Opinion has been ever divided as to the true reason of Ogallala’s objection to Cimarron Bill. Some there were who said it was born of Ogallala’s jealousy1 of Dodge2, the latter metropolis3 being as all men know the home of Cimarron. Others held it to be offspring of the childish petulance4 of Ogallala, which resented the unseemly luck of Cimarron who had played at cards with its citizens. The latter would appear the better solution; for when the committee, which consisted of Mr. Jenkins of the Sheaf of Wheat Saloon, Mr. Sopris and Mr. Smart, notified Cimarron to depart, the ostracism5 was expressly based upon the good fortune which throughout four nights of draw-poker had waited upon the obnoxious6 one.
The committee, in a spirit of fairness that did it credit, explained how Ogallala did not intend by its action to accuse Cimarron of having practiced any fraud. Had such been the case, Ogallala would have hanged him instead of bidding him depart in peace. What was meant came to be no more than this: Ogallala was new and small, and per consequence poor, and could not afford the luxury of Cimarron’s presence. Under the circumstance the committee urged him to have avail of the first train that passed through. Leaving with him a time table and the suggestion that he study it, the committee withdrew.
Cimarron Bill was possessed8 of many of the more earnest characteristics of a bald hornet. Also, he held that the position assumed towards him by Ogallala was in violation9 of his rights under a scheme of government which guaranteed him life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. The last franchise10 in particular he construed11 as covering in his favour the privilege of remaining what space he pleased in Ogallala, and diverting himself with cards at the expense of those members of the body politic12 willing to play with him. Thinking on these lines, he resolved to defy the sentiment of Ogallala, and stay where he was.
In preparation for what might happen, Cimarron Bill repaired to the Midland Hotel and got his six-shooter, which weapon, in compliment to Ogallala, he had theretofore avoided wearing. Being girt for his defence, he wended to the Arcade13, a place of refreshment14 next neighbour to Mr. Jenkins’ Sheaf of Wheat, and seating himself at a table called calmly for a drink. Word of these manoeuvres was conveyed to Mr. Jenkins, who as chairman of the notification committee felt compelled to vindicate15 the dignity of Ogallala.
It was an hour later and, being in the hot middle of an August afternoon, the Sheaf of Wheat was deserted16. Likewise was the Arcade, save for the presence of Cimarron Bill. Mr. Jenkins made sure of this by glancing through the window of the Arcade when returning from a brief invented trip to the post-office.
Believing that the time to move had come, Mr. Jenkins arranged a shotgun on the shelf below the level of the Sheaf of Wheat bar. There was a charge of buckshot in each barrel, and Mr. Jenkins entertained hopes of what might be accomplished17 therewith. When fully18 organised, Mr. Jenkins took a six-shooter and blazed away at the floor. He relied on the curiosity of Cimarron, certain in this fashion to be aroused, to bring him within range.
Mr. Jenkins was so far correct as to the inquisitive19 nature of Cimarron Bill that the smoke was still a-curl about the low ceiling of the Sheaf of Wheat when the latter came rushing through the door. But the door of Cimarron’s advent20 was the rear and not the front door, as had been confidently anticipated by Mr. Jenkins. He had dropped the six-shooter and caught up the Greener with a purpose of potting Cimarron the moment he appeared. This reversal of doors, however, was so disconcerting that in the hurry of wheeling, and because of the nearness of Cimarron, he missed that lively gentleman altogether.
Cimarron Bill replied to Mr. Jenkins with his Colt’s-45, and the bullet glancing on the fore-end of the Greener cut away the second, third and little fingers of Mr. Jenkins’ left hand. The blow to his nervous system sent Mr. Jenkins to the floor, where, being a prince for prudence21 and no mean strategist, he remained a-sprawl, feigning22 death. This pretense23 imposed upon Cimarron who, after helping24 himself to a drink at the expense, as he supposed, of Mr. Jenkins’ estate, shot a hole through the bar mirror in registration25 of his contempt, and sauntered into the street.
Mr. Jenkins, following the going of Cimarron Bill, scrambled26 to his feet, thrust a fresh cartridge28 into the empty barrel of the Greener, and hastened to the door. Having advantage of the back of Cimarron, that personage being distant forty yards, he poured a charge from the Greener into him. As Cimarron went down, Mr. Jenkins—who was no one to slight his work—unslewed the second barrel. It went wild, and did no scathe29 beyond sending one buckshot through the Ogallala Harbinger, which Mr. Sopris, chair tilted30 against the front of the Cowboy’s Rest, was reading, while the balance of the load shattered the front window of that justly popular resort. Mr. Jenkins, believing that the honor of Ogallala had been retrieved31, sought the local doctor, while several unengaged members of the public gathered about the prostrate32 Cimarron.
The luck which had attended upon Cimarron Bill during his stay in Ogallala did not abandon him in his off-and-on duel33 with Mr. Jenkins. Sundry34 of those cartridges35 which were as the provender36 of the Greener had been filled with bird not buckshot, being designed for the destruction of prairie hens. Mr. Jenkins, in the hurry of reloading that right barrel, had selected a prairie-hen cartridge. So far from resembling one of those diminutive37 fowls38, Cimarron was a gentleman of vitality39 and powers of recuperation. The birdshot peppered but did not kill. Even as they gazed, those who surrounded Cimarron observed signs of returning life.
This revival40 of the stricken one bred sorrow in the Ogallala heart; not because of an innate41 inhumanity, but, as events had adjusted themselves, it would have been better had Mr. Jenkins extinguished Cimarron. There is that unwritten jurisprudence of the gun; and the politer, not to say more honourable42, technicalities were peculiarly on the side of Cimarron. If the story were sent abroad it would serve for the discredit43 of Ogallala; and a western town is as nervously44 concerned for its good fame as any woman. Hence the popular sadness over Cimarron’s restoration.
Acting45 for the best under circumstances so discouraging, the public, first caring for Cimarron’s pistol in order to preserve a future’s quiet, formally placed him under arrest. Then, since Ogallala had no jail and because he lay wounded to helplessness, he was conveyed to the Midland, and Mr. Smart detailed46 to hold him prisoner. In these steps it is believed that Ogallala planned nothing beyond a version of the affair that should bear upon its own repute as lightly as it might. Beyond saving its skirts from criticism, it would restore Cimarron to a pristine47 health, and finish by devising ways and means, honourable of course to Ogallala, for letting him go free.
When the doctor had tied up the three finger-stumps of Mr. Jenkins, he repaired to the Midland and picked the shot—number eight, they were—out of Cimarron. Following these improvements, the latter called for a drink; then, addressing himself to Mr. Smart, he exhausted48 invective49 upon Ogallala and her manner towards sojourners within her limits.
Cimarron Bill was still in bed and still reviling50 Ogallala when Mr. Masterson was given a recount of his troubles. Aside from their several years of friendship, it chanced in times gone by that during a dance-hall rumpus at Tascosa, Cimarron Bill had stood over Mr. Masterson, on the floor with a bullet-shattered knee, and with six-shooters spitting fire held the crowded foe51 at bay. This, according to the religion of Mr. Masterson, made a claim upon his gratitude52 which would last while Cimarron lived. Wherefore, and because a Western gratitude is never passive, Mr. Masterson no sooner heard of Cimarron’s plight53 than he started to his relief.
Since he must go by roundabout trails, it was precisely54 one week from the day of Cimarron’s battle with Mr. Jenkins before Mr. Masterson drew into Ogallala, and wrote “William Brown, Hays City,” in the account book which the Midland employed in lieu of a more formal register. Also, Mr. Masterson developed an unusual fastidiousness, and asked to be shown the rooms before one was assigned him. The request being complied with, Mr. Masterson in his ramble27 located Cimarron’s room by locating Mr. Smart, who stood or rather sat on guard at the door—for Mr. Smart had brought out a chair to comfort his watch and ward—and chose the room next to it.
“Thar’s a prisoner in thar,” doubtfully observed the proprietor56 of the Midland, who was acting as guide to Mr. Masterson’s investigations57, “an’ as he mostly cusses all night, he may disturb you.”
“Disturb me?” repeated the bogus Mr. Brown. “Never! I know of nothing more soothing58 to the slumbers59 of an honest man than the howls of the wicked under punishment.”
Being installed, Mr. Masterson’s earliest care was to provide himself with a demijohn of Midland whiskey; for he had noted60 an encarmined nose as a facial property of Mr. Smart, and that florid feature inspired a plan. There would be a train from the West at three o’clock A. M.; it was now two o’clock P. M. This would give Mr. Masterson thirteen hours wherein to ripen61 his device; and thirteen is a fortunate number!
When Mr. Masterson passed Mr. Smart in the hall, bearing—as the Greeks bore gifts—that engaging demijohn, he spake casually62 yet pleasantly with Mr. Smart; and next, after a fashion perfect in the West, he invited Mr. Smart to sample those wares63 which the demijohn contained. Mr. Smart tasted, and said it was the Midland’s best. Upon this promising64 discovery Mr. Masterson proposed a second libation, which courtesy Mr. Smart embraced.
Mr. Masterson apologized to Mr. Smart for a thoughtlessness that had asked him to drink with a total stranger. He made himself known to Mr. Smart as “Mr. Brown of Hays.” Mr. Masterson remarked that he would go abroad in Ogallala about the transaction of what mythical65 business had brought him to its shores. Meanwhile, the demijohn was just inside his door. Would Mr. Smart do him the honour to cheer his vigils with such references to the demijohn as it might please him to make?
Mr. Masterson was about to depart when a volley of bad words was heard to issue from Cimarron’s room. The voice was strong and full, and fraught66 of a fine resolution; this delighted Mr. Masterson as showing Cimarron to be in no sort near the door of death. A second volley climbed the transom to reverberate67 along the hall, and Mr. Masterson, jerking the thumb of inquiry68, asked:
“Any gent with him?”
“No,” responded Mr. Smart, leering amiably69, albeit70 indefinitely, “no; he’s plumb71 alone. He’s jes’ swearin’ at a mark.”
When Mr. Masterson returned he found Mr. Smart blurred72 and incoherent. It was no part of Mr. Masterson’s policy to reduce Mr. Smart to a condition which should alarm the caution of Ogallala, and cause it to relieve his guard. Mr. Smart was the man for the place; to preserve him therein, Mr. Masterson withdrew the demijohn from circulation.
Mr. Smart, even through the happy mists which enveloped73 him, spoke74 well of this step. After supper, the demijohn could be recalled. The friendship which Mr. Smart and Mr. Masterson had conceived for one another might then be expanded, and its foundation deepened and secured. Thus sufficiently75 if not distinctly spake Mr. Smart; and Mr. Masterson coincided with him at every angle of his argument.
It was nine o’clock, and supper had been over two hours when Mr. Masterson again sought Mr. Smart at that gentleman’s post in the hall. Mr. Masterson had much to talk about. The more he had seen of Ogallala the better he liked it. As for Mr. Smart, he was among Ogallala’s best features. It had become Mr. Masterson’s purpose to go into business in Ogallala. Possessing boundless76 capital, he would engage in every scheme of commerce from a general outfitting77 store to a corral. Mr. Smart should be with him in these enterprises. While Mr. Masterson dilated79, Mr. Smart drank, and the pleasant character of the evening was conceded by both.
At one A. M. Mr. Masterson supported Mr. Smart to his cot in Cimarron’s room. The invalid80 roused himself to say more bad words of both Mr. Smart and Mr. Masterson; for the room being unlighted, he assailed81 Mr. Masterson ignorantly and in the dark. Mr. Smart no sooner felt the cot beneath him than he fell into deep sleep, and his snorings shook the casements82 like a strong wind.
At half after two Mr. Masterson stepped confidently into Cimarron’s room. He found Mr. Smart as soundly asleep as a corpse83. Mr. Masterson shook Cimarron gently by the shoulder:
“Steady!” he whispered.
“Is that you, Bat?” Cimarron asked, coming at once to an understanding of things.
“How hard are you hit?” asked Mr. Masterson. “Can you walk?”
“I’m too stiff and sore for that.”
“Then it’s a case of carry.”
It was within five minutes of the train. Mr. Masterson wrapped the wounded Cimarron in the bed-clothes; thus disguised he resembled a long roll of gray army blankets.
Being a powerful man, Mr. Masterson tossed Cimarron over his shoulder, and started down the stair. The injured one ground his teeth with the anguish84 of it, but was as mute as a fox. There was still a drunken voice or two in the barroom of the Midland, but Mr. Masterson—who had looked over the route in the afternoon—eliminated whatever risk existed of meeting anyone by making for a side door.
Once in the dark street, by circuitous85 paths, Mr. Masterson sought the station. He did not go to the depot86 proper, but found a place a little distance up the track, where the smoking-car would stop. Also, he took the side opposite to that on which passengers got on and off the train. There he waited in the deep shadow of a line of freight cars, supporting the drooping87 Cimarron against the nearest car. The two were in time; Mr. Masterson could see the headlight, and hear the scream of the engine.
The express swept in and stopped; by the best of best fortunes the forward platform of the smoking-car paused squarely in front of Mr. Masterson and Cimarron. Cautiously Mr. Masterson picked up his charge and placed him upon the topmost step. Then he swung himself aboard and made ready to drag Cimarron inside. The latter met the situation in a manner excessively limp and compliant88; for all his iron nerve, he had fainted.
“Whom have you got there?”
As the one in search of knowledge hove in reach, Mr. Masterson smote90 him upon the head with his heavy eight-inch pistol. The inquiring one went over backward, and Mr. Masterson was pleased to see that he fell free of the wheels. Yes, it was right; the unknown had sinned the sin of an untimely curiosity.
The engine whistled, the train moved, and Mr. Masterson packed the unconscious Cimarron into the car and placed him in the nearest seat. There were half a dozen passengers scattered91 about; all were soundly slumbering92. Mr. Masterson drew a breath of relief, and wiped his face; for the night was an August night and the work had been hot. Then he rearranged Cimarron’s blankets, and threw a cupful of water in his face by way of restorative. That, and the breeze through the lifted window, caused Cimarron to open his eyes.
“Give me some whiskey.”
Mr. Masterson looked conscience-stricken.
“I forgot the whiskey!”
“Forgot the whiskey!” repeated Cimarron, in feeble scorn. “What kind of a rescue party do you call this? I’d sooner have stayed where I was! Besides, I had it laid out how I’d finish shootin’ up that Jenkins party the moment I could totter93 over to the Sheaf of Wheat.”
Mr. Masterson, to whom the petulance of the sick was as nothing, vouchsafed94 no return, and Cimarron sank back exhausted.
“Got any children?” asked Mr. Masterson.
“Five,” said the conductor, whom it is superfluous97 to say was a married man; “five; an’ another in the shops.”
“The reason I ask,” observed Mr. Masterson, “is that my brother over there has measles98, and I wouldn’t want you to go packing it back to your babies. I have to wrap him up to keep him from catching99 cold. The doctor said that if he ever caught cold once we’d have some fun.”
While Mr. Masterson was exploring Ogallala and perfecting his scheme of rescue, he had purchased tickets to Grand Island. He bought tickets to Grand Island because he intended to get off at North Platte; the ticket-buying was a ruse100 and meant to break the trail. The conductor, as he received Mr. Masterson’s tickets, thanked him for his forethought in defending his children from the afflicted101 brother.
“I’m a father myself,” said Mr. Masterson, who in amplification102 of any strategy was ever ready to round off one mendacity with another.
The dawn was showing when the train drew in at North Platte. Shouldering the helpless Cimarron, Mr. Masterson stepped onto the deserted station platform. Cimarron gave a querulous groan103.
“Where be you p’intin’ out for now?” he demanded. “I’m gettin’ a heap tired of this rescue. It’s too long, an’ besides it’s too toomultuous.”
“Tired or no,” responded Mr. Masterson, steadily104, “you’re going to be rescued just the same.” The Cochino Colorow was a gentleman whose true name was Mr. Cooper. He had been rebaptised as the “Cochino Colorow,” which means the “Red Hog105,” by the Mexicans and the Apaches when he was a scout106 for General Crook107, and about the time the latter gained from the same sources his own title of the “Gray Fox.”
Mr. Cooper was not heralded108 as the Cochino Colorow because of any aggressive gluttonies; but he was round and with a deal of jowl, and suffered from a nose that, colour and contour, looked like the ace7 of hearts. Besides, Mr. Cooper had red hair. These considerations induced the Mexicans and Apaches to arise as one man and call him the Cochino Colorow; and the name stuck.
Mr. Masterson and the Cochino Colorow had been fellow scouts109 under the wise Ben Clark when the latter guided the Black Kettle wanderings of General Custer. Since then the Cochino Colorow had adopted more peaceful pursuits as proprietor of the Bank Exchange in North Platte, and on the morning when Mr. Masterson, with Cimarron over his shoulder like a sack of oats, came seeking him, he was a familiar as well as a foremost figure of that commonwealth110.
The Bank Exchange was almost empty of customers when Mr. Masterson and his burden arrived; a few all-night souls were still sleepily about a faro table, and the Cochino Colorow himself was behind the box. “Hello, Bat!” exclaimed the Cochino Colorow, manifestly surprised, and turning the box on its side to show a recess111 in the deal. “Where in the name of Santa Ana do you come from? What’s that you’re totin’?”
“I’m totin’ a friend,” replied Mr. Masterson.
The Cochino Colorow hastily assigned a talented person who was keeping the case, to deal the interrupted game, while he in person waited upon the wants of the fugitives112. Mr. Masterson told the story of their adventures to the Cochino Colorow.
“And for all my walking in the water about those tickets,” concluded Mr. Masterson, “I’m afraid the Ogallala outfit78 will cross up with us before ever I can freight Cimarron into Dodge. The moment that drunkard Smart comes to, or the rest of ’em find they’re shy Cimarron, they’ll just about take to lashing113 and back-lashing the situation with the telegraph, and I figure they’ll cut our trail.”
“Which if they should,” confidently returned the Cochino Colorow, “we’ll stand ’em off all right. Between us, I’m the whole check-rack in North Platte.”
Mr. Masterson’s fears were justified114. As early as the afternoon of the same day, Mr. Sopris and a companion, whom Mr. Masterson, because of the handkerchief which bound his brows, suspected to be the inquisitive one, walked into the Bank Exchange. Mr. Masterson and the Cochino Colorow had remarked their approach from a window while they were yet two blocks away.
“Is either of ’em that Jenkins crim’nal?” asked the Cochino Colorow.
“No,” said Mr. Masterson.
“I’m shore sorry,” replied the Cochino Colorow. “If one of ’em now was that Jenkins crim’nal, we’d nacherally prop55 pore Cimarron up by this yere window, an’ let him have a crack at him with my Winchester.”
The Cochino Colorow suggested that Mr. Masterson retire to the room where lay the invalid Cimarron. He said that he could best treat with the visitors alone.
Cimarron was tossing to and fro on a couch in a cubby-hole of an apartment immediately to the rear of the Bank Exchange bar. Since the intervening partition was of pine boards, an inch for thickness, what passed between the Cochino Colorow and the invaders115 fell plainly upon the listening ears of Mr. Masterson and Cimarron.
The visitors laid bare their mission. They set forth116 the escape of Cimarron; and while they would not pretend that Ogallala hungered to destroy that individual, they did urge a loss to the Ogallala honour if he were permitted to walk off in a manner of open, careless insolence117.
“It ain’t what this Cimarron does,” explained Mr. Sopris; “it ain’t that he’s done more’n shoot away three of Jenks’ fingirs, an’ as they was on the left hand, they may well be spared. What Ogallala objects to is the manner of this person’s escape. It not only puts Mr. Smart in the hole, speshul, but it reflects on Ogallala for hoss sense.”
“Well, gents,” returned the Cochino Colorow with cool nonchalance118, “you can’t expect me to bother myse’f to death about what comes off in Ogallala. Which, speakin’ general, I’m that numbed119 by my own misfortunes, I don’t care much what happens, so it don’t happen to me.”
“It wasn’t,” retorted Mr. Sopris, “that we allowed you’d feel a heap concerned, but we got a p’inter that you’re harborin’ these yere felons120 personal.”
“Is that so?” observed the Cochino Colorow, assuming airs of chill dignity. “Gents, since you impugns121 my integrity, my only word is, ‘Make your next move.’”
“Our next move,” observed Mr. Sopris, “will be to go squanderin’ about into the uttermost corners of this yere deadfall, an’ search out our game.”
“Shore!” exclaimed the Cochino Colorow, picking up a rifle that stood in the corner. “An’ bein’ plumb timid that a-way, of course I’ll neither bat an eye nor wag a year ag’in the outrage122.”
The Cochino Colorow cocked the Winchester. Mr. Sopris shook his head, as might one whose good nature had been abused.
“That’s plenty!” said Mr. Sopris. “Since sech is your attitoode of voylence, we jest won’t search this joint123.”
“No, I don’t reckon none you will,” retorted the Cochino Colorow, fingering the Winchester. “You two delegates from Ogallala had better hit the trail for home. An’ don’t you never come pirootin’ into North Platte searchin’ for things no more.”
Mr. Masterson and Cimarron overheard this conversation, and the dialogue so affected124 the latter that Mr. Masterson had his work cut out to keep him in his blankets. As the colloquy125 ended and the retreating footfalls told the departure of the committee from Ogallala, Cimarron, sore, sick and exhausted, turned his face to the wall with a sigh of shame.
“Bat,” he said, pleadingly, “would you mind leavin’ the room a moment while I blush?” Then he continued while his tears flowed: “We’re a fine pair of centipedes to lie bunched up in yere while the Red Hog plays our hands!”
In the corral to the rear of the Bank Exchange stood a ramshackle phaeton, which was one of the sights that North Platte showed to tourists. This conveyance128 belonged to the mother-in-law of the Cochino Colorow. The lady in question, who was of a precise, inveterate129 temper, was in the East visiting relatives, and the Cochino Colorow, after sundry drinks to convey his courage to the needed height, endowed Mr. Masterson and Cimarron with the phaeton to assist them in a cross-country break for Dodge. After this generous act the Cochino Colorow was troubled in spirit.
“I’ll fight Injuns for fun,” explained the Cochino Colorow, defensively to Mr. Masterson, “but whether you deems me weak or not, I simply shudders130 when I think of my said mother-in-law an’ what she’ll say about that buggy. But what could we-all do? Cimarron has got to vamos. Them Ogallala sharps will most likely be showin’ up to-morry with a warrant an’ a comp’ny of milishy, an’ that vehicle is the one avenoo of escape. While her language will be mighty131 intemperate132, still, in the cause of friendship, a gent must even face his mother-in-law.”
“What do you reckon she’ll do?” asked Mr. Masterson, who was not a little disturbed by the evident peril133 of the good Cochino Colorow. “Mebby Cimarron had better give himself up.”
“No,” replied the desperate one. “It shall never be said that anything, not even a well-grounded fear of that esteemable lady whom I honours onder the endearin’ name of mother-in-law, could keep me from rushin’ with her phaeton to the rescue of a friend beset134.”
The Cochino Colorow roped and brought up a mud-hued, ewe-necked, hammer-headed beast of burden, and said its name was Julius Cæsar. This animal, which had a genius for bolting one moment and backing up the next, he hooked to the phaeton. Cimarron, whose helplessness was not of the hands, could hold the reins135 and guide Julius Cæsar. Mr. Masterson would ride a pinto pony136 furnished by the generous partisanship137 of the Cochino Colorow. It would take a week to make Dodge, and a week’s provisions, solid and liquid, were loaded into the phaeton.
The faithful Cochino Colorow rode with them on a favourite sorrel as far as Antelope138 Springs. Arriving at that water, he bade the travellers farewell.
“Good luck to you,” cried the Cochino Colorow, waving a fraternal hand. “Give my regyards to Wright an’ Kell an’ Short.”
“I hope you won’t have trouble with that outfit from Ogallala,” returned Mr. Masterson.
The Cochino Colorow snapped his fingers.
“Since my mind’s took to runnin’ on my mother-in-law,” he said, “I’ve done quit worryin’ about sech jim-crow propositions.”
And thus they parted.
It was a week later when Mr. Masterson and the rescued one made Dodge. When he had seen the suffering Cimarron safely in bed at the Wright House, Mr. Masterson began looking after his own welfare at the Long Branch.
“Strenuous!” repeated Mr. Masterson. “I should say as much! Cimarron was as ugly as a sore-head dog, and wanted everything he could think of from a sandwich to a six-shooter. I was never so worn to a frazzle. It was certainly,” concluded Mr. Masterson, replenishing his glass, “the most arduous140 rescue in which I ever took a hand; and we’d have never pulled it off if it hadn’t been for the Cochino Colorow. Here’s hoping he can square himself with that relative he robbed. She’s as sour as pig-nuts, and I don’t feel altogether easy about the Cochino Colorow. However, if the lady puts up too rough a deal, I told him he’d find a ready-made asylum141 here.”
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jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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dodge
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| v.闪开，躲开，避开；n.妙计，诡计 | |
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metropolis
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| n.首府；大城市 | |
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petulance
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| n.发脾气，生气，易怒，暴躁，性急 | |
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ostracism
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obnoxious
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ace
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| n.A牌；发球得分；佼佼者；adj.杰出的 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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violation
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| n.违反(行为)，违背(行为)，侵犯 | |
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franchise
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construed
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politic
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| adj.有智虑的；精明的；v.从政 | |
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arcade
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| n.拱廊；(一侧或两侧有商店的)通道 | |
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refreshment
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| n.恢复，精神爽快，提神之事物；（复数）refreshments:点心，茶点 | |
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vindicate
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| v.为…辩护或辩解，辩明；证明…正确 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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accomplished
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fully
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inquisitive
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| adj.求知欲强的，好奇的，好寻根究底的 | |
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20
advent
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| n.(重要事件等的)到来，来临 | |
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21
prudence
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| n.谨慎，精明，节俭 | |
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22
feigning
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| 假装，伪装( feign的现在分词 )； 捏造（借口、理由等） | |
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23
pretense
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| n.矫饰，做作，借口 | |
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24
helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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25
registration
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| n.登记，注册，挂号 | |
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26
scrambled
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的过去式和过去分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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27
ramble
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| v.漫步，漫谈，漫游；n.漫步，闲谈，蔓延 | |
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28
cartridge
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| n.弹壳，弹药筒；(装磁带等的)盒子 | |
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29
scathe
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| v.损伤；n.伤害 | |
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30
tilted
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| v. 倾斜的 | |
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31
retrieved
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| v.取回( retrieve的过去式和过去分词 )；恢复；寻回；检索（储存的信息） | |
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32
prostrate
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| v.拜倒，平卧，衰竭；adj.拜倒的，平卧的，衰竭的 | |
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33
duel
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| n./v.决斗；(双方的)斗争 | |
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34
sundry
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| adj.各式各样的，种种的 | |
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35
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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36
provender
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| n.刍草；秣料 | |
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37
diminutive
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| adj.小巧可爱的，小的 | |
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38
fowls
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| 鸟( fowl的名词复数 )； 禽肉； 既不是这； 非驴非马 | |
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39
vitality
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| n.活力，生命力，效力 | |
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40
revival
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| n.复兴，复苏，（精力、活力等的）重振 | |
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41
innate
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| adj.天生的，固有的，天赋的 | |
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42
honourable
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| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
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43
discredit
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| vt.使不可置信；n.丧失信义；不信，怀疑 | |
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44
nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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45
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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46
detailed
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| adj.详细的，详尽的，极注意细节的，完全的 | |
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47
pristine
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| adj.原来的，古时的，原始的，纯净的，无垢的 | |
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48
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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49
invective
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| n.痛骂，恶意抨击 | |
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50
reviling
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| v.辱骂，痛斥( revile的现在分词 ) | |
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51
foe
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| n.敌人，仇敌 | |
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52
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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53
plight
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| n.困境，境况，誓约，艰难；vt.宣誓，保证，约定 | |
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54
precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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55
prop
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| vt.支撑；n.支柱，支撑物；支持者，靠山 | |
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56
proprietor
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| n.所有人；业主；经营者 | |
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57
investigations
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| （正式的）调查( investigation的名词复数 )； 侦查； 科学研究； 学术研究 | |
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58
soothing
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| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
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59
slumbers
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| 睡眠，安眠( slumber的名词复数 ) | |
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60
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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61
ripen
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| vt.使成熟；vi.成熟 | |
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62
casually
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| adv.漠不关心地，无动于衷地，不负责任地 | |
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63
wares
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| n. 货物, 商品 | |
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64
promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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65
mythical
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| adj.神话的；虚构的；想像的 | |
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66
fraught
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| adj.充满…的，伴有(危险等)的；忧虑的 | |
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67
reverberate
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| v.使回响，使反响 | |
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68
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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69
amiably
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| adv.和蔼可亲地，亲切地 | |
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70
albeit
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| conj.即使；纵使；虽然 | |
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71
plumb
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| adv.精确地，完全地；v.了解意义，测水深 | |
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72
blurred
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| v.（使）变模糊( blur的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）难以区分；模模糊糊；迷离 | |
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73
enveloped
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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74
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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75
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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76
boundless
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| adj.无限的；无边无际的；巨大的 | |
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77
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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78
outfit
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| n.（为特殊用途的）全套装备，全套服装 | |
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79
dilated
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| adj.加宽的，扩大的v.（使某物）扩大，膨胀，张大( dilate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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80
invalid
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| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
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81
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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82
casements
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| n.窗扉( casement的名词复数 ) | |
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83
corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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84
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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85
circuitous
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| adj.迂回的路的，迂曲的，绕行的 | |
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86
depot
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| n.仓库，储藏处；公共汽车站；火车站 | |
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87
drooping
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| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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88
compliant
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| adj.服从的，顺从的 | |
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89
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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90
smote
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| v.猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去式 ) | |
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91
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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92
slumbering
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| 微睡，睡眠（slumber的现在分词形式） | |
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93
totter
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| v.蹒跚， 摇摇欲坠；n.蹒跚的步子 | |
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94
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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95
wary
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| adj.谨慎的，机警的，小心的 | |
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96
functionary
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| n.官员；公职人员 | |
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97
superfluous
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| adj.过多的，过剩的，多余的 | |
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98
measles
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| n.麻疹，风疹，包虫病，痧子 | |
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99
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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100
ruse
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| n.诡计，计策；诡计 | |
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101
afflicted
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| 使受痛苦，折磨( afflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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102
amplification
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| n.扩大，发挥 | |
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103
groan
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| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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104
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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105
hog
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| n.猪；馋嘴贪吃的人；vt.把…占为己有，独占 | |
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106
scout
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| n.童子军，侦察员；v.侦察，搜索 | |
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107
crook
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| v.使弯曲；n.小偷，骗子，贼；弯曲(处) | |
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108
heralded
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| v.预示( herald的过去式和过去分词 )；宣布（好或重要） | |
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109
scouts
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| 侦察员[机，舰]( scout的名词复数 )； 童子军； 搜索； 童子军成员 | |
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110
commonwealth
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| n.共和国，联邦，共同体 | |
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111
recess
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| n.短期休息，壁凹（墙上装架子，柜子等凹处） | |
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112
fugitives
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| n.亡命者，逃命者( fugitive的名词复数 ) | |
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113
lashing
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| n.鞭打；痛斥；大量；许多v.鞭打( lash的现在分词 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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114
justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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115
invaders
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| 入侵者，侵略者，侵入物( invader的名词复数 ) | |
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116
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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117
insolence
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| n.傲慢；无礼；厚颜；傲慢的态度 | |
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118
nonchalance
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| n.冷淡，漠不关心 | |
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119
numbed
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| v.使麻木，使麻痹( numb的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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120
felons
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| n.重罪犯( felon的名词复数 )；瘭疽；甲沟炎；指头脓炎 | |
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121
impugns
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| v.非难，指谪( impugn的第三人称单数 )；对…有怀疑 | |
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122
outrage
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| n.暴行，侮辱，愤怒；vt.凌辱，激怒 | |
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123
joint
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| adj.联合的，共同的；n.关节，接合处；v.连接，贴合 | |
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124
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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125
colloquy
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| n.谈话，自由讨论 | |
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126
soothingly
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| adv.抚慰地，安慰地；镇痛地 | |
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127
consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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128
conveyance
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| n.(不动产等的)转让，让与；转让证书；传送；运送；表达；（正）运输工具 | |
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129
inveterate
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| adj.积习已深的，根深蒂固的 | |
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130
shudders
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| n.颤动，打颤，战栗( shudder的名词复数 )v.战栗( shudder的第三人称单数 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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131
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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132
intemperate
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| adj.无节制的，放纵的 | |
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133
peril
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| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
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134
beset
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| v.镶嵌；困扰，包围 | |
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135
reins
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| 感情，激情； 缰( rein的名词复数 )； 控制手段； 掌管； （成人带着幼儿走路以防其走失时用的）保护带 | |
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136
pony
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| adj.小型的；n.小马 | |
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137
Partisanship
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| n. 党派性, 党派偏见 | |
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138
antelope
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| n.羚羊；羚羊皮 | |
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139
strenuous
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| adj.奋发的，使劲的；紧张的；热烈的，狂热的 | |
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140
arduous
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| adj.艰苦的，费力的，陡峭的 | |
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141
asylum
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| n.避难所，庇护所，避难 | |
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