” observes Cimarron Bill, “who’ll let a party hock personal fragments of himse’f that a-way for licker, is onfit to drink with a nigger or eat with a dog,” and Dodge in the silence with which it receives this announcement, is held by many as echoing the sentiment expressed.
Those old days be golden days, and the good citizenry of Dodge are at their generous best. And this is the rule of conduct: Should you go broke, everybody comes to your rescue; should you marry, everybody rejoices at the wedding; should a child be born unto you to call you “father,” everybody drinks with you; should you fall ill, everybody sits up with you; should you die, everybody comes to the funeral—that is, everybody who is out of jail.
Rattlesnake Sanders, forgiven by Mr. Kelly and restored to his rightful art of cows as theretofore practiced by him along the White Woman, had frequent flour, bacon, and saleratus reason to visit Dodge. Being in Dodge, he dined, supped and breakfasted at the Wright House, and it was at that place of regale80 he met Miss Barndollar. The young lady was a waitress, and her intimates called her “Calamity81 Carry” for the crockery that she broke. Her comings in and going out were marked of many a crash, as a consignment82 of dishes went grandly to the floor. But help was sparse83 and hard to get, and the Wright House management overlooked these mishaps84, hoping that Miss Barndollar, when she had enlarged her experience, would be capable of better things.
On the day that Rattlesnake Sanders first beheld85 Miss Barndollar, he came into the dining-room of the Wright House seeking recuperation from the fatigues86 of a 60-mile ride. When he had drawn87 his chair to the table, and disposed of his feet so that the spurs which graced his heels did not mutually interfere88, Miss Barndollar came and stood at his shoulder.
“Roast beef, b’iled buffalo76 tongue, plover89 potpie, fried antelope90 steak, an’ baked salt hoss an’ beans,” observed Miss Barndollar in a dreamy sing-song. The Wright House did not print its menu, and the bill of fare was rehearsed by the waitresses to the wayfarer91 within its walls.
At the sound of Miss Barndollar’s voice, Rattlesnake Sanders looked up. He made no other response, but seemed to drift away in visions born of a contemplation of the graces of Miss Barndollar.
This last was the more odd since Miss Barndollar, in looks, was astray from any picture of loveliness. Perhaps Cimarron Bill when later he discussed with Mr. Short the loves of Miss Barndollar and Rattlesnake Sanders, fairly set forth the state of affairs.
“Which of course,” remarked Cimarron Bill, gallantly92 cautious, “thar was never the lady born I’d call ugly; but speakin’ of this Calamity Carry, I’m driven to remark that she has a disadvantageous face.”
With Rattlesnake Sanders it was the old, old story of love at first sight. His ideals were not those of the critical Cimarron Bill, and he beheld with different eyes. In those high cheekbones, irregular nose, wide mouth, and freckled93 face he discovered charms. Miss Barndollar to the besotted Rattlesnake was a lamp of beauty. The smitten94 one forgot his hunger, forgot the list of edibles95 that Miss Barndollar had told off, and sat tongue-tied.
Life is replete96 of such dulcet97 mysteries—the mystery of Miss Barndollar’s ugliness and Rattlesnake Sander’s instant love. It was such to inspire the late farmer philosopher and almanac maker98 when he musingly99 related the paradox100:
“They do say Love is blind, but I’m dinged if some fellers can’t see more in their gals101 than I can.”
Miss Barndollar, waiting to be instructed as to the appetite of Rattlesnake Sanders, grew impatient with his rapt staring. She repeated her announcement:
“Roast beef, b’iled buffalo tongue, plover potpie, fried antelope steak, an’ baked salt hoss an’ beans!”
Sixty seconds later, the fatuous102 Rattlesnake still silently staring, Miss Barndollar broke a bread-plate on his head and went her way.
It was like clenching103 the driven nail—that bread-plate episode. The jolt104 to his faculties crystallised the love in Rattlesnake which before had been in solution, and he became Miss Barndollar’s slave.
And yet it is no more than justice to the lady to explain that her bread-plate descent upon the spellbound Rattlesnake was the fruit of a misunderstanding. Being unaware105 of what soft sentiments she had inspired, Miss Barndollar conceived his glances to have been bestowed106 upon her in mockery. This was shown when she passed the cashier as she swept from the room.
“What was the trouble, Calamity?” asked the cashier, who had witnessed Miss Barndollar’s reproof107, without knowing its cause. “What did that jayhawker do?”
“Which he stared at me,” replied the outraged109 Miss Barndollar. “I’ll teach sech horned toads110 that if my face is freckled, I’m a lady all the same.”
When and where and how the headlong Rattlesnake found time and place to woo Miss Barndollar went unexplained to Dodge. Its earliest news was when the whisper leaped from lip to lip that Miss Barndollar and Rattlesnake were to wed79.
“Is that so, Rattlesnake?” asked Mr. Short, referring to the event as promised by gossip. “Is it straight? You’ll excuse me, Rattlesnake, if I adds that I hopes an’ trusts it is. Dodge wouldn’t stand no triflin’ with the ontried heart of Calamity, an’ if you-all is simply flirtin’ with the affections of that pore girl I wouldn’t fill your moccasins for a small clay farm.”
“Flirtin’,” retorted the scandalised Rattlesnake. “Luke, you insults me! Calamity an’ me is goin’ to hook up followin’ the spring round-up.”
After making this declaration, Rattlesnake, in a kind of ecstatic hysteria at the glowing future before him, withdrew to a corner of the Long Branch and lapsed111 into a dance which had its rise with the Cheyennes, and was known among its copper112 coloured authors as the Love Dance of the Catamounts.
While Rattlesnake Sanders was thus relieving his soul, Cimarron Bill, who was present, regarded his mad doings with a dubious113 brow.
“That Rattlesnake person’s locoed!” said Cimarron, turning sadly to Mr. Short. “I can’t read signal smokes an’ don’t know the meanin’ of signs if that maverick114 don’t wind up in a crazy house, cuttin’ paper dolls.” “He ain’t locoed,” explained Mr. Short, with a confidence born of experiences that went beyond those of Cimarron Bill. “That Rattlesnake boy’s in love. They allers ghost-dance an’ go pirootin’ ’round eediotic that a-way.”
Cimarron Bill was not convinced, and took later opportunity to say as much to Mr. Masterson. He urged that the nuptials115 threatened by Miss Barndollar and Rattlesnake Sanders be suppressed. Cimarron insisted that as Sheriff of Ford116 it was Mr. Masterson’s business to interfere.
“Which the way I regyards these proceedin’s,” explained Cimarron, “they’re a menace to the peace of Dodge. Them two people’ll fight worse’n McBride an’ Bridget did. You ought to stop ’em, Bat.”
“How’d you stop ’em?” returned Mr. Masterson. “You can stop folks shooting one another, but you can no more stop ’em marryin’ one another than you can stop a cyclone118.”
“Just the same,” said Cimarron, stubbornly, “it’s your dooty to try.”
This conversation took place in the door of Mr. Kelly’s Alhambra. While Mr. Masterson and the gloomy Cimarron were talking, Miss Barndollar and Rattlesnake Sanders came down the street. As the pair arrived opposite Mr. Masterson and Cimarron, the infatuated Rattlesnake jocosely119 placed his arm about Miss Barndollar’s waist. Whereupon that virgin120 coyly bestowed upon Rattlesnake a resounding121 blow.
“I’ll teach ye!” cried Miss Barndollar, meanwhile giving Rattlesnake an arch look, “I’ll teach ye whose waist you’re tamperin’ with! I’ll nacherally swat ye ev’ry time y’ do it.”
“Ain’t she got sperit!” exclaimed Rattlesnake, winking122 a blissful eye at Mr. Masterson. “Thar’s nothin’ Texas about her! She’s due to grade as cornfed, my Calamity is, or I’m a shorthorn!”
The happy pair continued onward123 to Mr. Wright’s store and set about pricing pots and kettles and what other bric-à-brac may become the basis of a primitive124 housekeeping.
“Thar!” said Cimarron Bill, decisively. “You can now tell how that eediot Rattlesnake ain’t cap’ble of se’f-protection. It’s not only ag’in your oaths of office, but it’s inhooman not to interfere. Before them two has been married a week, that Calamity girl’ll t’ar into pore Rattlesnake with her ten nails an’ make saddlestrings of him.”
“That’s your view, Cimarron,” retorted Mr. Masterson. “Now to my mind Rattlesnake and Calamity’ll get along as peaceful as two pups in a basket. Besides, speaking of public interest, do you know how many inhabitants Dodge has lost during the official year?”
“No,” said Cimarron Bill, “I don’t. But whatever has that got to do with Calamity ropin’ up this yere innocent Rattlesnake?”
“There were seven to get bumped off,” continued Mr. Masterson, disregarding the question, “exclusive of McBride’s Bridget. Seven; and I don’t count Mexicans and non-resident cowboys who came in with the herds127 and expired in the natural course of festivals which they, themselves, inaugurated. Seven! That’s knocking a hole in Dodge’s census128.”
“But why,” protested the honest Cimarron, “should you-all punish Rattlesnake for that? He don’t down any of them seven. He’s pulled his gun jest once this year, an’ then he only busts129 the crust on Kell, an’ no harm done.”
“Whatever was the harm?” retorted the obstinate131 Cimarron. “Kell’s inside thar runnin’ his joint132, ain’t he? Besides the fault was Kell’s. Rattlesnake rings in a cold hand on Kell, as a gent every now an’ then will, an’ Kell taunts133 him about it. If Kell’s goin’ to comment on a cold hand he’d ought to do it with his six-shooter. To go tantalisin’ Rattlesnake about it with his mouth that a-way, makes what I calls a case of crim’nal carelessness, an’ leaves Kell responsible. But whether it does or not, why rooin Rattlesnake’s life with this Calamity lady because of them other seven? Thar’s neither jestice nor reason in it.”
“Cimarron,” replied Mr. Masterson, disgustedly, “you’re forever roping at the wrong steer135. There’s no ruin in the business. This is the idea: We lose seven. Now when Rattlesnake and Calamity are married, they may do something to repair our loss. If they were to jump in and have seven children, that would make it an even break, wouldn’t it?”
“Still,” contended Cimarron Bill, “I don’t see why the losses of Dodge should be saddled onto Rattlesnake. It ain’t right to heap burdens on him that, properly regyarded, belongs to the commoonity.”
“Well,” observed Mr. Masterson, turning on his heel for a stroll down the street, “I won’t dispute all day with you. Rattlesnake’s of full age, free, and half white, and if he wants to wed Calamity it’s his American privilege.”
“Which you could say the same,” returned Cimarron Bill, “if Rattlesnake was aimin’ at sooicide.”
It is to be supposed that Miss Barndollar and Rattlesnake Sanders would have drifted quietly and uneventfully to the altar had it not been for the intervention136 of an accident. Rattlesnake was aiding Mr. Trask in cutting out a particular mule from the bunch in his corrals. His pony, slipping with its unshod hoofs137, fell and in falling broke Rattlesnake’s left leg—both bones—below the knee.
There was no resident surgeon in Dodge. There had been; but an Eastern past having found him out, he vanished between sun and sun. In the emergency presented by Rattlesnake’s fractured leg a surgeon was summoned from Cimarron.
The Cimarron practitioner138 was a young, sappy, callow, pinefeather form of scientist, excessively in the springtime of his career, and no one to excite confidence. Rattlesnake Sanders debated him with distrustful eye, but, since nothing better presented, was fain to surrender to him his broken leg. The sappy one set the leg and withdrew, programming a call for the next day.
Everything, according to Cimarron Bill who came upon the scene an hour after the sappy one departed, was wrong about that leg-setting. The bandage was an error, the splints were a crime. Their plain effect was to torture the stricken Rattlesnake. The views of Rattlesnake fell in with those of Cimarron Bill. Between groans139 and maledictions, heaped upon the sappy one, he wholly agreed with him.
The pair were alone at the moment, and acting140 in concert they removed the offending bandages and splints. Giving the patient a bottle of arnica wherewith to temporarily console his aches, Cimarron, with a fine conceit141 of his powers that commonly would have challenged admiration, walked over to the carpenter shop in Mr. Trask’s corral, and fashioned new splints after original designs of his own. Then, with the help of Rattlesnake, he re-set the leg and restored the bandages as seemed to him best and mete61. Following these deeds the worthy142 Cimarron and his patient took a drink, looked upon their work, and pronounced it good.
Those feats143 in medicine and surgery were performed in an upper chamber144 of the Wright House which on the spur of the moment had been set aside as a hospital in the interests of Rattlesnake Sanders. The first to learn of them, beyond the two therein engaged, was Miss Barndollar. She had been with her beloved Rattlesnake while the lawful145 sappy one was busy about his repairs. Coming again into the room following the exploits of Cimarron Bill, her glance of love was sharp to mark the change.
“Whatever’s up?” asked the wondering Miss Barndollar.
“Nothin’s up,” replied Rattlesnake. “Only me an’ Cimarron, not approvin’ of them malpractices of that jacklaig doctor, has had a new deal. An’ that reminds me,” he continued, turning to Cimarron, who was surveying the bandaged result with a satisfied air; “give me my pistol. I’ll keep it in bed with me a whole lot, an’ when that igneramus comes chargin’ in to-morry mornin’ I’ll stand him off.”
“But you mustn’t shoot,” warned Cimarron, as he brought the weapon. “When he shows up, tell him to pull his freight. An’ if he hesitates, sort o’ take to menacin’ at him with the gun. But don’t shoot none; Bat’s gettin’ that partic’ler he wouldn’t stand it.”
The composed manners of both Rattlesnake and Cimarron worked upon the credulity of Miss Barndollar. In the face of so much confidence it was difficult to doubt. Still, she cross-questioned Cimarron when she found him alone on the Wright House porch.
“Be you shore,” she asked, “that Rattlesnake’s laig’ll come right? Which if it’s out o’ plumb146 when he’s cured, I’ll shorely make you hard to find!”
“Rattlesnake’s laig,” returned Cimarron, reassuringly147, “will eemerge from them splints as straight as Luke Short’s deal box, an’ said implement148 of faro-bank has allers been reckoned the straightest thing in town. You need give yoursel’f no oneasiness, Calamity.”
“Which I’ll take your word,” responded Miss Barndollar. “But if that laig ain’t all that heart could wish, I’ll keep you plenty oneasy for the balance of your days!”
Mr. Masterson, when given word of the matter, was somewhat troubled by Cimarron’s unlooked for début in the field of surgery. Like Miss Barndollar, Mr. Masterson asked questions.
“Did you ever set anybody’s leg before?” he inquired.
“Did I ever set any sport’s laigs before!” retorted Cimarron Bill, with a yawn of careless indifference149. “I’ve set twenty cows’ laigs, an’ what’s the difference? Thar’s nothin’ to the play. It’s as easy as fittin’ together the two ends of a broken stick, with your eyes shet. Of course them doctor sharps raise the long yell about it bein’ difficult, aimin’ tharby to bluff150 you out o’ your bankroll.”
Upon his arrival next day, the sappy one was much confounded to find his patient propped151 up in bed, smoking a bad cigar. His confusion was increased when the patient drew a Colt’s-45 from beneath the blankets, surveying him the while with a loathely scowl152. The sappy one thought that Rattlesnake Sanders had added insanity153 to a broken leg. This theory was strengthened when the forbidding Rattlesnake waved him from the room with his weapon. The sappy one went; he said that he loved his art, but not well enough to attempt its practice within point-blank range of a hostile six-shooter. When the sappy one found himself again in the street, Jack, who, although the Weekly Planet had been dead for months, was still beset154 of all the instincts of a newsmaker, laid bare to him the interference of Cimarron Bill in the affairs of that fractured leg. The sappy one waxed exceedingly bitter, and spoke155 freely of Cimarron Bill.
“He called you an empiric,” said Jack, relating the strictures of the sappy one to Cimarron an hour later.
“A what?”
“An empiric.”
“Spell it,” and Cimarron drew a deep, resentful breath.
“E-m-p-i-r-i-c.”
“Whatever does it mean?”
“It means a four-flush,” said Jack, who was liberal in definitions.
“I won’t shoot him,” observed Cimarron, after a profound pause; “no I won’t spring no gun on him, for that might prove disturbin’ to the public peace. Which I’ll merely burn him at the stake.”
The sappy one was miles away from Dodge when these flame and fagot threats were formulated156; and as he took pains to remain away thereafter, he gave Cimarron Bill scant157 chance to execute them. At long range, however, he continued to make his malignant158 influence felt. He sent for Miss Barndollar and told her that Rattlesnake’s one remaining hope was to have that mismanaged leg re-broken and re-set. Failing these measures, the sappy one gave it as his professional opinion that the leg would look like an interrogation point. As an upcome, Miss Barndollar came back weeping to Dodge.
“But the laig’s O. K.,” remonstrated159 Rattlesnake Sanders, when Miss Barndollar unfurled to him the sappy one’s predictions. “It’s comin’ round as solid as a sod house.”
“But you’ll do it to please me, Rattlesnake,” coaxed160 Miss Barndollar. “I’m a proud girl, an’ I don’t want to wed no gent with a laig like a corkscrew.”
Rattlesnake was shaken by the tender persistency161 of Miss Barndollar. However, he said that he must see Cimarron Bill.
“What do you think yourse’f, Cimarron?” asked Rattlesnake earnestly, when the worthy Cimarron had been rounded up by Jack for the conference.
“That limb,” observed Cimarron, judgmatically, and cocking a wise eye like a crow looking into a jug162, “that limb, as framed up, is a credit to us both. It’s simply aces27 before the draw! Don’t tech it.”
“But Calamity allows she’ll throw me down about that weddin’.”
Miss Barndollar was not in the room, and Cimarron took on a look of grim cunning.
“Ev’ry cloud has a silver linin’,” remarked Cimarron, enigmatically. “Rattlesnake, this yere will turn out the luckiest laig you ever had.”
Following these foggy announcements, Cimarron said that it would be a point of honour with him to prevent any intromission with the leg of Rattlesnake Sanders.
“This offensive sawbones,” he explained, “publically allooded to me as a empirick. In so doin’ he compels me to go through the way I’m headed. I shall consider any attempt to break that laig again as an attack upon my character, an’ conduct myse’f accordin’ with a gun.”
“That sounds on the level,” observed Rattlesnake to Miss Barndollar, who had come into the room in time to hear the ultimatum163 of Cimarron. “For us to go tamperin’ with this yere member that a-way, would be equiv’lent to castin’ aspersions on Cimarron.”
“You never loved me!” murmured Miss Barndollar, beginning to cry.
“Calamity!” exclaimed Rattlesnake, reproachfully. “You’re my soul!”
“An’ yet,” she sobbed164, rocking herself in her chair, “you refooses my least request! Is it love to ast me to go through life as the wife of a party with a game laig?”
“But Calamity!”
“I knows gents who’d break their hearts for me, let alone their laigs!”
Rattlesnake looked appealingly at Cimarron, who was bearing himself with studied dignity.
“Which you’ll nacherally thank me a heap for this some day!” said Cimarron, replying to the look.
“Calamity,” cooed Rattlesnake, “let me have a word alone with Cimarron.”
“You-all can have what words you please,” snorted Miss Barndollar, beginning to dry her indignant eyes, “you can have what words you please with this person. But I wants to saw it off on you right yere, Rattlesnake Sanders, that no lady would be jestified in entrustin’ her footure to a gent who’d go argufyin’ an’ h’ar-splittin’ about a triflin’ matter like this. You’ll either get that laig fixed165, or our engagement’s at an end. Yes, sir,” concluded Miss Barndollar in a sudden gust134 of temper, “it’s no longer a laig. Which it’s now ceased to be a laig and become a principle,” and Miss Barndollar flounced from the room.
“The first day I can ride,” groaned166 Rattlesnake, “I’ll shore descend32 upon that sawbones all spraddled out, an’ obtain a spec’men of his h’ar!”
Calming himself, Rattlesnake discoursed167 sagely168 and at length with Cimarron, saying that he was in favour of yielding to the demands of Miss Barndollar. The leg could easily be rebroken. Both he and Cimarron would of course understand that it did not require such treatment. They would agree that it was simply a concession169 to Miss Barndollar, and not to be held as reflecting on Cimarron.
“Because, d’ye see,” said Rattlesnake, “take it every way from the jack, I wouldn’t miss marryin’ Calamity if it meant breakin’ a dozen laigs. I think we’d better let her have her way, Cimarron. You don’t know girls like I do; but the fact is, you allers want to humour ’em in little things so’s to have your own way in big ones. You call her in, Cimarron, an’ tell her she’s plumb right about this fool laig.”
In the teeth of this specious170 argument, Cimarron still persisted with his objections. He said that the attitude of Miss Barndollar was born of vanity. He pointed171 out that the much debated leg was as straight as a gun barrel. He re-told the insult put upon himself in the epithet172 of empiric. Constantly, he hinted that untold173 good lay behind his present obstinacy174, and that Rattlesnake would admit his gratitude175 therefore in days to come. He closed by suggesting that they send for Mr. Masterson.
With a talent for compromise, and prone176 to middle paths, Mr. Masterson believed that, inasmuch as a fortnight had already elapsed, Miss Barndollar ought not to object to the leg continuing as it then was. Rattlesnake Sanders would give his promise to have the leg instantly refractured in event of any final queerness.
Upon this proposal being carried to Miss Barndollar by Jack, who was delegated to the trust by Rattlesnake and Mr. Masterson, she called that youth a “cub prairie dog” and demanded his authority for meddling177 with two throbbing178 hearts. Jack, deeply chagrined179, pled the commission of Rattlesnake and Mr. Masterson. Miss Barndollar wept, and Jack, being mercurial180 and a child of active sympathies, wept with her. In the end Miss Barndollar dried her eyes, kissed Jack and bid him return to the callous181 Rattlesnake and say that she had cast him out of her heart forever.
“Tell him,” said Miss Barndollar, “that he has shown himse’f keerless of my feelin’s an’ I’m mighty182 lucky to be saved in time.”
Cimarron Bill wore a brow of cloudy victory when Jack made his report, while Rattlesnake Sanders swore in a discouraged way. As for Mr. Masterson, he counseled Rattlesnake to be of cheer, and gave it as his belief that Miss Barndollar would come back to his arms in time. Mr. Masterson was on the brink183 of basing this conclusion on the fact that Miss Barndollar would not be able to find another who would have her, but caught himself on the verge184. He said instead that she was only testing Rattlesnake’s love.
“Just let everything go as it lays,” concluded Mr. Masterson, consolingly, “and when you are out and around again, it’s two for one that you and Calamity’ll be like turtledoves.”
Rattlesnake said he hoped so, while Cimarron shook his head.
“That’s the luckiest laig you ever broke, Rattlesnake,” was the mysterious remark of Cimarron as the conference adjourned185.
Rattlesnake Sanders, being recovered, invited the judgment of Mr. Masterson concerning his legs.
“What I wants,” explained Rattlesnake, “is an opinion at once onprejewdyced an’ offishul, an’ nacherally I asts Bat.”
Mr. Masterson, after a most critical survey of Rattlesnake from, as he himself expressed it, “foretop of fetlock,” gave his honour for it that nothing showed amiss.
“Your leg,” said Mr. Masterson, “is as straight as it ever was.”
“Straighter,” chimed in the confident Cimarron, who stood at his elbow. “Rattlesnake’s laigs, on account of bein’ frequent storm-soaked about the herds an’ then dried preematoorly by camp fires, was a heap warped186. Now they’re as par’llel as two fiddle strings125. I ain’t the gent to say it, seein’ I set that fracture myse’f, but it’s my view Rattlesnake’s laigs quits winner on the deal.”
These assurances gave mighty satisfaction to Rattlesnake Sanders. So much set up by them was he, that he sought a meeting with Miss Barndollar, meditating187 in her shell-like ear a loving word. The lady was in the Wright House kitchen, and observing her lover’s approach made haste to slam and bolt the door in his adoring face. Sinking under this rebuff, Rattlesnake withdrew to the Alhambra, and became grievously drunk.
The next day, Rattlesnake Sanders again attempted converse188 with his obdurate189 sweetheart as she was coming from Mr. Wright’s store. She repelled190 him with double scorn.
“Not bein’ desirous,” observed Miss Barndollar on this withering191 occasion, “of the attentions of no sech tarripin as you, I forbids you speakin’ to me now or yereafter.”
It is to be supposed that a deal of Miss Barndollar’s hardness was the growth of pique192. Now that the unreasonable193 character of her surgical194 demands had been demonstrated, her resentment195 was multiplied. Also, because of this second effort at an interview, she complained to Mr. Masterson.
“Be you Sheriff of Ford I’d like for to ast?” she demanded.
“Why?” asked Mr. Masterson, humble196 but defensive197. Mr. Masterson owned a hare’s heart where a woman was concerned, and his instinct was for the fugitive198 and the non-committal. Wherefore he put the query199, being heedful to throw into his tone a propitiating200 quaver of apology: “Why? What’s fetched loose?”
“Nothin’,” returned Miss Barndollar, in her most icy manner, “only I dee-mands protection from that profligate201.” Here she pointed a chilling finger at the forlorn Rattlesnake who, with head bowed and in an attitude of deepest dejection, stood leaning in the Long Branch door.
“Who, Rattlesnake?” returned Mr. Masterson, with a gentle purpose of reconciliation202. “Why, he dotes on you! He loves you like a prairie fire.”
“Which the love,” said Miss Barndollar, with a sudden vehemence203 that sent shafts204 of terror to the soul of Mr. Masterson, “of sech miscreants205 is the worst outrage108 they can commit. I’m a weak female, an’ I dee-mands protection. Likewise, you’d better give it to me, Bat Masterson, or I’ll lay up trouble for your gray ha’rs.”
“Taking her up one side and down the other, Rattlesnake,” observed Mr. Masterson, in the confab which in deference206 to the threats of Miss Barndollar he deemed it wise to hold with that young man, “my notion is that you’d better hit the trail for the White Woman, an’ give Calamity a chance to cool. She’s a whole lot heated just now, but most likely in a month, or may be in two, it’ll be safe to say ‘Howdy!’ to her, and bid her the time of day.”
“Then you’d give her up?” asked the mournful Rattlesnake.
“Only for a spell,” replied Mr. Masterson, cheerfully. “But you see yourself there’s nothing to be gained by hankering ’round her at this time. The way she feels you couldn’t get near enough to her to hand her a ripe peach. Later, it’ll be different, and I shall hope to shake a moccasin at your wedding.”
“Which I’ll take your steer, Bat. Also, it’s the last I’ll have to do with that Calamity. I shore should not regret surrenderin’ a lady so narrow as to hold that the only evidence a gent can give of his affection is to go about cripplin’ himse’f promiscus.”
“Now don’t come to any rash decisions,” urged the prudent208 Mr. Masterson. “Dodge wants those nuptials to come off, and if you’ll give Calamity time to round on herself, they will. She’s only a bit peevish209 with you for getting well, but that’ll fade away. You go back to your cattle, Rattlesnake, and leave me to ride herd126 on Calamity. The moment she begins to melt I’ll send you word.”
It has been the puzzle of every age that woman, with her infinite superiority over man in all that is morally, mentally and physically210 beautiful, should be seldom or never satisfied. Within three days after Rattlesnake Sanders rode away, Miss Barndollar met Mr. Masterson in the thoroughfares of Dodge and, with tears guttering211 her freckled cheeks, openly charged upon him the crime of their cruel separation.
“Rattlesnake’s the only gent I ever loved!” she sobbed, “an’ yere you onfeelin’ly cuts in an’ stampedes him out o’ my very arms.”
Mr. Masterson was somewhat discouraged, and extricated212 himself from the interview with what polite speed he might. None the less, about the roots of his soul he felt a self-gratulatory flutter. His remedy had worked; his advice was justified213. He had recommended for the haughty214 coldness of Miss Barndollar a course of what Christian215 Scientists would describe as “absent treatment” and here was the lady yielding to it like a willow216 to the wind. Mr. Masterson had cause for exultation217, and unbent moderately to that sentiment. Withal he was practical, and lost no time in moving to reunite the lovers. In this, however, Mr. Masterson was guilty of an error. He dispatched Cimarron to bring in Rattlesnake, when he should have sent the sympathetic Jack.
“Go over,” said Mr. Masterson to Cimarron, “and break the news to Rattlesnake. Tell him he wins, and that there’s nothing now to do but consider Calamity’s feelings.”
Cimarron Bill sullenly218 threw a saddle on a pony, and pointed away into the desolate219 north. His heart was not for this journey; it was to him as though he were summoning Rattlesnake not for his marriage but for his execution.
“Bat’s takin’ a heap on himse’f!” he muttered. “As for me; I washes my hands of the whole play.”
Mr. Masterson said afterward220 that Cimarron Bill, in that matter of the love-coil between Miss Barndollar and Rattlesnake, betrayed a side of his character hitherto unknown. Mr. Masterson should have reflected. Never before had he been called upon to consider Cimarron while under what peculiar221 pressures were here exerted. Deep within the inner recesses222 of Cimarron’s nature, abode223 objections to matrimony as rooted as the hills.
“An’ in partic’lar,” Cimarron had observed, when once he mooted224 the subject with Mr. Short as part of a review they were then and there making of the conjugal225 experiences of Mr. McBride and Bridget, “an’ in partic’lar I contends that if the world must have sech things as matrimony, then no gent should be pinned down to jest one wife. An’ for this reason,” he continued, waving an impressive paw: “It ain’t good sense. Is it good farobank sense to put your whole bundle on one kyard? No. Then it ain’t good weddin’ sense for to resk your whole heart on one lady. She may fall to lose, an’ then where be you at? It’s my idee that if a party must go ag’inst this weddin’ game, he’ll be safer if he spreads his bets.”
Holding fast to these beliefs, Cimarron Bill rode forth full of an unconscious willingness to play the marplot. He would deliver the message of Mr. Masterson; but he would deliver it in such fashion that, when the worst occurred, as it hereafter—according to his thinking—must most certainly occur, he, Cimarron, could felicitate himself with the reflection that he had in no sort contributed towards bringing that worst about. He would bear the message of Mr. Masterson; he would also proffer226 warnings all his own. Should the locoed Rattlesnake then persist in riding open-eyed to Dodge and to destruction—why, his blood be on his head!
It was in this frame that Cimarron Bill sat down to flap-jacks with Rattlesnake Sanders that night at the latter’s camp on the White Woman. And this was the conversation that passed between the pair:
“I’ve been sent over to rope you up, Rattlesnake,” quoth Cimarron. “Calamity says you’re to wash off your warpaint an’ report at the agency.”
“Does she still adhere to them demands about bustin’ my laig?” asked Rattlesnake. “Not that it much matters,” he added hastily, for the doughty227 resolve to see no more of Miss Barndollar, expressed to Mr. Masterson, had long since oozed228 away, “not that it matters. The round-ups are eight weeks away, an’ I’d easy be able to ride by then.”
After this exchange the two munched229 wordless flapjacks, diversified230 by mouthfuls of salt pork. Rattlesnake Sanders broke the silence.
“Then I takes it we starts back by sun-up.”
“Rattlesnake,” observed Cimarron Bill, with a pompous231 solemnity that was not wanting in effect upon his auditor232, “you’ve come to a bad, boggy233, quicksand crossin’. My advice is not to jump your pony off the bank, but ride in slow.”
“As how?” asked Rattlesnake Sanders, somewhat mystified.
“You think I’m honest, don’t you?” demanded Cimarron.
“Shore, I think you’re honest,” returned Rattlesnake Sanders. Then, cautiously: “But still I allers sort o’ allowed you had you’re honesty onder control.”
“Well, this is the straight goods at any rate,” said Cimarron. “Thar’s two kinds of folks you must never surrender to: ladies an’ Injuns. Surrender to either is the shore preloode to torture. For you, now, to go surgin’ rapturously into Dodge, like a drunkard to a barbecue, would be the crownin’ disaster of your c’reer.”
“Whatever then should be my little game?”
“It’s this a-way: I said you can’t afford to surrender to Injuns an’ ladies. But you can make treaties with ’em. That gives you a chance to preeserve yourse’f for yourse’f. What you ought to do is plant yourse’f as solid as a gob of mud, an’ send back word that you’re thinkin’ it over.”
“But s’pose Calamity goes in the air, an’ says it’s all off?”
“That’s a resk no brave man should refoose to take. You want to remember that she slammed a door in your face; that she set Bat to run you out o’ camp.” These reminders234 clearly stiffened235 Rattlesnake Sanders. “For you to surrender, onconditional, would incite236 her to new crooelties that would lay over them former inhoomanities like a king-full lays over a pa’r of treys. Once,” went on Cimarron, who began to be intoxicated237 with his own eloquence238, “once a party back in St. Looey shows me a picture of a man chained to a rock, an’ a turkey buzzard t’arin’ into him, beak239 an’ claw. He said it was a sport named Prometheus bein’ fed upon by vultures. In my pore opinion that party was barkin’ at a knot. The picture wasn’t meant for Prometheus an’ the vultures. The painter who daubs it had nothin’ on his mind but jest to show, pictor’ally, exactly what marriage is like. It was nothin’ more nor less than that gifted genius’ notion of a married man done in colours.”
This outburst so moulded the hopes and fears, especially the fears, of Rattlesnake that he gave himself completely to the guidance of Cimarron Bill.
“I’m to stand a pat hand,” said Rattlesnake tentatively, “an’ you’ll go cavortin’ back an’ tell Calamity I’ll let her know.”
“An’ yet,” interposed Cimarron Bill, “I think on that p’int I’d better be the bearer of a note in writin’. Ladies is plenty imaginative, an’ if I takes to packin’ in sech messages, verbal, Calamity may allow I’m lyin’ an’ lay for me.”
There was no material for letter-making about the camp. The ingenious Cimarron suggested an “Injun letter.” Acting on his own happy proposal he tore a small board from the top of a box that had held a dozen cans of corn, and set to work with charcoal240. Cimarron Bill drew in one corner what might have passed for the sketch241 of a woman, while the center was adorned242 with an excited antelope in full flight, escaping over a ridge117.
“I’ll mark the antelope, ‘Bar D’,” said Cimarron, “so’s she’ll know it’s you, Bar D bein’ your brand.”
“But whatever is Calamity to onderstand by them totems?”
“Nothin’ only that you’re goin’ to be a heap hard to ketch,” replied Cimarron. “It’ll teach her your valyoo.”
The antelope looked vastly like a disfigured goat, and the resemblance disturbed Rattlesnake.
“That’ll be all right,” returned Cimarron, confidently; “I’ll explain that it’s an antelope. All pictures has to be explained.”
When Cimarron Bill laid before Miss Barndollar the message embodied243 in that “Injun letter,” she was so swept away by woe244 that even the hardened messenger was shocked. More and worse: Miss Barndollar, with a lack of logic245 for which her sex has celebration, laid these new troubles, as she had the old, at the door of Mr. Masterson.
“You druv him from me!” cried Miss Barndollar, as she reproached Mr. Masterson with her loss. “In your heartlessness you druv him from me! An’ now, although Sheriff of this yere county, you fails to restore him to my heart.” Throughout that day and the next Miss Barndollar made it a practice to burst into tears at sight of Mr. Masterson. “Which I wants my Rattlesnake,” she wailed246.
Mr. Masterson was turning desperate. This mood found display in an exclamation247 that was wrung248 from him while refreshing249 his weary soul in the Long Branch.
“There’s no use talking, Luke,” observed Mr. Masterson, turning in his despair to Mr. Short, “Dodge can’t stand this! Calamity must and shall be married! If Rattlesnake won’t have her, some other man must.”
In making this last remark Mr. Masterson let his glance fall by chance on Cimarron Bill. That determined250 person was startled to the core.
“You needn’t look at me!” he roared. “Which I gives notice I’ll never be married alive!”
“No one’s thinking of you, Cimarron.” retorted Mr. Masterson, and the suspicious one breathed more evenly.
Mr. Masterson and Mr. Short consulted in low tones across the counter. At last Mr. Short straightened up as one who is clear, and said:
“Calamity in effect offers herse’f to this Rattlesnake person, an’ he equiv’cates. Thar’s two things in this republic which no white man has a license251 to decline; one’s the presidency252, an’ t’other’s a lady. This Rattlesnake has no rights left.”
“But,” said Mr. Masterson, hesitating over the point, “I don’t quite see my way clear—as Sheriff.”
“Speakin’ technicle, you’re c’rrect,” observed Mr. Short. “An’ it’s thar where you makes the shift. Nail him for shootin’ up Kell that time. You-all knows me, Bat,” continued Mr. Short. “I’m a mighty conserv’tive man, speshully about other folks’ love affairs. An’ yet I gives it as my jedgment that steps should be took.”
Mr. Masterson, bidding Cimarron Bill follow with a buckboard, started for the White Woman.
It was in the afternoon of the next day, and Rattlesnake Sanders was seated by his fire, wrapped in gloomy thought.
“Hands up!” was his earliest notice of the threatening nearness of Mr. Masterson who, dismounting two hundred yards away and beyond a swell253, had crept cat-foot upon the camp. “Hands up! You’re wanted for creasing254 Kelly!”
Quick as thought, Rattlesnake was on his feet. In a moment his hand as though by instinct slipped to the butt255 of his Colt’s. Sharp as was his work, Mr. Masterson’s was even brisker. With the first shadow of resistance, he sent a bullet into Rattlesnake’s leg—the other leg. The shock sent the unlucky Rattlesnake spinning like a top. He fell at full length, and before he might pull himself together Mr. Masterson had him disarmed256.
“What for a racket is this?” demanded Rattlesnake fiercely, when he had collected his wits and his breath. “What’s the meanin’ of this yere bluff?”
“Speaking unofficially,” returned Mr. Masterson, “it means that you’re about to become a married man. If you think Dodge will sit idly by while you break the heart of that child Calamity, you’re off.”
“Calamity!” exclaimed Rattlesnake, in a maze39 of astonishment257. “Which I was jest tryin’ to figger out a way to squar’ myse’f with that angel when you plugged me! If you’d said ‘Calamity!’ instead of ‘Kelly’ it wouldn’t have called for a gun play. I’d have followed you back to town on all fours, like a collie dog.”
“Why didn’t you report, then, when I sent for you? What did you mean by sending in that infernal hieroglyphic258?”
“Me an’ Cimarron was simply holdin’ out for guarantees,” groaned Rattlesnake.
“You and Cimarron!” cried Mr. Masterson indignantly.
From over a knoll259 a clatter260 was heard, and Cimarron Bill came rattling261 into camp with the buckboard. This may or may not have had to do with Mr. Masterson’s failure to finish his last remark. Possibly that adage262, which tells of how soon things mend when least is said, occurred to him as a reason for holding his peace.
The perforated Rattlesnake was comfortably mowed263 away in a Wright House bed, his beloved Calamity bending over him. When the first joy of their meeting had been given time to wear itself away, the lady was called into the hall by Mr. Masterson. Mr. Short was with him.
“I don’t want to be understood, Calamity,” said Mr. Masterson, “as trying to crowd your hand, but the preacher will be here at 7 P. M., at which hour you and Rattlesnake are to become man and wife. That bullet is, I confess, an unusual feature in a honeymoon264; but for all that the wedding must take place, per schedule, as I’ve got to get this thing off my mind.”
“As for that bullet in Rattlesnake,” added Mr. Short, “it’s a distinct advantage. It’ll make him softer an’ more sentimental265. Which a gent gets sentimental in direct proportion as you shoot him up. I’ve known two bullets, properly planted, to set a party to writin’ poetry.”
“Do I onderstand, Bat,” asked Mr. Kelly, as following the wedding they were wending to the Alhambra with a plan to drink good fortune to the happy pair; “do I onderstand that you used my name in gunnin’ for this bridegroom?”
“That Calamity girl had me locoed,” explained Mr. Masterson apologetically. “I’d been harassed266 to a degree, Kell, that left me knockin’ ’round in the situation like a blind dog in a meat shop, hardly knowing right from wrong. All I wanted was to marry him to Calamity, and I seized on your name to land the trick.”
“Still,” objected Mr. Kelly, mildly, “you ought not to have founded the play on his wingin’ me. While I won’t say that his shootin’ me was in the best of taste that time, after all it wasn’t more’n a breach267 of manners, an’ not in any of its aspects, as I onderstand, a voylation of the law. It wasn’t fair to me to make him marry that Calamity lady for that.”
“Besides,” urged Cimarron Bill, who had come up, “them nuptials is onconstitootional, bein’ in deefiance of the clause which declar’s that no onusual or crooel punishments shall be meted268 out. Which I knows it’s thar, because Bob Wright showed it to me at the time I urged stoppin’ old Bobby Gill’s licker for a week to punish him for pesterin’ ’round among us mourners the day of Bridget’s fooneral.”
点击收听单词发音
1 dodge | |
v.闪开,躲开,避开;n.妙计,诡计 | |
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2 creased | |
(使…)起折痕,弄皱( crease的过去式和过去分词 ); (皮肤)皱起,使起皱纹; 皱皱巴巴 | |
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3 sullen | |
adj.愠怒的,闷闷不乐的,(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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4 violation | |
n.违反(行为),违背(行为),侵犯 | |
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5 seclusion | |
n.隐遁,隔离 | |
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6 writhing | |
(因极度痛苦而)扭动或翻滚( writhe的现在分词 ) | |
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7 starched | |
adj.浆硬的,硬挺的,拘泥刻板的v.把(衣服、床单等)浆一浆( starch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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8 virtue | |
n.德行,美德;贞操;优点;功效,效力 | |
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9 artillery | |
n.(军)火炮,大炮;炮兵(部队) | |
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10 proprietor | |
n.所有人;业主;经营者 | |
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11 jack | |
n.插座,千斤顶,男人;v.抬起,提醒,扛举;n.(Jake)杰克 | |
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12 favourable | |
adj.赞成的,称赞的,有利的,良好的,顺利的 | |
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13 amendment | |
n.改正,修正,改善,修正案 | |
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14 advent | |
n.(重要事件等的)到来,来临 | |
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15 fetters | |
n.脚镣( fetter的名词复数 );束缚v.给…上脚镣,束缚( fetter的第三人称单数 ) | |
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16 judgment | |
n.审判;判断力,识别力,看法,意见 | |
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17 ripened | |
v.成熟,使熟( ripen的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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18 ruminate | |
v.反刍;沉思 | |
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19 repose | |
v.(使)休息;n.安息 | |
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20 crave | |
vt.渴望得到,迫切需要,恳求,请求 | |
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21 relaxation | |
n.松弛,放松;休息;消遣;娱乐 | |
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22 fiddle | |
n.小提琴;vi.拉提琴;不停拨弄,乱动 | |
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23 subdued | |
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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24 exuberant | |
adj.充满活力的;(植物)繁茂的 | |
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25 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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26 speculation | |
n.思索,沉思;猜测;投机 | |
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27 aces | |
abbr.adjustable convertible-rate equity security (units) 可调节的股本证券兑换率;aircraft ejection seat 飞机弹射座椅;automatic control evaluation simulator 自动控制评估模拟器n.擅长…的人( ace的名词复数 );精于…的人;( 网球 )(对手接不到发球的)发球得分;爱司球 | |
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28 inviting | |
adj.诱人的,引人注目的 | |
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29 punctuated | |
v.(在文字中)加标点符号,加标点( punctuate的过去式和过去分词 );不时打断某事物 | |
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30 terse | |
adj.(说话,文笔)精炼的,简明的 | |
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31 hush | |
int.嘘,别出声;n.沉默,静寂;v.使安静 | |
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32 descend | |
vt./vi.传下来,下来,下降 | |
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33 descends | |
v.下来( descend的第三人称单数 );下去;下降;下斜 | |
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34 kin | |
n.家族,亲属,血缘关系;adj.亲属关系的,同类的 | |
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35 hoods | |
n.兜帽( hood的名词复数 );头巾;(汽车、童车等的)折合式车篷;汽车发动机罩v.兜帽( hood的第三人称单数 );头巾;(汽车、童车等的)折合式车篷;汽车发动机罩 | |
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36 ransacking | |
v.彻底搜查( ransack的现在分词 );抢劫,掠夺 | |
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37 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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38 amazement | |
n.惊奇,惊讶 | |
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39 maze | |
n.迷宫,八阵图,混乱,迷惑 | |
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40 faculties | |
n.能力( faculty的名词复数 );全体教职员;技巧;院 | |
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41 ebullient | |
adj.兴高采烈的,奔放的 | |
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42 arrogant | |
adj.傲慢的,自大的 | |
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43 slant | |
v.倾斜,倾向性地编写或报道;n.斜面,倾向 | |
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44 invader | |
n.侵略者,侵犯者,入侵者 | |
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45 redeemed | |
adj. 可赎回的,可救赎的 动词redeem的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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46 daze | |
v.(使)茫然,(使)发昏 | |
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47 admiration | |
n.钦佩,赞美,羡慕 | |
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48 lighting | |
n.照明,光线的明暗,舞台灯光 | |
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49 jingling | |
叮当声 | |
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50 promenade | |
n./v.散步 | |
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51 slumbering | |
微睡,睡眠(slumber的现在分词形式) | |
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52 countenance | |
n.脸色,面容;面部表情;vt.支持,赞同 | |
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53 lizard | |
n.蜥蜴,壁虎 | |
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54 insinuates | |
n.暗示( insinuate的名词复数 );巧妙或迂回地潜入;(使)缓慢进入;慢慢伸入v.暗示( insinuate的第三人称单数 );巧妙或迂回地潜入;(使)缓慢进入;慢慢伸入 | |
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55 bunk | |
n.(车、船等倚壁而设的)铺位;废话 | |
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56 seasonal | |
adj.季节的,季节性的 | |
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57 ruffles | |
褶裥花边( ruffle的名词复数 ) | |
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58 bland | |
adj.淡而无味的,温和的,无刺激性的 | |
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59 politic | |
adj.有智虑的;精明的;v.从政 | |
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60 pony | |
adj.小型的;n.小马 | |
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61 mete | |
v.分配;给予 | |
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62 defiance | |
n.挑战,挑衅,蔑视,违抗 | |
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63 muzzle | |
n.鼻口部;口套;枪(炮)口;vt.使缄默 | |
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64 vociferous | |
adj.喧哗的,大叫大嚷的 | |
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65 transacted | |
v.办理(业务等)( transact的过去式和过去分词 );交易,谈判 | |
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66 construes | |
v.解释(陈述、行为等)( construe的第三人称单数 );翻译,作句法分析 | |
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67 motive | |
n.动机,目的;adv.发动的,运动的 | |
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68 torrent | |
n.激流,洪流;爆发,(话语等的)连发 | |
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69 sobbing | |
<主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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70 mule | |
n.骡子,杂种,执拗的人 | |
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71 felon | |
n.重罪犯;adj.残忍的 | |
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72 ecstasy | |
n.狂喜,心醉神怡,入迷 | |
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73 celebrated | |
adj.有名的,声誉卓著的 | |
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74 adoration | |
n.爱慕,崇拜 | |
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75 fully | |
adv.完全地,全部地,彻底地;充分地 | |
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76 buffalo | |
n.(北美)野牛;(亚洲)水牛 | |
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77 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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78 averts | |
防止,避免( avert的第三人称单数 ); 转移 | |
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79 wed | |
v.娶,嫁,与…结婚 | |
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80 regale | |
v.取悦,款待 | |
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81 calamity | |
n.灾害,祸患,不幸事件 | |
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82 consignment | |
n.寄售;发货;委托;交运货物 | |
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83 sparse | |
adj.稀疏的,稀稀落落的,薄的 | |
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84 mishaps | |
n.轻微的事故,小的意外( mishap的名词复数 ) | |
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85 beheld | |
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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86 fatigues | |
n.疲劳( fatigue的名词复数 );杂役;厌倦;(士兵穿的)工作服 | |
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87 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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88 interfere | |
v.(in)干涉,干预;(with)妨碍,打扰 | |
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89 plover | |
n.珩,珩科鸟,千鸟 | |
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90 antelope | |
n.羚羊;羚羊皮 | |
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91 wayfarer | |
n.旅人 | |
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92 gallantly | |
adv. 漂亮地,勇敢地,献殷勤地 | |
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93 freckled | |
adj.雀斑;斑点;晒斑;(使)生雀斑v.雀斑,斑点( freckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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94 smitten | |
猛打,重击,打击( smite的过去分词 ) | |
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95 edibles | |
可以吃的,可食用的( edible的名词复数 ); 食物 | |
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96 replete | |
adj.饱满的,塞满的;n.贮蜜蚁 | |
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97 dulcet | |
adj.悦耳的 | |
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98 maker | |
n.制造者,制造商 | |
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99 musingly | |
adv.沉思地,冥想地 | |
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100 paradox | |
n.似乎矛盾却正确的说法;自相矛盾的人(物) | |
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101 gals | |
abbr.gallons (复数)加仑(液量单位)n.女孩,少女( gal的名词复数 ) | |
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102 fatuous | |
adj.愚昧的;昏庸的 | |
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103 clenching | |
v.紧握,抓紧,咬紧( clench的现在分词 ) | |
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104 jolt | |
v.(使)摇动,(使)震动,(使)颠簸 | |
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105 unaware | |
a.不知道的,未意识到的 | |
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106 bestowed | |
赠给,授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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107 reproof | |
n.斥责,责备 | |
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108 outrage | |
n.暴行,侮辱,愤怒;vt.凌辱,激怒 | |
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109 outraged | |
a.震惊的,义愤填膺的 | |
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110 toads | |
n.蟾蜍,癞蛤蟆( toad的名词复数 ) | |
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111 lapsed | |
adj.流失的,堕落的v.退步( lapse的过去式和过去分词 );陷入;倒退;丧失 | |
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112 copper | |
n.铜;铜币;铜器;adj.铜(制)的;(紫)铜色的 | |
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113 dubious | |
adj.怀疑的,无把握的;有问题的,靠不住的 | |
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114 maverick | |
adj.特立独行的;不遵守传统的;n.持异议者,自行其是者 | |
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115 nuptials | |
n.婚礼;婚礼( nuptial的名词复数 ) | |
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116 Ford | |
n.浅滩,水浅可涉处;v.涉水,涉过 | |
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117 ridge | |
n.山脊;鼻梁;分水岭 | |
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118 cyclone | |
n.旋风,龙卷风 | |
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119 jocosely | |
adv.说玩笑地,诙谐地 | |
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120 virgin | |
n.处女,未婚女子;adj.未经使用的;未经开发的 | |
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121 resounding | |
adj. 响亮的 | |
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122 winking | |
n.瞬眼,目语v.使眼色( wink的现在分词 );递眼色(表示友好或高兴等);(指光)闪烁;闪亮 | |
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123 onward | |
adj.向前的,前进的;adv.向前,前进,在先 | |
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124 primitive | |
adj.原始的;简单的;n.原(始)人,原始事物 | |
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125 strings | |
n.弦 | |
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126 herd | |
n.兽群,牧群;vt.使集中,把…赶在一起 | |
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127 herds | |
兽群( herd的名词复数 ); 牧群; 人群; 群众 | |
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128 census | |
n.(官方的)人口调查,人口普查 | |
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129 busts | |
半身雕塑像( bust的名词复数 ); 妇女的胸部; 胸围; 突击搜捕 | |
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130 severely | |
adv.严格地;严厉地;非常恶劣地 | |
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131 obstinate | |
adj.顽固的,倔强的,不易屈服的,较难治愈的 | |
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132 joint | |
adj.联合的,共同的;n.关节,接合处;v.连接,贴合 | |
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133 taunts | |
嘲弄的言语,嘲笑,奚落( taunt的名词复数 ) | |
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134 gust | |
n.阵风,突然一阵(雨、烟等),(感情的)迸发 | |
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135 steer | |
vt.驾驶,为…操舵;引导;vi.驾驶 | |
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136 intervention | |
n.介入,干涉,干预 | |
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137 hoofs | |
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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138 practitioner | |
n.实践者,从事者;(医生或律师等)开业者 | |
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139 groans | |
n.呻吟,叹息( groan的名词复数 );呻吟般的声音v.呻吟( groan的第三人称单数 );发牢骚;抱怨;受苦 | |
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140 acting | |
n.演戏,行为,假装;adj.代理的,临时的,演出用的 | |
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141 conceit | |
n.自负,自高自大 | |
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142 worthy | |
adj.(of)值得的,配得上的;有价值的 | |
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143 feats | |
功绩,伟业,技艺( feat的名词复数 ) | |
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144 chamber | |
n.房间,寝室;会议厅;议院;会所 | |
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145 lawful | |
adj.法律许可的,守法的,合法的 | |
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146 plumb | |
adv.精确地,完全地;v.了解意义,测水深 | |
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147 reassuringly | |
ad.安心,可靠 | |
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148 implement | |
n.(pl.)工具,器具;vt.实行,实施,执行 | |
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149 indifference | |
n.不感兴趣,不关心,冷淡,不在乎 | |
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150 bluff | |
v.虚张声势,用假象骗人;n.虚张声势,欺骗 | |
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151 propped | |
支撑,支持,维持( prop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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152 scowl | |
vi.(at)生气地皱眉,沉下脸,怒视;n.怒容 | |
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153 insanity | |
n.疯狂,精神错乱;极端的愚蠢,荒唐 | |
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154 beset | |
v.镶嵌;困扰,包围 | |
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155 spoke | |
n.(车轮的)辐条;轮辐;破坏某人的计划;阻挠某人的行动 v.讲,谈(speak的过去式);说;演说;从某种观点来说 | |
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156 formulated | |
v.构想出( formulate的过去式和过去分词 );规划;确切地阐述;用公式表示 | |
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157 scant | |
adj.不充分的,不足的;v.减缩,限制,忽略 | |
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158 malignant | |
adj.恶性的,致命的;恶意的,恶毒的 | |
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159 remonstrated | |
v.抗议( remonstrate的过去式和过去分词 );告诫 | |
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160 coaxed | |
v.哄,用好话劝说( coax的过去式和过去分词 );巧言骗取;哄劝,劝诱 | |
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161 persistency | |
n. 坚持(余辉, 时间常数) | |
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162 jug | |
n.(有柄,小口,可盛水等的)大壶,罐,盂 | |
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163 ultimatum | |
n.最后通牒 | |
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164 sobbed | |
哭泣,啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 ); 哭诉,呜咽地说 | |
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165 fixed | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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166 groaned | |
v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 );发牢骚;抱怨;受苦 | |
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167 discoursed | |
演说(discourse的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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168 sagely | |
adv. 贤能地,贤明地 | |
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169 concession | |
n.让步,妥协;特许(权) | |
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170 specious | |
adj.似是而非的;adv.似是而非地 | |
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171 pointed | |
adj.尖的,直截了当的 | |
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172 epithet | |
n.(用于褒贬人物等的)表述形容词,修饰语 | |
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173 untold | |
adj.数不清的,无数的 | |
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174 obstinacy | |
n.顽固;(病痛等)难治 | |
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175 gratitude | |
adj.感激,感谢 | |
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176 prone | |
adj.(to)易于…的,很可能…的;俯卧的 | |
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177 meddling | |
v.干涉,干预(他人事务)( meddle的现在分词 ) | |
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178 throbbing | |
a. 跳动的,悸动的 | |
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179 chagrined | |
adj.懊恼的,苦恼的v.使懊恼,使懊丧,使悔恨( chagrin的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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180 mercurial | |
adj.善变的,活泼的 | |
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181 callous | |
adj.无情的,冷淡的,硬结的,起老茧的 | |
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182 mighty | |
adj.强有力的;巨大的 | |
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183 brink | |
n.(悬崖、河流等的)边缘,边沿 | |
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184 verge | |
n.边,边缘;v.接近,濒临 | |
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185 adjourned | |
(使)休会, (使)休庭( adjourn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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186 warped | |
adj.反常的;乖戾的;(变)弯曲的;变形的v.弄弯,变歪( warp的过去式和过去分词 );使(行为等)不合情理,使乖戾, | |
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187 meditating | |
a.沉思的,冥想的 | |
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188 converse | |
vi.谈话,谈天,闲聊;adv.相反的,相反 | |
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189 obdurate | |
adj.固执的,顽固的 | |
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190 repelled | |
v.击退( repel的过去式和过去分词 );使厌恶;排斥;推开 | |
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191 withering | |
使人畏缩的,使人害羞的,使人难堪的 | |
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192 pique | |
v.伤害…的自尊心,使生气 n.不满,生气 | |
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193 unreasonable | |
adj.不讲道理的,不合情理的,过度的 | |
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194 surgical | |
adj.外科的,外科医生的,手术上的 | |
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195 resentment | |
n.怨愤,忿恨 | |
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196 humble | |
adj.谦卑的,恭顺的;地位低下的;v.降低,贬低 | |
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197 defensive | |
adj.防御的;防卫的;防守的 | |
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198 fugitive | |
adj.逃亡的,易逝的;n.逃犯,逃亡者 | |
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199 query | |
n.疑问,问号,质问;vt.询问,表示怀疑 | |
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200 propitiating | |
v.劝解,抚慰,使息怒( propitiate的现在分词 ) | |
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201 profligate | |
adj.行为不检的;n.放荡的人,浪子,肆意挥霍者 | |
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202 reconciliation | |
n.和解,和谐,一致 | |
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203 vehemence | |
n.热切;激烈;愤怒 | |
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204 shafts | |
n.轴( shaft的名词复数 );(箭、高尔夫球棒等的)杆;通风井;一阵(疼痛、害怕等) | |
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205 miscreants | |
n.恶棍,歹徒( miscreant的名词复数 ) | |
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206 deference | |
n.尊重,顺从;敬意 | |
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207 mused | |
v.沉思,冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 );沉思自语说(某事) | |
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208 prudent | |
adj.谨慎的,有远见的,精打细算的 | |
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209 peevish | |
adj.易怒的,坏脾气的 | |
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210 physically | |
adj.物质上,体格上,身体上,按自然规律 | |
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211 guttering | |
n.用于建排水系统的材料;沟状切除术;开沟 | |
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212 extricated | |
v.使摆脱困难,脱身( extricate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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213 justified | |
a.正当的,有理的 | |
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214 haughty | |
adj.傲慢的,高傲的 | |
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215 Christian | |
adj.基督教徒的;n.基督教徒 | |
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216 willow | |
n.柳树 | |
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217 exultation | |
n.狂喜,得意 | |
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218 sullenly | |
不高兴地,绷着脸,忧郁地 | |
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219 desolate | |
adj.荒凉的,荒芜的;孤独的,凄凉的;v.使荒芜,使孤寂 | |
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220 afterward | |
adv.后来;以后 | |
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221 peculiar | |
adj.古怪的,异常的;特殊的,特有的 | |
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222 recesses | |
n.壁凹( recess的名词复数 );(工作或业务活动的)中止或暂停期间;学校的课间休息;某物内部的凹形空间v.把某物放在墙壁的凹处( recess的第三人称单数 );将(墙)做成凹形,在(墙)上做壁龛;休息,休会,休庭 | |
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223 abode | |
n.住处,住所 | |
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224 mooted | |
adj.未决定的,有争议的,有疑问的v.提出…供讨论( moot的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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225 conjugal | |
adj.婚姻的,婚姻性的 | |
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226 proffer | |
v.献出,赠送;n.提议,建议 | |
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227 doughty | |
adj.勇猛的,坚强的 | |
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228 oozed | |
v.(浓液等)慢慢地冒出,渗出( ooze的过去式和过去分词 );使(液体)缓缓流出;(浓液)渗出,慢慢流出 | |
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229 munched | |
v.用力咀嚼(某物),大嚼( munch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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230 diversified | |
adj.多样化的,多种经营的v.使多样化,多样化( diversify的过去式和过去分词 );进入新的商业领域 | |
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231 pompous | |
adj.傲慢的,自大的;夸大的;豪华的 | |
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232 auditor | |
n.审计员,旁听着 | |
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233 boggy | |
adj.沼泽多的 | |
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234 reminders | |
n.令人回忆起…的东西( reminder的名词复数 );提醒…的东西;(告知该做某事的)通知单;提示信 | |
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235 stiffened | |
加强的 | |
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236 incite | |
v.引起,激动,煽动 | |
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237 intoxicated | |
喝醉的,极其兴奋的 | |
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238 eloquence | |
n.雄辩;口才,修辞 | |
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239 beak | |
n.鸟嘴,茶壶嘴,钩形鼻 | |
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240 charcoal | |
n.炭,木炭,生物炭 | |
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241 sketch | |
n.草图;梗概;素描;v.素描;概述 | |
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242 adorned | |
[计]被修饰的 | |
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243 embodied | |
v.表现( embody的过去式和过去分词 );象征;包括;包含 | |
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244 woe | |
n.悲哀,苦痛,不幸,困难;int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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245 logic | |
n.逻辑(学);逻辑性 | |
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246 wailed | |
v.哭叫,哀号( wail的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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247 exclamation | |
n.感叹号,惊呼,惊叹词 | |
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248 wrung | |
绞( wring的过去式和过去分词 ); 握紧(尤指别人的手); 把(湿衣服)拧干; 绞掉(水) | |
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249 refreshing | |
adj.使精神振作的,使人清爽的,使人喜欢的 | |
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250 determined | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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251 license | |
n.执照,许可证,特许;v.许可,特许 | |
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252 presidency | |
n.总统(校长,总经理)的职位(任期) | |
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253 swell | |
vi.膨胀,肿胀;增长,增强 | |
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254 creasing | |
(使…)起折痕,弄皱( crease的现在分词 ); (皮肤)皱起,使起皱纹; 挑檐 | |
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255 butt | |
n.笑柄;烟蒂;枪托;臀部;v.用头撞或顶 | |
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256 disarmed | |
v.裁军( disarm的过去式和过去分词 );使息怒 | |
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257 astonishment | |
n.惊奇,惊异 | |
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258 hieroglyphic | |
n.象形文字 | |
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259 knoll | |
n.小山,小丘 | |
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260 clatter | |
v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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261 rattling | |
adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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262 adage | |
n.格言,古训 | |
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263 mowed | |
v.刈,割( mow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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264 honeymoon | |
n.蜜月(假期);vi.度蜜月 | |
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265 sentimental | |
adj.多愁善感的,感伤的 | |
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266 harassed | |
adj. 疲倦的,厌烦的 动词harass的过去式和过去分词 | |
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267 breach | |
n.违反,不履行;破裂;vt.冲破,攻破 | |
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268 meted | |
v.(对某人)施以,给予(处罚等)( mete的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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