The Cisco Kid had killed six men in more or less fair scrimmages, had murdered twice as many (mostly Mexicans), and had winged a larger number whom he modestly forbore to count. Therefore a woman loved him.
The Kid was twenty-five, looked twenty; and a careful insurance company would have estimated the probable time of his demise1 at, say, twenty-six. His habitat was anywhere between the Frio and the Rio Grande. He killed for the love of it--because he was quick-tempered-- to avoid arrest--for his own amusement--any reason that came to his mind would suffice. He had escaped capture because he could shoot five-sixths of a second sooner than any sheriff or ranger2 in the service, and because he rode a speckled roan horse that knew every cow-path in the mesquite and pear thickets4 from San Antonio to Matamoras.
Tonia Perez, the girl who loved the Cisco Kid, was half Carmen, half Madonna, and the rest--oh, yes, a woman who is half Carmen and half Madonna can always be something more--the rest, let us say, was humming-bird. She lived in a grass-roofed jacal near a little Mexican settlement at the Lone5 Wolf Crossing of the Frio. With her lived a father or grandfather, a lineal Aztec, somewhat less than a thousand years old, who herded6 a hundred goats and lived in a continuous drunken dream from drinking mescal. Back of the jacal a tremendous forest of bristling7 pear, twenty feet high at its worst, crowded almost to its door. It was along the bewildering maze8 of this spinous thicket3 that the speckled roan would bring the Kid to see his girl. And once, clinging like a lizard9 to the ridge-pole, high up under the peaked grass roof, he had heard Tonia, with her Madonna face and Carmen beauty and humming-bird soul, parley10 with the sheriff's posse, denying knowledge of her man in her soft melange11 of Spanish and English.
One day the adjutant-general of the State, who is, ex offico, commander of the ranger forces, wrote some sarcastic12 lines to Captain Duval of Company X, stationed at Laredo, relative to the serene13 and undisturbed existence led by murderers and desperadoes in the said captain's territory.
The captain turned the colour of brick dust under his tan, and forwarded the letter, after adding a few comments, per ranger Private Bill Adamson, to ranger Lieutenant14 Sandridge, camped at a water hole on the Nueces with a squad15 of five men in preservation16 of law and order.
Lieutenant Sandridge turned a beautiful couleur de rose through his ordinary strawberry complexion17, tucked the letter in his hip18 pocket, and chewed off the ends of his gamboge moustache.
The next morning he saddled his horse and rode alone to the Mexican settlement at the Lone Wolf Crossing of the Frio, twenty miles away.
Six feet two, blond as a Viking, quiet as a deacon, dangerous as a machine gun, Sandridge moved among the Jacales, patiently seeking news of the Cisco Kid.
Far more than the law, the Mexicans dreaded19 the cold and certain vengeance20 of the lone rider that the ranger sought. It had been one of the Kid's pastimes to shoot Mexicans "to see them kick": if he demanded from them moribund21 Terpsichorean22 feats23, simply that he might be entertained, what terrible and extreme penalties would be certain to follow should they anger him! One and all they lounged with upturned palms and shrugging shoulders, filling the air with "quien sabes" and denials of the Kid's acquaintance.
But there was a man named Fink who kept a store at the Crossing--a man of many nationalities, tongues, interests, and ways of thinking.
"No use to ask them Mexicans," he said to Sandridge. "They're afraid to tell. This hombre they call the Kid--Goodall is his name, ain't it?--he's been in my store once or twice. I have an idea you might run across him at--but I guess I don't keer to say, myself. I'm two seconds later in pulling a gun than I used to be, and the difference is worth thinking about. But this Kid's got a half-Mexican girl at the Crossing that he comes to see. She lives in that jacal a hundred yards down the arroyo24 at the edge of the pear. Maybe she--no, I don't suppose she would, but that jacal would be a good place to watch, anyway."
Sandridge rode down to the jacal of Perez. The sun was low, and the broad shade of the great pear thicket already covered the grass- thatched hut. The goats were enclosed for the night in a brush corral near by. A few kids walked the top of it, nibbling25 the chaparral leaves. The old Mexican lay upon a blanket on the grass, already in a stupor26 from his mescal, and dreaming, perhaps, of the nights when he and Pizarro touched glasses to their New World fortunes--so old his wrinkled face seemed to proclaim him to be. And in the door of the jacal stood Tonia. And Lieutenant Sandridge sat in his saddle staring at her like a gannet agape at a sailorman.
The Cisco Kid was a vain person, as all eminent28 and successful assassins are, and his bosom29 would have been ruffled30 had he known that at a simple exchange of glances two persons, in whose minds he had been looming31 large, suddenly abandoned (at least for the time) all thought of him.
Never before had Tonia seen such a man as this. He seemed to be made of sunshine and blood-red tissue and clear weather. He seemed to illuminate32 the shadow of the pear when he smiled, as though the sun were rising again. The men she had known had been small and dark. Even the Kid, in spite of his achievements, was a stripling no larger than herself, with black, straight hair and a cold, marble face that chilled the noonday.
As for Tonia, though she sends description to the poorhouse, let her make a millionaire of your fancy. Her blue-black hair, smoothly33 divided in the middle and bound close to her head, and her large eyes full of the Latin melancholy34, gave her the Madonna touch. Her motions and air spoke35 of the concealed36 fire and the desire to charm that she had inherited from the gitanas of the Basque province. As for the humming-bird part of her, that dwelt in her heart; you could not perceive it unless her bright red skirt and dark blue blouse gave you a symbolic37 hint of the vagarious bird.
The newly lighted sun-god asked for a drink of water. Tonia brought it from the red jar hanging under the brush shelter. Sandridge considered it necessary to dismount so as to lessen38 the trouble of her ministrations.
I play no spy; nor do I assume to master the thoughts of any human heart; but I assert, by the chronicler's right, that before a quarter of an hour had sped, Sandridge was teaching her how to plaint a six-strand39 rawhide40 stake-rope, and Tonia had explained to him that were it not for her little English book that the peripatetic41 padre had given her and the little crippled chivo, that she fed from a bottle, she would be very, very lonely indeed.
Which leads to a suspicion that the Kid's fences needed repairing, and that the adjutant-general's sarcasm43 had fallen upon unproductive soil.
In his camp by the water hole Lieutenant Sandridge announced and reiterated44 his intention of either causing the Cisco Kid to nibble45 the black loam46 of the Frio country prairies or of haling him before a judge and jury. That sounded business-like. Twice a week he rode over to the Lone Wolf Crossing of the Frio, and directed Tonia's slim, slightly lemon-tinted47 fingers among the intricacies of the slowly growing lariata. A six-strand plait is hard to learn and easy to teach.
The ranger knew that he might find the Kid there at any visit. He kept his armament ready, and had a frequent eye for the pear thicket at the rear of the jacal. Thus he might bring down the kite and the humming-bird with one stone.
While the sunny-haired ornithologist49 was pursuing his studies the Cisco Kid was also attending to his professional duties. He moodily50 shot up a saloon in a small cow village on Quintana Creek51, killed the town marshal (plugging him neatly52 in the centre of his tin badge), and then rode away, morose53 and unsatisfied. No true artist is uplifted by shooting an aged54 man carrying an old-style .38 bulldog.
On his way the Kid suddenly experienced the yearning55 that all men feel when wrong-doing loses its keen edge of delight. He yearned56 for the woman he loved to reassure57 him that she was his in spite of it. He wanted her to call his bloodthirstiness bravery and his cruelty devotion. He wanted Tonia to bring him water from the red jar under the brush shelter, and tell him how the chivo was thriving on the bottle.
The Kid turned the speckled roan's head up the ten-mile pear flat that stretches along the Arroyo Hondo until it ends at the Lone Wolf Crossing of the Frio. The roan whickered; for he had a sense of locality and direction equal to that of a belt-line street-car horse; and he knew he would soon be nibbling the rich mesquite grass at the end of a forty-foot stake-rope while Ulysses rested his head in Circe's straw-roofed hut.
More weird58 and lonesome than the journey of an Amazonian explorer is the ride of one through a Texas pear flat. With dismal59 monotony and startling variety the uncanny and multiform shapes of the cacti60 lift their twisted trunks, and fat, bristly hands to encumber61 the way. The demon62 plant, appearing to live without soil or rain, seems to taunt63 the parched64 traveller with its lush grey greenness. It warps65 itself a thousand times about what look to be open and inviting66 paths, only to lure67 the rider into blind and impassable spine-defended "bottoms of the bag," leaving him to retreat, if he can, with the points of the compass whirling in his head.
To be lost in the pear is to die almost the death of the thief on the cross, pierced by nails and with grotesque68 shapes of all the fiends hovering69 about.
But it was not so with the Kid and his mount. Winding70, twisting, circling, tracing the most fantastic and bewildering trail ever picked out, the good roan lessened71 the distance to the Lone Wolf Crossing with every coil and turn that he made.
While they fared the Kid sang. He knew but one tune27 and sang it, as he knew but one code and lived it, and but one girl and loved her. He was a single-minded man of conventional ideas. He had a voice like a coyote with bronchitis, but whenever he chose to sing his song he sang it. It was a conventional song of the camps and trail, running at its beginning as near as may be to these words:
Don't you monkey with my Lulu girl
Or I'll tell you what I'll do--
and so on. The roan was inured72 to it, and did not mind.
But even the poorest singer will, after a certain time, gain his own consent to refrain from contributing to the world's noises. So the Kid, by the time he was within a mile or two of Tonia's jacal, had reluctantly allowed his song to die away--not because his vocal73 performance had become less charming to his own ears, but because his laryngeal muscles were aweary.
As though he were in a circus ring the speckled roan wheeled and danced through the labyrinth74 of pear until at length his rider knew by certain landmarks75 that the Lone Wolf Crossing was close at hand. Then, where the pear was thinner, he caught sight of the grass roof of the jacal and the hackberry tree on the edge of the arroyo. A few yards farther the Kid stopped the roan and gazed intently through the prickly openings. Then he dismounted, dropped the roan's reins76, and proceeded on foot, stooping and silent, like an Indian. The roan, knowing his part, stood still, making no sound.
The Kid crept noiselessly to the very edge of the pear thicket and reconnoitred between the leaves of a clump77 of cactus78.
Ten yards from his hiding-place, in the shade of the jacal, sat his Tonia calmly plaiting a rawhide lariat48. So far she might surely escape condemnation79; women have been known, from time to time, to engage in more mischievous80 occupations. But if all must be told, there is to be added that her head reposed81 against the broad and comfortable chest of a tall red-and-yellow man, and that his arm was about her, guiding her nimble fingers that required so many lessons at the intricate six- strand plait.
Sandridge glanced quickly at the dark mass of pear when he heard a slight squeaking82 sound that was not altogether unfamiliar83. A gun- scabbard will make that sound when one grasps the handle of a six- shooter suddenly. But the sound was not repeated; and Tonia's fingers needed close attention.
And then, in the shadow of death, they began to talk of their love; and in the still July afternoon every word they uttered reached the ears of the Kid.
"Remember, then," said Tonia, "you must not come again until I send for you. Soon he will be here. A vaquero at the tienda said to-day he saw him on the Guadalupe three days ago. When he is that near he always comes. If he comes and finds you here he will kill you. So, for my sake, you must come no more until I send you the word."
"All right," said the stranger. "And then what?"
"And then," said the girl, "you must bring your men here and kill him. If not, he will kill you."
"He ain't a man to surrender, that's sure," said Sandridge. "It's kill or be killed for the officer that goes up against Mr. Cisco Kid."
"He must die," said the girl. "Otherwise there will not be any peace in the world for thee and me. He has killed many. Let him so die. Bring your men, and give him no chance to escape."
"You used to think right much of him," said Sandridge.
Tonia dropped the lariat, twisted herself around, and curved a lemon- tinted arm over the ranger's shoulder.
"But then," she murmured in liquid Spanish, "I had not beheld84 thee, thou great, red mountain of a man! And thou art kind and good, as well as strong. Could one choose him, knowing thee? Let him die; for then I will not be filled with fear by day and night lest he hurt thee or me."
"How can I know when he comes?" asked Sandridge.
"When he comes," said Tonia, "he remains85 two days, sometimes three. Gregorio, the small son of old Luisa, the lavendera, has a swift pony86. I will write a letter to thee and send it by him, saying how it will be best to come upon him. By Gregorio will the letter come. And bring many men with thee, and have much care, oh, dear red one, for the rattlesnake is not quicker to strike than is 'El Chivato,' as they call him, to send a ball from his pistola."
"The Kid's handy with his gun, sure enough," admitted Sandridge, "but when I come for him I shall come alone. I'll get him by myself or not at all. The Cap wrote one or two things to me that make me want to do the trick without any help. You let me know when Mr. Kid arrives, and I'll do the rest."
"I will send you the message by the boy Gregorio," said the girl. "I knew you were braver than that small slayer87 of men who never smiles. How could I ever have thought I cared for him?"
It was time for the ranger to ride back to his camp on the water hole. Before he mounted his horse he raised the slight form of Tonia with one arm high from the earth for a parting salute89. The drowsy90 stillness of the torpid91 summer air still lay thick upon the dreaming afternoon. The smoke from the fire in the jacal, where the frijoles blubbered in the iron pot, rose straight as a plumb-line above the clay-daubed chimney. No sound or movement disturbed the serenity92 of the dense93 pear thicket ten yards away.
When the form of Sandridge had disappeared, loping his big dun down the steep banks of the Frio crossing, the Kid crept back to his own horse, mounted him, and rode back along the tortuous94 trail he had come.
But not far. He stopped and waited in the silent depths of the pear until half an hour had passed. And then Tonia heard the high, untrue notes of his unmusical singing coming nearer and nearer; and she ran to the edge of the pear to meet him.
The Kid seldom smiled; but he smiled and waved his hat when he saw her. He dismounted, and his girl sprang into his arms. The Kid looked at her fondly. His thick, black hair clung to his head like a wrinkled mat. The meeting brought a slight ripple42 of some undercurrent of feeling to his smooth, dark face that was usually as motionless as a clay mask.
"How's my girl?" he asked, holding her close.
"Sick of waiting so long for you, dear one," she answered. "My eyes are dim with always gazing into that devil's pincushion through which you come. And I can see into it such a little way, too. But you are here, beloved one, and I will not scold. Que mal muchacho! not to come to see your alma more often. Go in and rest, and let me water your horse and stake him with the long rope. There is cool water in the jar for you."
The Kid kissed her affectionately.
"Not if the court knows itself do I let a lady stake my horse for me," said he. "But if you'll run in, chica, and throw a pot of coffee together while I attend to the caballo, I'll be a good deal obliged."
Besides his marksmanship the Kid had another attribute for which he admired himself greatly. He was muy caballero, as the Mexicans express it, where the ladies were concerned. For them he had always gentle words and consideration. He could not have spoken a harsh word to a woman. He might ruthlessly slay88 their husbands and brothers, but he could not have laid the weight of a finger in anger upon a woman. Wherefore many of that interesting division of humanity who had come under the spell of his politeness declared their disbelief in the stories circulated about Mr. Kid. One shouldn't believe everything one heard, they said. When confronted by their indignant men folk with proof of the caballero's deeds of infamy95, they said maybe he had been driven to it, and that he knew how to treat a lady, anyhow.
Considering this extremely courteous96 idiosyncrasy of the Kid and the pride he took in it, one can perceive that the solution of the problem that was presented to him by what he saw and heard from his hiding- place in the pear that afternoon (at least as to one of the actors) must have been obscured by difficulties. And yet one could not think of the Kid overlooking little matters of that kind.
At the end of the short twilight97 they gathered around a supper of frijoles, goat steaks, canned peaches, and coffee, by the light of a lantern in the jacal. Afterward98, the ancestor, his flock corralled, smoked a cigarette and became a mummy in a grey blanket. Tonia washed the few dishes while the Kid dried them with the flour-sacking towel. Her eyes shone; she chatted volubly of the inconsequent happenings of her small world since the Kid's last visit; it was as all his other home-comings had been.
Then outside Tonia swung in a grass hammock with her guitar and sang sad canciones de amor.
"Do you love me just the same, old girl?" asked the Kid, hunting for his cigarette papers.
"Always the same, little one," said Tonia, her dark eyes lingering upon him.
"I must go over to Fink's," said the Kid, rising, "for some tobacco. I thought I had another sack in my coat. I'll be back in a quarter of an hour."
"Hasten," said Tonia, "and tell me--how long shall I call you my own this time? Will you be gone again to-morrow, leaving me to grieve, or will you be longer with your Tonia?"
"Oh, I might stay two or three days this trip," said the Kid, yawning. "I've been on the dodge99 for a month, and I'd like to rest up."
He was gone half an hour for his tobacco. When he returned Tonia was still lying in the hammock.
"It's funny," said the Kid, "how I feel. I feel like there was somebody lying behind every bush and tree waiting to shoot me. I never had mullygrubs like them before. Maybe it's one of them presumptions100. I've got half a notion to light out in the morning before day. The Guadalupe country is burning up about that old Dutchman I plugged down there."
"You are not afraid--no one could make my brave little one fear."
"Well, I haven't been usually regarded as a jack-rabbit when it comes to scrapping101; but I don't want a posse smoking me out when I'm in your jacal. Somebody might get hurt that oughtn't to."
"Remain with your Tonia; no one will find you here."
The Kid looked keenly into the shadows up and down the arroyo and toward the dim lights of the Mexican village.
"I'll see how it looks later on," was his decision.
At midnight a horseman rode into the rangers102' camp, blazing his way by noisy "halloes" to indicate a pacific mission. Sandridge and one or two others turned out to investigate the row. The rider announced himself to be Domingo Sales, from the Lone Wolf Crossing. he bore a letter for Senor Sandridge. Old Luisa, the lavendera, had persuaded him to bring it, he said, her son Gregorio being too ill of a fever to ride.
Sandridge lighted the camp lantern and read the letter. These were its words:
Dear One: He has come. Hardly had you ridden away when he came out of the pear. When he first talked he said he would stay three days or more. Then as it grew later he was like a wolf or a fox, and walked about without rest, looking and listening. Soon he said he must leave before daylight when it is dark and stillest. And then he seemed to suspect that I be not true to him. He looked at me so strange that I am frightened. I swear to him that I love him, his own Tonia. Last of all he said I must prove to him I am true. He thinks that even now men are waiting to kill him as he rides from my house. To escape he says he will dress in my clothes, my red skirt and the blue waist I wear and the brown mantilla over the head, and thus ride away. But before that he says that I must put on his clothes, his pantalones and camisa and hat, and ride away on his horse from the jacal as far as the big road beyond the crossing and back again. This before he goes, so he can tell if I am true and if men are hidden to shoot him. It is a terrible thing. An hour before daybreak this is to be. Come, my dear one, and kill this man and take me for your Tonia. Do not try to take hold of him alive, but kill him quickly. Knowing all, you should do that. You must come long before the time and hide yourself in the little shed near the jacal where the wagon103 and saddles are kept. It is dark in there. He will wear my red skirt and blue waist and brown mantilla. I send you a hundred kisses. Come surely and shoot quickly and straight.
Thine Own Tonia.
Sandridge quickly explained to his men the official part of the missive. The rangers protested against his going alone.
"I'll get him easy enough," said the lieutenant. "The girl's got him trapped. And don't even think he'll get the drop on me."
Sandridge saddled his horse and rode to the Lone Wolf Crossing. He tied his big dun in a clump of brush on the arroyo, took his Winchester from its scabbard, and carefully approached the Perez jacal. There was only the half of a high moon drifted over by ragged104, milk-white gulf105 clouds.
The wagon-shed was an excellent place for ambush106; and the ranger got inside it safely. In the black shadow of the brush shelter in front of the jacal he could see a horse tied and hear him impatiently pawing the hard-trodden earth.
He waited almost an hour before two figures came out of the jacal. One, in man's clothes, quickly mounted the horse and galloped107 past the wagon-shed toward the crossing and village. And then the other figure, in skirt, waist, and mantilla over its head, stepped out into the faint moonlight, gazing after the rider. Sandridge thought he would take his chance then before Tonia rode back. He fancied she might not care to see it.
"Throw up your hands," he ordered loudly, stepping out of the wagon- shed with his Winchester at his shoulder.
There was a quick turn of the figure, but no movement to obey, so the ranger pumped in the bullets--one--two--three--and then twice more; for you never could be too sure of bringing down the Cisco Kid. There was no danger of missing at ten paces, even in that half moonlight.
The old ancestor, asleep on his blanket, was awakened108 by the shots. Listening further, he heard a great cry from some man in mortal distress109 or anguish110, and rose up grumbling111 at the disturbing ways of moderns.
The tall, red ghost of a man burst into the jacal, reaching one hand, shaking like a tule reed, for the lantern hanging on its nail. The other spread a letter on the table.
"Look at this letter, Perez," cried the man. "Who wrote it?"
"Ah, Dios! it is Senor Sandridge," mumbled112 the old man, approaching. "Pues, senor, that letter was written by 'El Chivato,' as he is called--by the man of Tonia. They say he is a bad man; I do not know. While Tonia slept he wrote the letter and sent it by this old hand of mine to Domingo Sales to be brought to you. Is there anything wrong in the letter? I am very old; and I did not know. Valgame Dios! it is a very foolish world; and there is nothing in the house to drink-- nothing to drink."
Just then all that Sandridge could think of to do was to go outside and throw himself face downward in the dust by the side of his humming-bird, of whom not a feather fluttered. He was not a caballero by instinct, and he could not understand the niceties of revenge.
A mile away the rider who had ridden past the wagon-shed struck up a harsh, untuneful song, the words of which began:
Don't you monkey with my Lulu girl
Or I'll tell you what I'll do--
收听单词发音 |
1
demise
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| n.死亡；v.让渡，遗赠，转让 | |
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ranger
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| n.国家公园管理员，护林员；骑兵巡逻队员 | |
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thicket
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| n.灌木丛，树林 | |
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thickets
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| n.灌木丛( thicket的名词复数 )；丛状物 | |
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lone
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| adj.孤寂的，单独的；唯一的 | |
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6
herded
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| 群集，纠结( herd的过去式和过去分词 )； 放牧； （使）向…移动 | |
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bristling
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| a.竖立的 | |
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maze
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| n.迷宫，八阵图，混乱，迷惑 | |
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lizard
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| n.蜥蜴，壁虎 | |
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10
parley
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| n.谈判 | |
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melange
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| n.混合物；大杂烩 | |
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12
sarcastic
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| adj.讥讽的，讽刺的，嘲弄的 | |
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serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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lieutenant
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| n.陆军中尉，海军上尉；代理官员，副职官员 | |
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squad
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| n.班，小队，小团体；vt.把…编成班或小组 | |
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preservation
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| n.保护，维护，保存，保留，保持 | |
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complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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hip
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| n.臀部，髋；屋脊 | |
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dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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moribund
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| adj.即将结束的，垂死的 | |
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terpsichorean
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| adj.舞蹈的；n.舞蹈家 | |
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feats
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| 功绩，伟业，技艺( feat的名词复数 ) | |
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arroyo
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| n.干涸的河床，小河 | |
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25
nibbling
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| v.啃，一点一点地咬（吃）( nibble的现在分词 )；啃出（洞），一点一点咬出（洞）；慢慢减少；小口咬 | |
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stupor
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| v.昏迷；不省人事 | |
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tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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eminent
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| adj.显赫的，杰出的，有名的，优良的 | |
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bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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30
ruffled
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| adj. 有褶饰边的, 起皱的 动词ruffle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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31
looming
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| n.上现蜃景（光通过低层大气发生异常折射形成的一种海市蜃楼）v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的现在分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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32
illuminate
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| vt.照亮，照明；用灯光装饰；说明，阐释 | |
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smoothly
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| adv.平滑地，顺利地，流利地，流畅地 | |
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34
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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35
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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36
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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37
symbolic
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| adj.象征性的，符号的，象征主义的 | |
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38
lessen
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| vt.减少，减轻；缩小 | |
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39
strand
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| vt.使（船）搁浅，使（某人）困于（某地） | |
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40
rawhide
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| n.生牛皮 | |
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41
peripatetic
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| adj.漫游的，逍遥派的，巡回的 | |
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42
ripple
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| n.涟波，涟漪，波纹，粗钢梳；vt.使...起涟漪，使起波纹； vi.呈波浪状，起伏前进 | |
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43
sarcasm
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| n.讥讽，讽刺，嘲弄，反话 （adj.sarcastic） | |
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44
reiterated
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| 反复地说，重申( reiterate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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45
nibble
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| n.轻咬，啃；v.一点点地咬，慢慢啃，吹毛求疵 | |
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46
loam
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| n.沃土 | |
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47
tinted
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| adj. 带色彩的 动词tint的过去式和过去分词 | |
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48
lariat
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| n.系绳，套索；v.用套索套捕 | |
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49
ornithologist
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| n.鸟类学家 | |
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50
moodily
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| adv.喜怒无常地；情绪多变地；心情不稳地；易生气地 | |
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51
creek
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| n.小溪，小河，小湾 | |
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52
neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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53
morose
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| adj.脾气坏的，不高兴的 | |
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54
aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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yearning
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| a.渴望的；向往的；怀念的 | |
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yearned
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| 渴望，切盼，向往( yearn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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reassure
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| v.使放心，使消除疑虑 | |
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58
weird
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| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
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dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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60
cacti
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| n.（复）仙人掌 | |
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61
encumber
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| v.阻碍行动，妨碍，堆满 | |
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62
demon
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| n.魔鬼，恶魔 | |
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63
taunt
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| n.辱骂，嘲弄；v.嘲弄 | |
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parched
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| adj.焦干的；极渴的；v.（使）焦干 | |
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warps
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| n.弯曲( warp的名词复数 )；歪斜；经线；经纱v.弄弯，变歪( warp的第三人称单数 )；使（行为等）不合情理，使乖戾， | |
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inviting
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| adj.诱人的，引人注目的 | |
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67
lure
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| n.吸引人的东西，诱惑物；vt.引诱，吸引 | |
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grotesque
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| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
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69
hovering
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| 鸟( hover的现在分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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70
winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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71
lessened
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| 减少的，减弱的 | |
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72
inured
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| adj.坚强的，习惯的 | |
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73
vocal
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| adj.直言不讳的；嗓音的；n.[pl.]声乐节目 | |
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74
labyrinth
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| n.迷宫；难解的事物；迷路 | |
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landmarks
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| n.陆标( landmark的名词复数 )；目标；（标志重要阶段的）里程碑 ~ (in sth)；有历史意义的建筑物（或遗址） | |
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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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77
clump
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| n.树丛，草丛；vi.用沉重的脚步行走 | |
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78
cactus
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| n.仙人掌 | |
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79
condemnation
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| n.谴责; 定罪 | |
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80
mischievous
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| adj.调皮的，恶作剧的，有害的，伤人的 | |
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81
reposed
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| v.将（手臂等）靠在某人（某物）上( repose的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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82
squeaking
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| v.短促地尖叫( squeak的现在分词 )；吱吱叫；告密；充当告密者 | |
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83
unfamiliar
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| adj.陌生的，不熟悉的 | |
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84
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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85
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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86
pony
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| adj.小型的；n.小马 | |
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87
slayer
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| n. 杀人者，凶手 | |
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88
slay
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| v.杀死，宰杀，杀戮 | |
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89
salute
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| vi.行礼，致意，问候，放礼炮；vt.向…致意，迎接，赞扬；n.招呼，敬礼，礼炮 | |
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90
drowsy
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| adj.昏昏欲睡的，令人发困的 | |
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91
torpid
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| adj.麻痹的，麻木的，迟钝的 | |
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92
serenity
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| n.宁静，沉着，晴朗 | |
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93
dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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94
tortuous
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| adj.弯弯曲曲的，蜿蜒的 | |
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95
infamy
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| n.声名狼藉，出丑，恶行 | |
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96
courteous
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| adj.彬彬有礼的，客气的 | |
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97
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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98
afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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99
dodge
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| v.闪开，躲开，避开；n.妙计，诡计 | |
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100
presumptions
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| n.假定( presumption的名词复数 )；认定；推定；放肆 | |
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101
scrapping
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| 刮，切除坯体余泥 | |
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102
rangers
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| 护林者( ranger的名词复数 )； 突击队员 | |
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103
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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104
ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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105
gulf
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| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
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106
ambush
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| n.埋伏(地点)；伏兵；v.埋伏；伏击 | |
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107
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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108
awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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109
distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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110
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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111
grumbling
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| adj. 喃喃鸣不平的, 出怨言的 | |
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112
mumbled
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| 含糊地说某事，叽咕，咕哝( mumble的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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