Curly the tramp sidled toward the free-lunch counter. He caught a fleeting1 glance from the bartender's eye, and stood still, trying to look like a business man who had just dined at the Menger and was waiting for a friend who had promised to pick him up in his motor car. Curly's histrionic powers were equal to the impersonation; but his make-up was wanting.
The bartender rounded the bar in a casual way, looking up at the ceiling as though he was pondering some intricate problem of kalsomining, and then fell upon Curly so suddenly that the roadster had no excuses ready. Irresistibly3, but so composedly that it seemed almost absendmindedness on his part, the dispenser of drinks pushed Curly to the swinging doors and kicked him out, with a nonchalance4 that almost amounted to sadness. That was the way of the Southwest.
Curly arose from the gutter5 leisurely6. He felt no anger or resentment7 toward his ejector. Fifteen years of tramphood spent out of the twenty-two years of his life had hardened the fibres of his spirit. The slings8 and arrows of outrageous9 fortune fell blunted from the buckler of his armoured pride. With especial resignation did he suffer contumely and injury at the hands of bartenders. Naturally, they were his enemies; and unnaturally12, they were often his friends. He had to take his chances with them. But he had not yet learned to estimate these cool, languid, Southwestern knights13 of the bungstarter, who had the manners of an Earl of Pawtucket, and who, when they disapproved15 of your presence, moved you with the silence and despatch16 of a chess automaton17 advancing a pawn18.
Curly stood for a few moments in the narrow, mesquite-paved street. San Antonio puzzled and disturbed him. Three days he had been a non- paying guest of the town, having dropped off there from a box car of an I. & G.N. freight, because Greaser Johnny had told him in Des Moines that the Alamo City was manna fallen, gathered, cooked, and served free with cream and sugar. Curly had found the tip partly a good one. There was hospitality in plenty of a careless, liberal, irregular sort. But the town itself was a weight upon his spirits after his experience with the rushing, business-like, systematised cities of the North and East. Here he was often flung a dollar, but too frequently a good-natured kick would follow it. Once a band of hilarious19 cowboys had roped him on Military Plaza20 and dragged him across the black soil until no respectable rag-bag would have stood sponsor for his clothes. The winding22, doubling streets, leading nowhere, bewildered him. And then there was a little river, crooked23 as a pot-hook, that crawled through the middle of the town, crossed by a hundred little bridges so nearly alike that they got on Curly's nerves. And the last bartender wore a number nine shoe.
The saloon stood on a corner. The hour was eight o'clock. Homefarers and outgoers jostled Curly on the narrow stone sidewalk. Between the buildings to his left he looked down a cleft24 that proclaimed itself another thoroughfare. The alley25 was dark except for one patch of light. Where there was light there were sure to be human beings. Where there were human beings after nightfall in San Antonio there might be food, and there was sure to be drink. So Curly headed for the light.
The illumination came from Schwegel's Cafe. On the sidewalk in front of it Curly picked up an old envelope. It might have contained a check for a million. It was empty; but the wanderer read the address, "Mr. Otto Schwegel," and the name of the town and State. The postmark was Detroit.
Curly entered the saloon. And now in the light it could be perceived that he bore the stamp of many years of vagabondage. He had none of the tidiness of the calculating and shrewd professional tramp. His wardrobe represented the cast-off specimens26 of half a dozen fashions and eras. Two factories had combined their efforts in providing shoes for his feet. As you gazed at him there passed through your mind vague impressions of mummies, wax figures, Russian exiles, and men lost on desert islands. His face was covered almost to his eyes with a curly brown beard that he kept trimmed short with a pocket-knife, and that had furnished him with his nom de route. Light-blue eyes, full of sullenness27, fear, cunning, impudence28, and fawning29, witnessed the stress that had been laid upon his soul.
The saloon was small, and in its atmosphere the odours of meat and drink struggled for the ascendancy30. The pig and the cabbage wrestled31 with hydrogen and oxygen. Behind the bar Schwegel laboured with an assistant whose epidermal32 pores showed no signs of being obstructed33. Hot weinerwurst and sauerkraut were being served to purchasers of beer. Curly shuffled34 to the end of the bar, coughed hollowly, and told Schwegel that he was a Detroit cabinet-maker out of a job.
It followed as the night the day that he got his schooner36 and lunch.
"Was you acquainted maybe with Heinrich Strauss in Detroit?" asked Schwegel.
"Did I know Heinrich Strauss?" repeated Curly, affectionately. "Why, say, 'Bo, I wish I had a dollar for every game of pinochle me and Heine has played on Sunday afternoons."
More beer and a second plate of steaming food was set before the diplomat37. And then Curly, knowing to a fluid-drachm how far a "con11" game would go, shuffled out into the unpromising street.
And now he began to perceive the inconveniences of this stony38 Southern town. There was none of the outdoor gaiety and brilliancy and music that provided distraction39 even to the poorest in the cities of the North. Here, even so early, the gloomy, rock-walled houses were closed and barred against the murky40 dampness of the night. The streets were mere41 fissures42 through which flowed grey wreaths of river mist. As he walked he heard laughter and the chink of coin and chips behind darkened windows, and music coming from every chink of wood and stone. But the diversions were selfish; the day of popular pastimes had not yet come to San Antonio.
But at length Curly, as he strayed, turned the sharp angle of another lost street and came upon a rollicking band of stockmen from the outlying ranches43 celebrating in the open in front of an ancient wooden hotel. One great roisterer from the sheep country who had just instigated45 a movement toward the bar, swept Curly in like a stray goat with the rest of his flock. The princes of kine and wool hailed him as a new zoological discovery, and uproariously strove to preserve him in the diluted46 alcohol of their compliments and regards.
An hour afterward47 Curly staggered from the hotel barroom dismissed by his fickle48 friends, whose interest in him had subsided49 as quickly as it had risen. Full--stoked with alcoholic50 fuel and cargoed with food, the only question remaining to disturb him was that of shelter and bed.
A drizzling52, cold Texas rain had begun to fall--an endless, lazy, unintermittent downfall that lowered the spirits of men and raised a reluctant steam from the warm stones of the streets and houses. Thus comes the "norther" dousing53 gentle spring and amiable54 autumn with the chilling salutes55 and adieux of coming and departing winter.
Curly followed his nose down the first tortuous56 street into which his irresponsible feet conducted him. At the lower end of it, on the bank of the serpentine57 stream, he perceived an open gate in a cemented rock wall. Inside he saw camp fires and a row of low wooden sheds built against three sides of the enclosing wall. He entered the enclosure. Under the sheds many horses were champing at their oats and corn. Many wagons59 and buckboards stood about with their teams' harness thrown carelessly upon the shafts60 and doubletrees. Curly recognised the place as a wagon58-yard, such as is provided by merchants for their out-of- town friends and customers. No one was in sight. No doubt the drivers of those wagons were scattered61 about the town "seeing the elephant and hearing the owl35." In their haste to become patrons of the town's dispensaries of mirth and good cheer the last ones to depart must have left the great wooden gate swinging open.
Curly had satisfied the hunger of an anaconda and the thirst of a camel, so he was neither in the mood nor the condition of an explorer. He zigzagged62 his way to the first wagon that his eyesight distinguished63 in the semi-darkness under the shed. It was a two-horse wagon with a top of white canvas. The wagon was half filled with loose piles of wool sacks, two or three great bundles of grey blankets, and a number of bales, bundles, and boxes. A reasoning eye would have estimated the load at once as ranch44 supplies, bound on the morrow for some outlying hacienda. But to the drowsy64 intelligence of Curly they represented only warmth and softness and protection against the cold humidity of the night. After several unlucky efforts, at last he conquered gravity so far as to climb over a wheel and pitch forward upon the best and warmest bed he had fallen upon in many a day. Then he became instinctively65 a burrowing67 animal, and dug his way like a prairie-dog down among the sacks and blankets, hiding himself from the cold air as snug68 and safe as a bear in his den2. For three nights sleep had visited Curly only in broken and shivering doses. So now, when Morpheus condescended69 to pay him a call, Curly got such a strangle hold on the mythological70 old gentleman that it was a wonder that anyone else in the whole world got a wink71 of sleep that night.
*****
Six cowpunchers of the Cibolo Ranch were waiting around the door of the ranch store. Their ponies72 cropped grass near by, tied in the Texas fashion--which is not tied at all. Their bridle73 reins74 had been dropped to the earth, which is a more effectual way of securing them (such is the power of habit and imagination) than you could devise out of a half-inch rope and a live-oak tree.
These guardians75 of the cow lounged about, each with a brown cigarette paper in his hand, and gently but unceasingly cursed Sam Revell, the storekeeper. Sam stood in the door, snapping the red elastic76 bands on his pink madras shirtsleeves and looking down affectionately at the only pair of tan shoes within a forty-mile radius77. His offence had been serious, and he was divided between humble78 apology and admiration79 for the beauty of his raiment. He had allowed the ranch stock of "smoking" to become exhausted80.
"I thought sure there was another case of it under the counter, boys," he explained. "But it happened to be catterdges."
"You've sure got a case of happenedicitis," said Poky Rodgers, fency rider of the Largo81 Verde potrero. "Somebody ought to happen to give you a knock on the head with the butt82 end of a quirt. I've rode in nine miles for some tobacco; and it don't appear natural and seemly that you ought to be allowed to live."
"The boys was smokin' cut plug and dried mesquite leaves mixed when I left," sighed Mustang Taylor, horse wrangler83 of the Three Elm camp. "They'll be lookin' for me back by nine. They'll be settin' up, with their papers ready to roll a whiff of the real thing before bedtime. And I've got to tell 'em that this pink-eyed, sheep-headed, sulphur- footed, shirt-waisted son of a calico broncho, Sam Revell, hasn't got no tobacco on hand."
Gregorio Falcon84, Mexican vaquero and best thrower of the rope on the Cibolo, pushed his heavy, silver-embroidered straw sombrero back upon his thicket85 of jet black curls, and scraped the bottoms of his pockets for a few crumbs86 of the precious weed.
"Ah, Don Samuel," he said, reproachfully, but with his touch of Castilian manners, "escuse me. Dthey say dthe jackrabbeet and dthe sheep have dthe most leetle sesos--how you call dthem--brain-es? Ah don't believe dthat, Don Samuel--escuse me. Ah dthink people w'at don't keep esmokin' tobacco, dthey--bot you weel escuse me, Don Samuel."
"Now, what's the use of chewin' the rag, boys," said the untroubled Sam, stooping over to rub the toes of his shoes with a red-and-yellow handkerchief. "Ranse took the order for some more smokin' to San Antone with him Tuesday. Pancho rode Ranse's hoss back yesterday; and Ranse is goin' to drive the wagon back himself. There wa'n't much of a load--just some woolsacks and blankets and nails and canned peaches and a few things we was out of. I look for Ranse to roll in to-day sure. He's an early starter and a hell-to-split driver, and he ought to be here not far from sundown."
"What plugs is he drivin'?" asked Mustang Taylor, with a smack88 of hope in his tones.
"The buckboard greys," said Sam.
"I'll wait a spell, then," said the wrangler. "Them plugs eat up a trail like a road-runner swallowin' a whip snake. And you may bust89 me open a can of greengage plums, Sam, while I'm waitin' for somethin' better."
"Open me some yellow clings," ordered Poky Rodgers. "I'll wait, too."
The tobaccoless punchers arranged themselves comfortably on the steps of the store. Inside Sam chopped open with a hatchet90 the tops of the cans of fruit.
The store, a big, white wooden building like a barn, stood fifty yards from the ranch-house. Beyond it were the horse corrals; and still farther the wool sheds and the brush-topped shearing91 pens--for the Rancho Cibolo raised both cattle and sheep. Behind the store, at a little distance, were the grass-thatched jacals of the Mexicans who bestowed93 their allegiance upon the Cibolo.
The ranch-house was composed of four large rooms, with plastered adobe94 walls, and a two-room wooden ell. A twenty-feet-wide "gallery" circumvented95 the structure. It was set in a grove96 of immense live-oaks and water-elms near a lake--a long, not very wide, and tremendously deep lake in which at nightfall, great gars leaped to the surface and plunged97 with the noise of hippopotamuses98 frolicking at their bath. From the trees hung garlands and massive pendants of the melancholy99 grey moss100 of the South. Indeed, the Cibolo ranch-house seemed more of the South than of the West. It looked as if old "Kiowa" Truesdell might have brought it with him from the lowlands of Mississippi when he came to Texas with his rifle in the hollow of his arm in '55.
But, though he did not bring the family mansion101, Truesdell did bring something in the way of a family inheritance that was more lasting102 than brick or stone. He brought one end of the Truesdell-Curtis family feud103. And when a Curtis bought the Rancho de los Olmos, sixteen miles from the Cibolo, there were lively times on the pear flats and in the chaparral thickets104 off the Southwest. In those days Truesdell cleaned the brush of many a wolf and tiger cat and Mexican lion; and one or two Curtises fell heirs to notches105 on his rifle stock. Also he buried a brother with a Curtis bullet in him on the bank of the lake at Cibolo. And then the Kiowa Indians made their last raid upon the ranches between the Frio and the Rio Grande, and Truesdell at the head of his rangers106 rid the earth of them to the last brave, earning his sobriquet107. Then came prosperity in the form of waxing herds108 and broadening lands. And then old age and bitterness, when he sat, with his great mane of hair as white as the Spanish-dagger blossoms and his fierce, pale-blue eyes, on the shaded gallery at Cibolo, growling110 like the pumas111 that he had slain112. He snapped his fingers at old age; the bitter taste to life did not come from that. The cup that stuck at his lips was that his only son Ransom113 wanted to marry a Curtis, the last youthful survivor114 of the other end of the feud.
*****
For a while the only sounds to be heard at the store were the rattling115 of the tin spoons and the gurgling intake116 of the juicy fruits by the cowpunchers, the stamping of the grazing ponies, and the singing of a doleful song by Sam as he contentedly117 brushed his stiff auburn hair for the twentieth time that day before a crinkly mirror.
From the door of the store could be seen the irregular, sloping stretch of prairie to the south, with its reaches of light-green, billowy mesquite flats in the lower places, and its rises crowned with nearly black masses of short chaparral. Through the mesquite flat wound the ranch road that, five miles away, flowed into the old government trail to San Antonio. The sun was so low that the gentlest elevation118 cast its grey shadow miles into the green-gold sea of sunshine.
That evening ears were quicker than eyes.
The Mexican held up a tawny119 finger to still the scraping of tin against tin.
"One waggeen," said he, "cross dthe Arroyo120 Hondo. Ah hear dthe wheel. Verree rockee place, dthe Hondo."
"You've got good ears, Gregorio," said Mustang Taylor. "I never heard nothin' but the song-bird in the bush and the zephyr121 skallyhootin' across the peaceful dell."
In ten minutes Taylor remarked: "I see the dust of a wagon risin' right above the fur end of the flat."
"You have verree good eyes, senor," said Gregorio, smiling.
Two miles away they saw a faint cloud dimming the green ripples122 of the mesquites. In twenty minutes they heard the clatter123 of the horses' hoofs124: in five minutes more the grey plugs dashed out of the thicket, whickering for oats and drawing the light wagon behind them like a toy.
From the jacals came a cry of: "El Amo! El Amo!" Four Mexican youths raced to unharness the greys. The cowpunchers gave a yell of greeting and delight.
Ranse Truesdell, driving, threw the reins to the ground and laughed.
"It's under the wagon sheet, boys," he said. "I know what you're waiting for. If Sam lets it run out again we'll use those yellow shoes of his for a target. There's two cases. Pull 'em out and light up. I know you all want a smoke."
After striking dry country Ranse had removed the wagon sheet from the bows and thrown it over the goods in the wagon. Six pair of hasty hands dragged it off and grabbled beneath the sacks and blankets for the cases of tobacco.
Long Collins, tobacco messenger from the San Gabriel outfit125, who rode with the longest stirrups west of the Mississippi, delved126 with an arm like the tongue of a wagon. He caught something harder than a blanket and pulled out a fearful thing--a shapeless, muddy bunch of leather tied together with wire and twine127. From its ragged21 end, like the head and claws of a disturbed turtle, protruded128 human toes.
"Who-ee!" yelled Long Collins. "Ranse, are you a-packin' around of corpuses? Here's a--howlin' grasshoppers129!"
Up from his long slumber130 popped Curly, like some vile131 worm from its burrow66. He clawed his way out and sat blinking like a disreputable, drunken owl. His face was as bluish-red and puffed132 and seamed and cross-lined as the cheapest round steak of the butcher. His eyes were swollen133 slits134; his nose a pickled beet87; his hair would have made the wildest thatch92 of a Jack-in-the-box look like the satin poll of a Cleo de Merode. The rest of him was scarecrow done to the life.
Ranse jumped down from his seat and looked at his strange cargo51 with wide-open eyes.
"Here, you maverick135, what are you doing in my wagon? How did you get in there?"
The punchers gathered around in delight. For the time they had forgotten tobacco.
Curly looked around him slowly in every direction. He snarled136 like a Scotch137 terrier through his ragged beard.
"Where is this?" he rasped through his parched138 throat. "It's a damn farm in an old field. What'd you bring me here for--say? Did I say I wanted to come here? What are you Reubs rubberin' at--hey? G'wan or I'll punch some of yer faces."
"Drag him out, Collins," said Ranse.
Curly took a slide and felt the ground rise up and collide with his shoulder blades. He got up and sat on the steps of the store shivering from outraged139 nerves, hugging his knees and sneering140. Taylor lifted out a case of tobacco and wrenched141 off its top. Six cigarettes began to glow, bringing peace and forgiveness to Sam.
"How'd you come in my wagon?" repeated Ranse, this time in a voice that drew a reply.
Curly recognised the tone. He had heard it used by freight brakemen and large persons in blue carrying clubs.
"Me?" he growled142. "Oh, was you talkin' to me? Why, I was on my way to the Menger, but my valet had forgot to pack my pyjamas143. So I crawled into that wagon in the wagon-yard--see? I never told you to bring me out to this bloomin' farm--see?"
"What is it, Mustang?" asked Poky Rodgers, almost forgetting to smoke in his ecstasy144. "What do it live on?"
"It's a galliwampus, Poky," said Mustang. "It's the thing that hollers 'willi-walloo' up in ellum trees in the low grounds of nights. I don't know if it bites."
"No, it ain't, Mustang," volunteered Long Collins. "Them galliwampuses has fins145 on their backs, and eighteen toes. This here is a hicklesnifter. It lives under the ground and eats cherries. Don't stand so close to it. It wipes out villages with one stroke of its prehensile146 tail."
Sam, the cosmopolite, who called bartenders in San Antone by their first name, stood in the door. He was a better zoologist147.
"Well, ain't that a Willie for your whiskers?" he commented. "Where'd you dig up the hobo, Ranse? Goin' to make an auditorium148 for inbreviates out of the ranch?"
"Say," said Curly, from whose panoplied149 breast all shafts of wit fell blunted. "Any of you kiddin' guys got a drink on you? Have your fun. Say, I've been hittin' the stuff till I don't know straight up."
He turned to Ranse. "Say, you shanghaied me on your d--d old prairie schooner--did I tell you to drive me to a farm? I want a drink. I'm goin' all to little pieces. What's doin'?"
Ranse saw that the tramp's nerves were racking him. He despatched one of the Mexican boys to the ranch-house for a glass of whisky. Curly gulped150 it down; and into his eyes came a brief, grateful glow--as human as the expression in the eye of a faithful setter dog.
"Thanky, boss," he said, quietly.
"You're thirty miles from a railroad, and forty miles from a saloon," said Ranse.
Curly fell back weakly against the steps.
"Since you are here," continued the ranchman, "come along with me. We can't turn you out on the prairie. A rabbit might tear you to pieces."
He conducted Curly to a large shed where the ranch vehicles were kept. There he spread out a canvas cot and brought blankets.
"I don't suppose you can sleep," said Ranse, "since you've been pounding your ear for twenty-four hours. But you can camp here till morning. I'll have Pedro fetch you up some grub."
"Sleep!" said Curly. "I can sleep a week. Say, sport, have you got a coffin151 nail on you?"
*****
Fifty miles had Ransom Truesdell driven that day. And yet this is what he did.
Old "Kiowa" Truesdell sat in his great wicker chair reading by the light of an immense oil lamp. Ranse laid a bundle of newspapers fresh from town at his elbow.
"Back, Ranse?" said the old man, looking up.
"Son," old "Kiowa" continued, "I've been thinking all day about a certain matter that we have talked about. I want you to tell me again. I've lived for you. I've fought wolves and Indians and worse white men to protect you. You never had any mother that you can remember. I've taught you to shoot straight, ride hard, and live clean. Later on I've worked to pile up dollars that'll be yours. You'll be a rich man, Ranse, when my chunk152 goes out. I've made you. I've licked you into shape like a leopard153 cat licks its cubs154. You don't belong to yourself --you've got to be a Truesdell first. Now, is there to be any more nonsense about this Curtis girl?"
"I'll tell you once more," said Ranse, slowly. "As I am a Truesdell and as you are my father, I'll never marry a Curtis."
"Good boy," said old "Kiowa." "You'd better go get some supper."
Ranse went to the kitchen at the rear of the house. Pedro, the Mexican cook, sprang up to bring the food he was keeping warm in the stove.
"Just a cup of coffee, Pedro," he said, and drank it standing155. And then:
"There's a tramp on a cot in the wagon-shed. Take him something to eat. Better make it enough for two."
Ranse walked out toward the jacals. A boy came running.
"Manuel, can you catch Vaminos, in the little pasture, for me?"
"Why not, senor? I saw him near the puerta but two hours past. He bears a drag-rope."
"Get him and saddle him as quick as you can."
"Prontito, senor."
Soon, mounted on Vaminos, Ranse leaned in the saddle, pressed with his knees, and galloped156 eastward157 past the store, where sat Sam trying his guitar in the moonlight.
Vaminos shall have a word--Vaminos the good dun horse. The Mexicans, who have a hundred names for the colours of a horse, called him gruyo. He was a mouse-coloured, slate-coloured, flea-bitten roan- dun, if you can conceive it. Down his back from his mane to his tail went a line of black. He would live forever; and surveyors have not laid off as many miles in the world as he could travel in a day.
Eight miles east of the Cibolo ranch-house Ranse loosened the pressure of his knees, and Vaminos stopped under a big ratama tree. The yellow ratama blossoms showered fragrance158 that would have undone159 the roses of France. The moon made the earth a great concave bowl with a crystal sky for a lid. In a glade160 five jack-rabbits leaped and played together like kittens. Eight miles farther east shone a faint star that appeared to have dropped below the horizon. Night riders, who often steered161 their course by it, knew it to be the light in the Rancho de los Olmos.
In ten minutes Yenna Curtis galloped to the tree on her sorrel pony162 Dancer. The two leaned and clasped hands heartily163.
"I ought to have ridden nearer your home," said Ranse. "But you never will let me."
Yenna laughed. And in the soft light you could see her strong white teeth and fearless eyes. No sentimentality there, in spite of the moonlight, the odour of the ratamas, and the admirable figure of Ranse Truesdell, the lover. But she was there, eight miles from her home, to meet him.
"How often have I told you, Ranse," she said, "that I am your half-way girl? Always half-way."
"Well?" said Ranse, with a question in his tones.
"I did," said Yenna, with almost a sigh. "I told him after dinner when I thought he would be in a good humour. Did you ever wake up a lion, Ranse, with the mistaken idea that he would be a kitten? He almost tore the ranch to pieces. It's all up. I love my daddy, Ranse, and I'm afraid--I'm afraid of him too. He ordered me to promise that I'd never marry a Truesdell. I promised. That's all. What luck did you have?"
"The same," said Ranse, slowly. "I promised him that his son would never marry a Curtis. Somehow I couldn't go against him. He's mighty164 old. I'm sorry, Yenna."
The girl leaned in her saddle and laid one hand on Ranse's, on the horn of his saddle.
"I never thought I'd like you better for giving me up," she said ardently165, "but I do. I must ride back now, Ranse. I slipped out of the house and saddled Dancer myself. Good-night, neighbour."
"Good-night," said Ranse. "Ride carefully over them badger166 holes."
They wheeled and rode away in opposite directions. Yenna turned in her saddle and called clearly:
"Don't forget I'm your half-way girl, Ranse."
"Damn all family feuds167 and inherited scraps," muttered Ranse vindictively168 to the breeze as he rode back to the Cibolo.
Ranse turned his horse into the small pasture and went to his own room. He opened the lowest drawer of an old bureau to get out the packet of letters that Yenna had written him one summer when she had gone to Mississippi for a visit. The drawer stuck, and he yanked at it savagely--as a man will. It came out of the bureau, and bruised169 both his shins--as a drawer will. An old, folded yellow letter without an envelope fell from somewhere--probably from where it had lodged170 in one of the upper drawers. Ranse took it to the lamp and read it curiously171.
Then he took his hat and walked to one of the Mexican jacals.
"Tia Juana," he said, "I would like to talk with you a while."
An old, old Mexican woman, white-haired and wonderfully wrinkled, rose from a stool.
"Sit down," said Ranse, removing his hat and taking the one chair in the jacal. "Who am I, Tia Juana?" he asked, speaking Spanish.
"Don Ransom, our good friend and employer. Why do you ask?" answered the old woman wonderingly.
"Tia Juana, who am I?" he repeated, with his stern eyes looking into hers.
A frightened look came in the old woman's face. She fumbled172 with her black shawl.
"Who am I, Tia Juana?" said Ranse once more.
"Thirty-two years I have lived on the Rancho Cibolo," said Tia Juana. "I thought to be buried under the coma173 mott beyond the garden before these things should be known. Close the door, Don Ransom, and I will speak. I see in your face that you know."
An hour Ranse spent behind Tia Juana's closed door. As he was on his way back to the house Curly called to him from the wagon-shed.
The tramp sat on his cot, swinging his feet and smoking.
"Say, sport," he grumbled174. "This is no way to treat a man after kidnappin' him. I went up to the store and borrowed a razor from that fresh guy and had a shave. But that ain't all a man needs. Say--can't you loosen up for about three fingers more of that booze? I never asked you to bring me to your d--d farm."
"Stand up out here in the light," said Ranse, looking at him closely.
Curly got up sullenly175 and took a step or two.
His face, now shaven smooth, seemed transformed. His hair had been combed, and it fell back from the right side of his forehead with a peculiar176 wave. The moonlight charitably softened177 the ravages178 of drink; and his aquiline179, well-shaped nose and small, square cleft chin almost gave distinction to his looks.
Ranse sat on the foot of the cot and looked at him curiously.
"Where did you come from--have you got any home or folks anywhere?"
"Me? Why, I'm a dook," said Curly. "I'm Sir Reginald--oh, cheese it. No; I don't know anything about my ancestors. I've been a tramp ever since I can remember. Say, old pal109, are you going to set 'em up again to-night or not?"
"You answer my questions and maybe I will. How did you come to be a tramp?"
"Me?" answered Curly. "Why, I adopted that profession when I was an infant. Case of had to. First thing I can remember, I belonged to a big, lazy hobo called Beefsteak Charley. He sent me around to houses to beg. I wasn't hardly big enough to reach the latch180 of a gate."
"Did he ever tell you how he got you?" asked Ranse.
"Once when he was sober he said he bought me for an old six-shooter and six bits from a band of drunken Mexican sheep-shearers. But what's the diff? That's all I know."
"All right," said Ranse. "I reckon you're a maverick for certain. I'm going to put the Rancho Cibolo brand on you. I'll start you to work in one of the camps to-morrow."
"Work!" sniffed181 Curly, disdainfully. "What do you take me for? Do you think I'd chase cows, and hop-skip-and-jump around after crazy sheep like that pink and yellow guy at the store says these Reubs do? Forget it."
"Oh, you'll like it when you get used to it," said Ranse. "Yes, I'll send you up one more drink by Pedro. I think you'll make a first-class cowpuncher before I get through with you."
"Me?" said Curly. "I pity the cows you set me to chaperon. They can go chase themselves. Don't forget my nightcap, please, boss."
Ranse paid a visit to the store before going to the house. Sam Rivell was taking off his tan shoes regretting and preparing for bed.
"Any of the boys from the San Gabriel camp riding in early in the morning?" asked Ranse.
"Long Collins," said Sam briefly182. "For the mail."
"Tell him," said Ranse, "to take that tramp out to camp with him and keep him till I get there."
Curly was sitting on his blankets in the San Gabriel camp cursing talentedly when Ranse Truesdell rode up and dismounted on the next afternoon. The cowpunchers were ignoring the stray. He was grimy with dust and black dirt. His clothes were making their last stand in favour of the conventions.
Ranse went up to Buck10 Rabb, the camp boss, and spoke183 briefly.
"He's a plumb184 buzzard," said Buck. "He won't work, and he's the low- downest passel of inhumanity I ever see. I didn't know what you wanted done with him, Ranse, so I just let him set. That seems to suit him. He's been condemned185 to death by the boys a dozen times, but I told 'em maybe you was savin' him for the torture."
Ranse took off his coat.
"I've got a hard job before me, Buck, I reckon, but it has to be done. I've got to make a man out of that thing. That's what I've come to camp for."
He went up to Curly.
"Brother," he said, "don't you think if you had a bath it would allow you to take a seat in the company of your fellow-man with less injustice186 to the atmosphere."
"Run away, farmer," said Curly, sardonically187. "Willie will send for nursey when he feels like having his tub."
The charco, or water hole, was twelve yards away. Ranse took one of Curly's ankles and dragged him like a sack of potatoes to the brink188. Then with the strength and sleight189 of a hammer-throw he hurled190 the offending member of society far into the lake.
Curly crawled out and up the bank spluttering like a porpoise191.
Ranse met him with a piece of soap and a coarse towel in his hands.
"Go to the other end of the lake and use this," he said. "Buck will give you some dry clothes at the wagon."
The tramp obeyed without protest. By the time supper was ready he had returned to camp. He was hardly to be recognised in his new shirt and brown duck clothes. Ranse observed him out of the corner of his eye.
"Lordy, I hope he ain't a coward," he was saying to himself. "I hope he won't turn out to be a coward."
His doubts were soon allayed192. Curly walked straight to where he stood. His light-blue eyes were blazing.
"Now I'm clean," he said meaningly, "maybe you'll talk to me. Think you've got a picnic here, do you? You clodhoppers think you can run over a man because you know he can't get away. All right. Now, what do you think of that?"
Curly planted a stinging slap against Ranse's left cheek. The print of his hand stood out a dull red against the tan.
Ranse smiled happily.
The cowpunchers talk to this day of the battle that followed.
Somewhere in his restless tour of the cities Curly had acquired the art of self-defence. The ranchman was equipped only with the splendid strength and equilibrium193 of perfect health and the endurance conferred by decent living. The two attributes nearly matched. There were no formal rounds. At last the fibre of the clean liver prevailed. The last time Curly went down from one of the ranchman's awkward but powerful blows he remained on the grass, but looking up with an unquenched eye.
Ranse went to the water barrel and washed the red from a cut on his chin in the stream from the faucet194.
On his face was a grin of satisfaction.
Much benefit might accrue195 to educators and moralists if they could know the details of the curriculum of reclamation196 through which Ranse put his waif during the month that he spent in the San Gabriel camp. The ranchman had no fine theories to work out--perhaps his whole stock of pedagogy embraced only a knowledge of horse-breaking and a belief in heredity.
The cowpunchers saw that their boss was trying to make a man out of the strange animal that he had sent among them; and they tacitly organised themselves into a faculty197 of assistants. But their system was their own.
Curly's first lesson stuck. He became on friendly and then on intimate terms with soap and water. And the thing that pleased Ranse most was that his "subject" held his ground at each successive higher step. But the steps were sometimes far apart.
Once he got at the quart bottle of whisky kept sacredly in the grub tent for rattlesnake bites, and spent sixteen hours on the grass, magnificently drunk. But when he staggered to his feet his first move was to find his soap and towel and start for the charco. And once, when a treat came from the ranch in the form of a basket of fresh tomatoes and young onions, Curly devoured198 the entire consignment199 before the punchers reached the camp at supper time.
And then the punchers punished him in their own way. For three days they did not speak to him, except to reply to his own questions or remarks. And they spoke with absolute and unfailing politeness. They played tricks on one another; they pounded one another hurtfully and affectionately; they heaped upon one another's heads friendly curses and obloquy200; but they were polite to Curly. He saw it, and it stung him as much as Ranse hoped it would.
Then came a night that brought a cold, wet norther. Wilson, the youngest of the outfit, had lain in camp two days, ill with fever. When Joe got up at daylight to begin breakfast he found Curly sitting asleep against a wheel of the grub wagon with only a saddle blanket around him, while Curly's blankets were stretched over Wilson to protect him from the rain and wind.
Three nights after that Curly rolled himself in his blanket and went to sleep. Then the other punchers rose up softly and began to make preparations. Ranse saw Long Collins tie a rope to the horn of a saddle. Others were getting out their six-shooters.
"Boys," said Ranse, "I'm much obliged. I was hoping you would. But I didn't like to ask."
Half a dozen six-shooters began to pop--awful yells rent the air--Long Collins galloped wildly across Curly's bed, dragging the saddle after him. That was merely their way of gently awaking their victim. Then they hazed201 him for an hour, carefully and ridiculously, after the code of cow camps. Whenever he uttered protest they held him stretched over a roll of blankets and thrashed him woefully with a pair of leather leggings.
And all this meant that Curly had won his spurs, that he was receiving the puncher's accolade202. Nevermore would they be polite to him. But he would be their "pardner" and stirrup-brother, foot to foot.
When the fooling was ended all hands made a raid on Joe's big coffee- pot by the fire for a Java nightcap. Ranse watched the new knight14 carefully to see if he understood and was worthy203. Curly limped with his cup of coffee to a log and sat upon it. Long Collins followed and sat by his side. Buck Rabb went and sat at the other. Curly--grinned.
And then Ranse furnished Curly with mounts and saddle and equipment, and turned him over to Buck Rabb, instructing him to finish the job.
Three weeks later Ranse rode from the ranch into Rabb's camp, which was then in Snake Valley. The boys were saddling for the day's ride. He sought out Long Collins among them.
"How about that bronco?" he asked.
Long Collins grinned.
"Reach out your hand, Ranse Truesdell," he said, "and you'll touch him. And you can shake his'n, too, if you like, for he's plumb white and there's none better in no camp."
Ranse looked again at the clear-faced, bronzed, smiling cowpuncher who stood at Collins's side. Could that be Curly? He held out his hand, and Curly grasped it with the muscles of a bronco-buster.
"I want you at the ranch," said Ranse.
"All right, sport," said Curly, heartily. "But I want to come back again. Say, pal, this is a dandy farm. And I don't want any better fun than hustlin' cows with this bunch of guys. They're all to the merry- merry."
At the Cibolo ranch-house they dismounted. Ranse bade Curly wait at the door of the living room. He walked inside. Old "Kiowa" Truesdell was reading at a table.
"Good-morning, Mr. Truesdell," said Ranse.
The old man turned his white head quickly.
"How is this?" he began. "Why do you call me 'Mr.--'?"
When he looked at Ranse's face he stopped, and the hand that held his newspaper shook slightly.
"Boy," he said slowly, "how did you find it out?"
"It's all right," said Ranse, with a smile. "I made Tia Juana tell me. It was kind of by accident, but it's all right."
"You've been like a son to me," said old "Kiowa," trembling.
"Tia Juana told me all about it," said Ranse. "She told me how you adopted me when I was knee-high to a puddle204 duck out of a wagon train of prospectors205 that was bound West. And she told me how the kid--your own kid, you know--got lost or was run away with. And she said it was the same day that the sheep-shearers got on a bender and left the ranch."
"Our boy strayed from the house when he was two years old," said the old man. "And then along came those emigrant206 wagons with a youngster they didn't want; and we took you. I never intended you to know, Ranse. We never heard of our boy again."
"He's right outside, unless I'm mighty mistaken," said Ranse, opening the door and beckoning207.
Curly walked in.
No one could have doubted. The old man and the young had the same sweep of hair, the same nose, chin, line of face, and prominent light- blue eyes.
Old "Kiowa" rose eagerly.
Curly looked about the room curiously. A puzzled expression came over his face. He pointed208 to the wall opposite.
"Where's the tick-tock?" he asked, absent-mindedly.
"The clock," cried old "Kiowa" loudly. "The eight-day clock used to stand there. Why--"
He turned to Ranse, but Ranse was not there.
Already a hundred yards away, Vaminos, the good flea-bitten dun, was bearing him eastward like a racer through dust and chaparral towards the Rancho de los Olmos.
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1
fleeting
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| adj.短暂的，飞逝的 | |
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den
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| n.兽穴；秘密地方；安静的小房间，私室 | |
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irresistibly
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| adv.无法抵抗地，不能自持地；极为诱惑人地 | |
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nonchalance
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| n.冷淡，漠不关心 | |
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gutter
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| n.沟，街沟，水槽，檐槽，贫民窟 | |
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leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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slings
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| 抛( sling的第三人称单数 )； 吊挂； 遣送； 押往 | |
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outrageous
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| adj.无理的，令人不能容忍的 | |
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buck
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| n.雄鹿，雄兔；v.马离地跳跃 | |
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con
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| n.反对的观点，反对者，反对票，肺病；vt.精读，学习，默记；adv.反对地，从反面；adj.欺诈的 | |
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unnaturally
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| adv.违反习俗地；不自然地；勉强地；不近人情地 | |
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knights
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| 骑士； （中古时代的）武士( knight的名词复数 )； 骑士； 爵士； （国际象棋中）马 | |
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knight
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| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
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disapproved
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| v.不赞成( disapprove的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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despatch
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| n./v.(dispatch)派遣；发送；n.急件；新闻报道 | |
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automaton
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| n.自动机器，机器人 | |
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pawn
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| n.典当，抵押，小人物，走卒；v.典当，抵押 | |
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hilarious
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| adj.充满笑声的，欢闹的；[反]depressed | |
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plaza
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| n.广场，市场 | |
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ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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cleft
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| n.裂缝；adj.裂开的 | |
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alley
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| n.小巷，胡同；小径，小路 | |
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specimens
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| n.样品( specimen的名词复数 )；范例；（化验的）抽样；某种类型的人 | |
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sullenness
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| n. 愠怒, 沉闷, 情绪消沉 | |
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impudence
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| n.厚颜无耻；冒失；无礼 | |
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fawning
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| adj.乞怜的，奉承的v.（尤指狗等）跳过来往人身上蹭以示亲热( fawn的现在分词 )；巴结；讨好 | |
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ascendancy
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| n.统治权，支配力量 | |
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wrestled
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| v.（与某人）搏斗( wrestle的过去式和过去分词 )；扭成一团；扭打；（与…）摔跤 | |
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epidermal
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| adj. [解][生]表皮的，外皮的 | |
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obstructed
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| 阻塞( obstruct的过去式和过去分词 )； 堵塞； 阻碍； 阻止 | |
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shuffled
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| v.洗（纸牌）( shuffle的过去式和过去分词 )；拖着脚步走；粗心地做；摆脱尘世的烦恼 | |
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owl
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| n.猫头鹰，枭 | |
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schooner
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| n.纵帆船 | |
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diplomat
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| n.外交官，外交家；能交际的人，圆滑的人 | |
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stony
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| adj.石头的，多石头的，冷酷的，无情的 | |
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distraction
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| n.精神涣散，精神不集中，消遣，娱乐 | |
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murky
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| adj.黑暗的，朦胧的；adv.阴暗地，混浊地；n.阴暗；昏暗 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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fissures
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| n.狭长裂缝或裂隙( fissure的名词复数 )；裂伤；分歧；分裂v.裂开( fissure的第三人称单数 ) | |
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ranches
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| 大农场， （兼种果树，养鸡等的）大牧场( ranch的名词复数 ) | |
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ranch
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| n.大牧场，大农场 | |
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instigated
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| v.使（某事物）开始或发生，鼓动( instigate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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diluted
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| 无力的，冲淡的 | |
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afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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fickle
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| adj.(爱情或友谊上)易变的，不坚定的 | |
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subsided
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| v.（土地）下陷（因在地下采矿）( subside的过去式和过去分词 )；减弱；下降至较低或正常水平；一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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alcoholic
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| adj.（含）酒精的，由酒精引起的；n.酗酒者 | |
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cargo
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| n.(一只船或一架飞机运载的)货物 | |
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52
drizzling
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| 下蒙蒙细雨，下毛毛雨( drizzle的现在分词 ) | |
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53
dousing
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| v.浇水在…上( douse的现在分词 )；熄灯[火] | |
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54
amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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salutes
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| n.致敬，欢迎，敬礼( salute的名词复数 )v.欢迎，致敬( salute的第三人称单数 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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tortuous
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| adj.弯弯曲曲的，蜿蜒的 | |
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serpentine
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| adj.蜿蜒的，弯曲的 | |
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wagon
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| n.四轮马车，手推车，面包车；无盖运货列车 | |
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wagons
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| n.四轮的运货马车( wagon的名词复数 )；铁路货车；小手推车 | |
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shafts
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| 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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61
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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zigzagged
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| adj.呈之字形移动的v.弯弯曲曲地走路，曲折地前进( zigzag的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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drowsy
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| adj.昏昏欲睡的，令人发困的 | |
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instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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66
burrow
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| vt.挖掘(洞穴)；钻进；vi.挖洞；翻寻；n.地洞 | |
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67
burrowing
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| v.挖掘（洞穴），挖洞( burrow的现在分词 )；翻寻 | |
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snug
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| adj.温暖舒适的，合身的，安全的；v.使整洁干净，舒适地依靠，紧贴；n.（英）酒吧里的私房 | |
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condescended
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| 屈尊，俯就( condescend的过去式和过去分词 )； 故意表示和蔼可亲 | |
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mythological
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| adj.神话的 | |
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wink
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| n.眨眼，使眼色，瞬间；v.眨眼，使眼色，闪烁 | |
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ponies
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| 矮种马，小型马( pony的名词复数 )； ￡25 25 英镑 | |
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bridle
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| n.笼头，束缚；vt.抑制，约束；动怒 | |
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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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guardians
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| 监护人( guardian的名词复数 )； 保护者，维护者 | |
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elastic
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| n.橡皮圈，松紧带；adj.有弹性的；灵活的 | |
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radius
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| n.半径，半径范围；有效航程，范围，界限 | |
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humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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81
largo
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| n.广板乐章；adj.缓慢的，宽广的；adv.缓慢地，宽广地 | |
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82
butt
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| n.笑柄；烟蒂；枪托；臀部；v.用头撞或顶 | |
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83
wrangler
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| n.口角者，争论者；牧马者 | |
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84
falcon
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| n.隼，猎鹰 | |
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85
thicket
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| n.灌木丛，树林 | |
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86
crumbs
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| int. (表示惊讶)哎呀 n. 碎屑 名词crumb的复数形式 | |
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87
beet
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| n.甜菜；甜菜根 | |
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88
smack
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| vt.拍，打，掴；咂嘴；vi.含有…意味；n.拍 | |
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89
bust
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| vt.打破；vi.爆裂；n.半身像；胸部 | |
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90
hatchet
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| n.短柄小斧；v.扼杀 | |
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91
shearing
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| n.剪羊毛，剪取的羊毛v.剪羊毛( shear的现在分词 )；切断；剪切 | |
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92
thatch
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| vt.用茅草覆盖…的顶部；n.茅草(屋) | |
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93
bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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94
adobe
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| n.泥砖，土坯，美国Adobe公司 | |
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95
circumvented
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| v.设法克服或避免（某事物），回避( circumvent的过去式和过去分词 )；绕过，绕行，绕道旅行 | |
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96
grove
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| n.林子，小树林，园林 | |
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97
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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98
hippopotamuses
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| n.河马（产于非洲）( hippopotamus的名词复数 ) | |
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99
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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100
moss
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| n.苔，藓，地衣 | |
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101
mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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102
lasting
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| adj.永久的，永恒的；vbl.持续，维持 | |
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103
feud
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| n.长期不和；世仇；v.长期争斗；世代结仇 | |
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104
thickets
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| n.灌木丛( thicket的名词复数 )；丛状物 | |
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105
notches
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| n.（边缘或表面上的）V型痕迹( notch的名词复数 )；刻痕；水平；等级 | |
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106
rangers
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| 护林者( ranger的名词复数 )； 突击队员 | |
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107
sobriquet
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| n.绰号 | |
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108
herds
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| 兽群( herd的名词复数 )； 牧群； 人群； 群众 | |
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109
pal
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| n.朋友，伙伴，同志；vi.结为友 | |
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110
growling
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| n.吠声, 咆哮声 v.怒吠, 咆哮, 吼 | |
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111
pumas
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| n.美洲狮( puma的名词复数 )；彪马；于1948年成立于德国荷索金劳勒(Herzogenaurach)的国际运动品牌；创始人：鲁道夫及达斯勒。 | |
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112
slain
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| 杀死，宰杀，杀戮( slay的过去分词 )； (slay的过去分词) | |
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113
ransom
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| n.赎金，赎身；v.赎回，解救 | |
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114
survivor
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| n.生存者，残存者，幸存者 | |
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115
rattling
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| 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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116
intake
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| n.吸入，纳入；进气口，入口 | |
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117
contentedly
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| adv.心满意足地 | |
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118
elevation
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| n.高度；海拔；高地；上升；提高 | |
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119
tawny
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| adj.茶色的，黄褐色的；n.黄褐色 | |
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120
arroyo
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| n.干涸的河床，小河 | |
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121
zephyr
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| n.和风，微风 | |
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122
ripples
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| 逐渐扩散的感觉( ripple的名词复数 ) | |
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123
clatter
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| v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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124
hoofs
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| n.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的名词复数 )v.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的第三人称单数 ) | |
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125
outfit
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| n.（为特殊用途的）全套装备，全套服装 | |
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126
delved
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| v.深入探究，钻研( delve的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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127
twine
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| v.搓，织，编饰；（使）缠绕 | |
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128
protruded
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| v.（使某物）伸出，（使某物）突出( protrude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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129
grasshoppers
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| n.蚱蜢( grasshopper的名词复数 )；蝗虫；蚂蚱；（孩子）矮小的 | |
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130
slumber
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| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
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131
vile
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| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
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132
puffed
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| adj.疏松的v.使喷出( puff的过去式和过去分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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133
swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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134
slits
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| n.狭长的口子，裂缝( slit的名词复数 )v.切开，撕开( slit的第三人称单数 )；在…上开狭长口子 | |
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135
maverick
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| 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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136
snarled
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| v.（指狗）吠，嗥叫， （人）咆哮( snarl的过去式和过去分词 )；咆哮着说，厉声地说 | |
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137
scotch
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| n.伤口，刻痕；苏格兰威士忌酒；v.粉碎，消灭，阻止；adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
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138
parched
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| adj.焦干的；极渴的；v.（使）焦干 | |
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139
outraged
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| a.震惊的，义愤填膺的 | |
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140
sneering
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| 嘲笑的，轻蔑的 | |
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141
wrenched
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| v.（猛力地）扭( wrench的过去式和过去分词 )；扭伤；使感到痛苦；使悲痛 | |
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142
growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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143
pyjamas
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| n.（宽大的）睡衣裤 | |
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144
ecstasy
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| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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145
fins
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| [医]散热片；鱼鳍；飞边；鸭掌 | |
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146
prehensile
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| adj.（足等）适于抓握的 | |
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147
zoologist
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| n.动物学家 | |
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148
auditorium
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| n.观众席，听众席；会堂，礼堂 | |
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149
panoplied
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| adj.全套披甲的，装饰漂亮的 | |
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150
gulped
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| v.狼吞虎咽地吃，吞咽( gulp的过去式和过去分词 )；大口地吸（气）；哽住 | |
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151
coffin
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| n.棺材，灵柩 | |
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152
chunk
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| n.厚片，大块，相当大的部分（数量） | |
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153
leopard
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| n.豹 | |
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154
cubs
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| n.幼小的兽，不懂规矩的年轻人( cub的名词复数 ) | |
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155
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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156
galloped
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| （使马）飞奔，奔驰( gallop的过去式和过去分词 )； 快速做[说]某事 | |
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157
eastward
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| adv.向东；adj.向东的；n.东方，东部 | |
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158
fragrance
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| n.芬芳，香味，香气 | |
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159
undone
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| a.未做完的，未完成的 | |
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160
glade
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| n.林间空地，一片表面有草的沼泽低地 | |
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161
steered
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| v.驾驶( steer的过去式和过去分词 )；操纵；控制；引导 | |
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162
pony
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| adj.小型的；n.小马 | |
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163
heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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164
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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165
ardently
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| adv.热心地，热烈地 | |
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166
badger
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| v.一再烦扰，一再要求，纠缠 | |
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167
feuds
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| n.长期不和，世仇( feud的名词复数 ) | |
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168
vindictively
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| adv.恶毒地；报复地 | |
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169
bruised
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| [医]青肿的，瘀紫的 | |
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170
lodged
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| v.存放( lodge的过去式和过去分词 )；暂住；埋入；（权利、权威等）归属 | |
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171
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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172
fumbled
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| （笨拙地）摸索或处理（某事物）( fumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 乱摸，笨拙地弄； 使落下 | |
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173
coma
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| n.昏迷，昏迷状态 | |
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174
grumbled
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| 抱怨( grumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 发牢骚； 咕哝； 发哼声 | |
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175
sullenly
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| 不高兴地，绷着脸，忧郁地 | |
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176
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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177
softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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178
ravages
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| 劫掠后的残迹，破坏的结果，毁坏后的残迹 | |
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179
aquiline
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| adj.钩状的，鹰的 | |
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180
latch
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| n.门闩，窗闩；弹簧锁 | |
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181
sniffed
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| v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的过去式和过去分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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182
briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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183
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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184
plumb
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| adv.精确地，完全地；v.了解意义，测水深 | |
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185
condemned
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| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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186
injustice
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| n.非正义，不公正，不公平，侵犯（别人的）权利 | |
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187
sardonically
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| adv.讽刺地，冷嘲地 | |
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188
brink
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| n.(悬崖、河流等的)边缘，边沿 | |
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189
sleight
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| n.技巧，花招 | |
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190
hurled
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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191
porpoise
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| n.鼠海豚 | |
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192
allayed
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| v.减轻，缓和( allay的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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193
equilibrium
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| n.平衡，均衡，相称，均势，平静 | |
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194
faucet
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| n.水龙头 | |
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195
accrue
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| v.(利息等)增大，增多 | |
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196
reclamation
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| n.开垦；改造；（废料等的）回收 | |
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197
faculty
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| n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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198
devoured
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| 吞没( devour的过去式和过去分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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199
consignment
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| n.寄售；发货；委托；交运货物 | |
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200
obloquy
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| n.斥责，大骂 | |
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201
hazed
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| v.（使）笼罩在薄雾中( haze的过去式和过去分词 )；戏弄，欺凌（新生等，有时作为加入美国大学生联谊会的条件） | |
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202
accolade
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| n.推崇备至，赞扬 | |
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203
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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puddle
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| n.(雨)水坑，泥潭 | |
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205
prospectors
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| n.勘探者，探矿者( prospector的名词复数 ) | |
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emigrant
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| adj.移居的，移民的；n.移居外国的人，移民 | |
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207
beckoning
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| adj.引诱人的，令人心动的v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的现在分词 ) | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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