He lay flat on the brown, pine-needled floor of the forest, his chin on his folded arms, and high overhead the wind blew in the tops of the pine trees. The mountainside sloped gently where he lay; but below it was steep and he could see the dark of the oiled road winding1 through the pass. There was a stream alongside the road and far down the pass he saw a mill beside the stream and the falling water of the dam, white in the summer sunlight.
"Is that the mill?" he asked.
"Yes."
"I do not remember it."
"It was built since you were here. The old mill is farther down; much below the pass."
He spread the photostated military map out on the forest floor and looked at it carefully. The old man looked over his shoulder. He was a short and solid old man in a black peasant's smock and gray iron-stiff trousers and he wore rope-soled shoes. He was breathing heavily from the climb and his hand rested on one of the two heavy packs they had been carrying.
"Then you cannot see the bridge from here."
"No," the old man said. "This is the easy country of the pass where the stream flows gently. Below, where the road turns out of sight in the trees, it drops suddenly and there is a steep gorge2--"
"I remember."
"Across this gorge is the bridge."
"And where are their posts?"
"There is a post at the mill that you see there."
The young man, who was studying the country, took his glasses from the pocket of his faded, khaki flannel3 shirt, wiped the lenses with a handkerchief, screwed the eyepieces around until the boards of the mill showed suddenly clearly and he saw the wooden bench beside the door; the huge pile of sawdust that rose behind the open shed where the circular saw was, and a stretch of the flume that brought the logs down from the mountainside on the other bank of the stream. The stream showed clear and smooth-looking in the glasses and, below the curl of the falling water, the spray from the dam was blowing in the wind.
"There is no sentry5."
"There is smoke coming from the millhouse," the old man said. "There are also clothes hanging on a line."
"I see them but I do not see any sentry."
"Perhaps he is in the shade," the old man explained. "It is hot there now. He would be in the shadow at the end we do not see."
"Probably. Where is the next post?"
"Below the bridge. It is at the roadmender's hut at kilometer five from the top of the pass."
"How many men are here?" He pointed6 at the mill.
"Perhaps four and a corporal."
"And below?"
"More. I will find out."
"And at the bridge?"
"Always two. One at each end."
"We will need a certain number of men," he said. "How many men can you get?"
"I can bring as many men as you wish," the old man said. "There are many men now here in the hills."
"How many?"
"There are more than a hundred. But they are in small bands. How many men will you need?"
"I will let you know when we have studied the bridge."
"Do you wish to study it now?"
"No. Now I wish to go to where we will hide this explosive until it is time. I would like to have it hidden in utmost security at a distance no greater than half an hour from the bridge, if that is possible."
"That is simple," the old man said. "From where we are going, it will all be downhill to the bridge. But now we must climb a little in seriousness to get there. Are you hungry?"
"Yes," the young man said. "But we will eat later. How are you called? I have forgotten." It was a bad sign to him that he had forgotten.
"Anselmo," the old man said. "I am called Anselmo and I come from Barco de Avila. Let me help you with that pack."
The young man, who was tall and thin, with sun-streaked fair hair, and a wind- and sun-burned face, who wore the sun-faded flannel shirt, a pair of peasant's trousers and rope-soled shoes, leaned over, put his arm through one of the leather pack straps8 and swung the heavy pack up onto his shoulders. He worked his arm through the other strap7 and settled the weight of the pack against his back. His shirt was still wet from where the pack had rested.
"I have it up now," he said. "How do we go?"
"We climb," Anselmo said.
Bending under the weight of the packs, sweating, they climbed steadily9 in the pine forest that covered the mountainside. There was no trail that the young man could see, but they were working up and around the face of the mountain and now they crossed a small stream and the old man went steadily on ahead up the edge of the rocky stream bed. The climbing now was steeper and more difficult, until finally the stream seemed to drop down over the edge of a smooth granite10 ledge11 that rose above them and the old man waited at the foot of the ledge for the young man to come up to him.
"How are you making it?"
"All right," the young man said. He was sweating heavily and his thigh12 muscles were twitchy from the steepness of the climb.
"Wait here now for me. I go ahead to warn them. You do not want to be shot at carrying that stuff."
"Not even in a joke," the young man said. "Is it far?"
"It is very close. How do they call thee?"
"Roberto," the young man answered. He had slipped the pack off and lowered it gently down between two boulders13 by the stream bed.
"Wait here, then, Roberto, and I will return for you."
"Good," the young man said. "But do you plan to go down this way to the bridge?"
"No. When we go to the bridge it will be by another way. Shorter and easier."
"I do not want this material to be stored too far from the bridge."
"You will see. If you are not satisfied, we will take another place."
"We will see," the young man said.
He sat by the packs and watched the old man climb the ledge. It was not hard to climb and from the way he found hand-holds without searching for them the young man could see that he had climbed it many times before. Yet whoever was above had been very careful not to leave any trail.
The young man, whose name was Robert Jordan, was extremely hungry and he was worried. He was often hungry but he was not usually worried because he did not give any importance to what happened to himself and he knew from experience how simple it was to move behind the enemy lines in all this country. It was as simple to move behind them as it was to cross through them, if you had a good guide. It was only giving importance to what happened to you if you were caught that made it difficult; that and deciding whom to trust. You had to trust the people you worked with completely or not at all, and you had to make decisions about the trusting. He was not worried about any of that. But there were other things.
This Anselmo had been a good guide and he could travel wonderfully in the mountains. Robert Jordan could walk well enough himself and he knew from following him since before daylight that the old man could walk him to death. Robert Jordan trusted the man, Anselmo, so far, in everything except judgment14. He had not yet had an opportunity to test his judgment, and, anyway, the judgment was his own responsibility. No, he did not worry about Anselmo and the problem of the bridge was no more difficult than many other problems. He knew how to blow any sort of bridge that you could name and he had blown them of all sizes and constructions. There was enough explosive and all equipment in the two packs to blow this bridge properly even if it were twice as big as Anselmo reported it, as he remembered it when he had walked over it on his way to La Granja on a walking trip in 1933, and as Golz had read him the description of it night before last in that upstairs room in the house outside of the Escorial.
"To blow the bridge is nothing," Golz had said, the lamplight on his scarred, shaved head, pointing with a pencil on the big map. "You understand?"
"Yes, I understand."
"Absolutely nothing. Merely to blow the bridge is a failure."
"Yes, Comrade General."
"To blow the bridge at a stated hour based on the time set for the attack is how it should be done. You see that naturally. That is your right and how it should be done."
Golz looked at the pencil, then tapped his teeth with it.
Robert Jordan had said nothing.
"You understand that is your right and how it should be done," Golz went on, looking at him and nodding his head. He tapped on the map now with the pencil. "That is how I should do it. That is what we cannot have."
"Why, Comrade General?"
"Why?" Golz said, angrily. "How many attacks have you seen and you ask me why? What is to guarantee that my orders are not changed? What is to guarantee that the attack is not annulled15? What is to guarantee that the attack is not postponed16? What is to guarantee that it starts within six hours of when it should start? Has any attack ever been as it should?"
"It will start on time if it is your attack," Robert Jordan said.
"They are never my attacks," Golz said. "I make them. But they are not mine. The artillery17 is not mine. I must put in for it. I have never been given what I ask for even when they have it to give. That is the least of it. There are other things. You know how those people are. It is not necessary to go into all of it. Always there is something. Always some one will interfere18. So now be sure you understand."
"So when is the bridge to be blown?" Robert Jordan had asked.
"After the attack starts. As soon as the attack has started and not before. So that no reinforcements will come up over that road." He pointed with his pencil. "I must know that nothing will come up over that road."
"And when is the attack?"
"I will tell you. But you are to use the date and hour only as an indication of a probability. You must be ready for that time. You will blow the bridge after the attack has started. You see?" he indicated with the pencil. "That is the only road on which they can bring up reinforcements. That is the only road on which they can get up tanks, or artillery, or even move a truck toward the pass which I attack. I must know that bridge is gone. Not before, so it can be repaired if the attack is postponed. No. It must go when the attack starts and I must know it is gone. There are only two sentries19. The man who will go with you has just come from there. He is a very reliable man, they say. You will see. He has people in the mountains. Get as many men as you need. Use as few as possible, but use enough. I do not have to tell you these things."
"And how do I determine that the attack has started?"
"It is to be made with a full division. There will be an aerial bombardment as preparation. You are not deaf, are you?"
"Then I may take it that when the planes unload, the attack has started?"
"You could not always take it like that," Golz said and shook his head. "But in this case, you may. It is my attack."
"I understand it," Robert Jordan had said. "I do not say I like it very much."
"Neither do I like it very much. If you do not want to undertake it, say so now. If you think you cannot do it, say so now."
"I will do it," Robert Jordan had said. "I will do it all right."
"That is all I have to know," Golz said. "That nothing comes up over that bridge. That is absolute."
"I understand."
"I do not like to ask people to do such things and in such a way," Golz went on. "I could not order you to do it. I understand what you may be forced to do through my putting such conditions. I explain very carefully so that you understand and that you understand all of the possible difficulties and the importance."
"And how will you advance on La Granja if that bridge is blown?"
"We go forward prepared to repair it after we have stormed the pass. It is a very complicated and beautiful operation. As complicated and as beautiful as always. The plan has been manufactured in Madrid. It is another of Vicente Rojo, the unsuccessful professor's, masterpieces. I make the attack and I make it, as always, not in sufficient force. It is a very possible operation, in spite of that. I am much happier about it than usual. It can be successful with that bridge eliminated. We can take Segovia. Look, I show you how it goes. You see? It is not the top of the pass where we attack. We hold that. It is much beyond. Look-- Here-- Like this--"
"I would rather not know," Robert Jordan said.
"Good," said Golz. "It is less of baggage to carry with you on the other side, yes?"
"I would always rather not know. Then, no matter what can happen, it was not me that talked."
"It is better not to know," Golz stroked his forehead with the pencil. "Many times I wish I did not know myself. But you do know the one thing you must know about the bridge?"
"Yes. I know that."
"I believe you do," Golz said. "I will not make you any little speech. Let us now have a drink. So much talking makes me very thirsty, Comrade Hordan. You have a funny name in Spanish, Comrade Hordown."
"How do you say Golz in Spanish, Comrade General?"
"Hotze," said Golz grinning, making the sound deep in his throat as though hawking20 with a bad cold. "Hotze," he croaked22. "Comrade Heneral Khotze. If I had known how they pronounced Golz in Spanish I would pick me out a better name before I come to war here. When I think I come to command a division and I can pick out any name I want and I pick out Hotze. Heneral Hotze. Now it is too late to change. How do you like _partizan_ work?" It was the Russian term for guerilla work behind the lines.
"Very much," Robert Jordan said. He grinned. "It is very healthy in the open air."
"I like it very much when I was your age, too," Golz said. "They tell me you blow bridges very well. Very scientific. It is only hearsay23. I have never seen you do anything myself. Maybe nothing ever happens really. You really blow them?" he was teasing now. "Drink this," he handed the glass of Spanish brandy to Robert Jordan. "You _really_ blow them?"
"Sometimes."
"You better not have any sometimes on this bridge. No, let us not talk any more about this bridge. You understand enough now about that bridge. We are very serious so we can make very strong jokes. Look, do you have many girls on the other side of the lines?"
"No, there is no time for girls."
"I do not agree. The more irregular the service, the more irregular the life. You have very irregular service. Also you need a haircut."
"I have my hair cut as it needs it," Robert Jordan said. He would be damned if he would have his head shaved like Golz. "I have enough to think about without girls," he said sullenly24.
"What sort of uniform am I supposed to wear?" Robert Jordan asked.
"None," Golz said. "Your haircut is all right. I tease you. You are very different from me," Golz had said and filled up the glasses again.
"You never think about only girls. I never think at all. Why should I? I am _G幯廨al Sovietique_. I never think. Do not try to trap me into thinking."
Some one on his staff, sitting on a chair working over a map on a drawing board, growled25 at him in the language Robert Jordan did not understand.
"Shut up," Golz had said, in English. "I joke if I want. I am so serious is why I can joke. Now drink this and then go. You understand, huh?"
"Yes," Robert Jordan had said. "I understand."
They had shaken hands and he had saluted26 and gone out to the staff car where the old man was waiting asleep and in that car they had ridden over the road past Guadarrama, the old man still asleep, and up the Navacerrada road to the Alpine27 Club hut where he, Robert Jordan, slept for three hours before they started.
That was the last he had seen of Golz with his strange white face that never tanned, his hawk21 eyes, the big nose and thin lips and the shaven head crossed with wrinkles and with scars. Tomorrow night they would be outside the Escorial in the dark along the road; the long lines of trucks loading the infantry28 in the darkness; the men, heavy loaded, climbing up into the trucks; the machine-gun sections lifting their guns into the trucks; the tanks being run up on the skids29 onto the long-bodied tank trucks; pulling the Division out to move them in the night for the attack on the pass. He would not think about that. That was not his business. That was Golz's business. He had only one thing to do and that was what he should think about and he must think it out clearly and take everything as it came along, and not worry. To worry was as bad as to be afraid. It simply made things more difficult.
He sat now by the stream watching the clear water flowing between the rocks and, across the stream, he noticed there was a thick bed of watercress. He crossed the stream, picked a double handful, washed the muddy roots clean in the current and then sat down again beside his pack and ate the clean, cool green leaves and the crisp, peppery-tasting stalks. He knelt by the stream and, pushing his automatic pistol around on his belt to the small of his back so that it would not be wet, he lowered himself with a hand on each of two boulders and drank from the stream. The water was achingly cold.
Pushing himself up on his hands he turned his head and saw the old man coming down the ledge. With him was another man, also in a black peasant's smock and the dark gray trousers that were almost a uniform in that province, wearing rope-soled shoes and with a carbine slung30 over his back. This man was bareheaded. The two of them came scrambling31 down the rock like goats.
They came up to him and Robert Jordan got to his feet.
"_Salud, Camarada_," he said to the man with the carbine and smiled.
"_Salud_," the other said, grudgingly32. Robert Jordan looked at the man's heavy, beard-stubbled face. It was almost round and his head was round and set close on his shoulders. His eyes were small and set too wide apart and his ears were small and set close to his head. He was a heavy man about five feet ten inches tall and his hands and feet were large. His nose had been broken and his mouth was cut at one corner and the line of the scar across the upper lip and lower jaw33 showed through the growth of beard over his face.
The old man nodded his head at this man and smiled.
"He is the boss here," he grinned, then flexed34 his arms as though to make the muscles stand out and looked at the man with the carbine in a half-mocking admiration35. "A very strong man."
"I can see it," Robert Jordan said and smiled again. He did not like the look of this man and inside himself he was not smiling at all.
"What have you to justify36 your identity?" asked the man with the carbine.
Robert Jordan unpinned a safety pin that ran through his pocket flap and took a folded paper out of the left breast pocket of his flannel shirt and handed it to the man, who opened it, looked at it doubtfully and turned it in his hands.
So he cannot read, Robert Jordan noted37.
"Look at the seal," he said.
The old man pointed to the seal and the man with the carbine studied it, turning it in his fingers.
"What seal is that?"
"Have you never seen it?"
"No."
"There are two," said Robert Jordan. "One is S. I. M., the service of the military intelligence. The other is the General Staff."
"Yes, I have seen that seal before. But here no one commands but me," the other said sullenly. "What have you in the packs?"
"Dynamite38," the old man said proudly. "Last night we crossed the lines in the dark and all day we have carried this dynamite over the mountain."
"I can use dynamite," said the man with the carbine. He handed back the paper to Robert Jordan and looked him over. "Yes. I have use for dynamite. How much have you brought me?"
"I have brought you no dynamite," Robert Jordan said to him evenly. "The dynamite is for another purpose. What is your name?"
"What is that to you?"
"He is Pablo," said the old man. The man with the carbine looked at them both sullenly.
"Good. I have heard much good of you," said Robert Jordan.
"What have you heard of me?" asked Pablo.
"I have heard that you are an excellent guerilla leader, that you are loyal to the republic and prove your loyalty39 through your acts, and that you are a man both serious and valiant40. I bring you greetings from the General Staff."
"Where did you hear all this?" asked Pablo. Robert Jordan registered that he was not taking any of the flattery.
"I heard it from Buitrago to the Escorial," he said, naming all the stretch of country on the other side of the lines.
"I know no one in Buitrago nor in Escorial," Pablo told him.
"There are many people on the other side of the mountains who were not there before. Where are you from?"
"Avila. What are you going to do with the dynamite?"
"Blow up a bridge."
"What bridge?"
"That is my business."
"If it is in this territory, it is my business. You cannot blow bridges close to where you live. You must live in one place and operate in another. I know my business. One who is alive, now, after a year, knows his business."
"This is my business," Robert Jordan said. "We can discuss it together. Do you wish to help us with the sacks?"
"No," said Pablo and shook his head.
The old man turned toward him suddenly and spoke41 rapidly and furiously in a dialect that Robert Jordan could just follow. It was like reading Quevedo. Anselmo was speaking old Castilian and it went something like this, "Art thou a brute42? Yes. Art thou a beast? Yes, many times Hast thou a brain? Nay43. None. Now we come for something of consummate44 importance and thee, with thy dwelling45 place to be undisturbed, puts thy fox-hole before the interests of humanity. Before the interests of thy people. I this and that in the this and that of thy father. I this and that and that in thy this. _Pick up that bag_."
Pablo looked down.
"Every one has to do what he can do according to how it can be truly done," he said. "I live here and I operate beyond Segovia. If you make a disturbance46 here, we will be hunted out of these mountains. It is only by doing nothing here that we are able to live in these mountains. It is the principle of the fox."
"Yes," said Anselmo bitterly. "It is the principle of the fox when we need the wolf."
"I am more wolf than thee," Pablo said and Robert Jordan knew that he would pick up the sack.
"Hi. Ho. . . ," Anselmo looked at him. "Thou art more wolf than me and I am sixty-eight years old."
He spat47 on the ground and shook his head.
"You have that many years?" Robert Jordan asked, seeing that now, for the moment, it would be all right and trying to make it go easier.
"Sixty-eight in the month of July."
"If we should ever see that month," said Pablo. "Let me help you with the pack," he said to Robert Jordan. "Leave the other to the old man." He spoke, not sullenly, but almost sadly now. "He is an old man of great strength."
"I will carry the pack," Robert Jordan said.
"Nay," said the old man. "Leave it to this other strong man."
"I will take it," Pablo told him, and in his sullenness48 there was a sadness that was disturbing to Robert Jordan. He knew that sadness and to see it here worried him.
"Give me the carbine then," he said and when Pablo handed it to him, he slung it over his back and, with the two men climbing ahead of him, they went heavily, pulling and climbing up the granite shelf and over its upper edge to where there was a green clearing in the forest.
They skirted the edge of the little meadow and Robert Jordan, striding easily now without the pack, the carbine pleasantly rigid49 over his shoulder after the heavy, sweating pack weight, noticed that the grass was cropped down in several places and signs that picket50 pins had been driven into the earth. He could see a trail through the grass where horses had been led to the stream to drink and there was the fresh manure51 of several horses. They picket them here to feed at night and keep them out of sight in the timber in the daytime, he thought. I wonder how many horses this Pablo has?
He remembered now noticing, without realizing it, that Pablo's trousers were worn soapy shiny in the knees and thighs52. I wonder if he has a pair of boots or if he rides in those _alpargatas_, he thought. He must have quite an outfit53. But I don't like that sadness, he thought. That sadness is bad. That's the sadness they get before they quit or before they betray. That is the sadness that comes before the sell-out.
Ahead of them a horse whinnied in the timber and then, through the brown trunks of the pine trees, only a little sunlight coming down through their thick, almost-touching tops, he saw the corral made by roping around the tree trunks. The horses had their heads pointed toward the men as they approached, and at the foot of a tree, outside the corral, the saddles were piled together and covered with a tarpaulin54.
As they came up, the two men with the packs stopped, and Robert Jordan knew it was for him to admire the horses.
"Yes," he said. "They are beautiful." He turned to Pablo. "You have your cavalry55 and all."
There were five horses in the rope corral, three bays, a sorrel, and a buckskin. Sorting them out carefully with his eyes after he had seen them first together, Robert Jordan looked them over individually. Pablo and Anselmo knew how good they were and while Pablo stood now proud and less sad-looking, watching them lovingly, the old man acted as though they were some great surprise that he had produced, suddenly, himself.
"How do they look to you?" he asked.
"All these I have taken," Pablo said and Robert Jordan was pleased to hear him speak proudly.
"That," said Robert Jordan, pointing to one of the bays, a big stallion with a white blaze on his forehead and a single white foot, the near front, "is much horse."
He was a beautiful horse that looked as though he had come out of a painting by Velasquez.
"They are all good," said Pablo. "You know horses?"
"Yes."
"Less bad," said Pablo. "Do you see a defect in one of these?"
Robert Jordan knew that now his papers were being examined by the man who could not read.
The horses all still had their heads up looking at the man. Robert Jordan slipped through between the double rope of the corral and slapped the buckskin on the haunch. He leaned back against the ropes of the enclosure and watched the horses circle the corral, stood watching them a minute more, as they stood still, then leaned down and came out through the ropes.
"The sorrel is lame56 in the off hind4 foot," he said to Pablo, not looking at him. "The hoof57 is split and although it might not get worse soon if shod properly, she could break down if she travels over much hard ground."
"The hoof was like that when we took her," Pablo said.
"The best horse that you have, the white-faced bay stallion, has a swelling58 on the upper part of the cannon59 bone that I do not like."
"It is nothing," said Pablo. "He knocked it three days ago. If it were to be anything it would have become so already."
He pulled back the tarpaulin and showed the saddles. There were two ordinary vaquero's or herdsman's saddles, like American stock saddles, one very ornate vaquero's saddle, with hand-tooled leather and heavy, hooded60 stirrups, and two military saddles in black leather.
"We killed a pair of _guardia civil_," he said, explaining the military saddles.
"That is big game."
"They had dismounted on the road between Segovia and Santa Maria del Real. They had dismounted to ask papers of the driver of a cart. We were able to kill them without injuring the horses."
"Have you killed many civil guards?" Robert Jordan asked.
"Several," Pablo said. "But only these two without injury to the horses."
"It was Pablo who blew up the train at Arevalo," Anselmo said. "That was Pablo."
"There was a foreigner with us who made the explosion," Pablo said. "Do you know him?"
"What is he called?"
"I do not remember. It was a very rare name."
"What did he look like?"
"He was fair, as you are, but not as tall and with large hands and a broken nose."
"Kashkin," Robert Jordan said. "That would be Kashkin."
"Yes," said Pablo. "It was a very rare name. Something like that. What has become of him?"
"He is dead since April."
"That is what happens to everybody," Pablo said, gloomily. "That is the way we will all finish."
"That is the way all men end," Anselmo said. "That is the way men have always ended. What is the matter with you, man? What hast thou in the stomach?"
"They are very strong," Pablo said. It was as though he were talking to himself. He looked at the horses gloomily. "You do not realize how strong they are. I see them always stronget always better armed. Always with more material. Here am I with horses like these. And what can I look forward to? To be hunted and to die. Nothing more."
"You hunt as much as you are hunted," Anselmo said.
"No," said Pablo. "Not any more. And if we leave these mountains now, where can we go? Answer me that? Where now?"
"In Spain there are many mountains. There are the Sierra de Gredos if one leaves here."
"Not for me," Pablo said. "I am tired of being hunted. Here we are all right. Now if you blow a bridge here, we will be hunted. If they know we are here and hunt for us with planes, they will find us. If they send Moors61 to hunt us out, they will find us and we must go. I am tired of all this. You hear?" He turned to Robert Jordan. "What right have you, a foreigner, to come to me and tell me what I must do?"
"I have not told you anything you must do," Robert Jordan said to him.
"You will though," Pablo said. "There. There is the badness."
He pointed at the two heavy packs that they had lowered to the ground while they had watched the horses. Seeing the horses had seemed to bring this all to a head in him and seeing that Robert Jordan knew horses had seemed to loosen his tongue. The three of them stood now by the rope corral and the patchy sunlight shone on the coat of the bay stallion. Pablo looked at him and then pushed with his foot against the heavy pack. "There is the badness."
"I come only for my duty," Robert Jordan told him. "I come under orders from those who are conducting the war. If I ask you to help me, you can refuse and I will find others who will help me. I have not even asked you for help yet. I have to do what I am ordered to do and I can promise you of its importance. That I am a foreigner is not my fault. I would rather have been born here."
"To me, now, the most important is that we be not disturbed here," Pablo said. "To me, now, my duty is to those who are with me and to myself."
"Thyself. Yes," Anselmo said. "Thyself now since a long time. Thyself and thy horses. Until thou hadst horses thou wert with us. Now thou art another capitalist more."
"That is unjust," said Pablo. "I expose the horses all the time for the cause."
"Very little," said Anselmo scornfully. "Very little in my judgment. To steal, yes. To eat well, yes. To murder, yes. To fight, no."
"You are an old man who will make himself trouble with his mouth."
"I am an old man who is afraid of no one," Anselmo told him. "Also I am an old man without horses."
"You are an old man who may not live long."
"I am an old man who will live until I die," Anselmo said. "And I am not afraid of foxes."
Pablo said nothing but picked up the pack.
"Nor of wolves either," Anselmo said, picking up the other pack. "If thou art a wolf."
"Shut thy mouth," Pablo said to him. "Thou art an old man who always talks too much."
"And would do whatever he said he would do," Anselmo said, bent62 under the pack. "And who now is hungry. And thirsty. Go on, guerilla leader with the sad face. Lead us to something to eat."
It is starting badly enough, Robert Jordan thought. But Anselmo's a man. They are wonderful when they are good, he thought. There is no people like them when they are good and when they go bad there is no people that is worse. Anselmo must have known what he was doing when he brought us here. But I don't like it. I don't like any of it.
The only good sign was that Pablo was carrying the pack and that he had given him the carbine. Perhaps he is always like that, Robert Jordan thought. Maybe he is just one of the gloomy ones.
No, he said to himself, don't fool yourself. You do not know how he was before; but you do know that he is going bad fast and without hiding it. When he starts to hide it he will have made a decision. Remember that, he told himself. The first friendly thing he does, he will have made a decision. They are awfully63 good horses, though, he thought, beautiful horses. I wonder what could make me feel the way those horses make Pablo feel. The old man was right. The horses made him rich and as soon as he was rich he wanted to enjoy life. Pretty soon he'll feel bad because he can't join the Jockey Club, I guess, he thought. Pauvre Pablo. Il a manqu?son Jockey.
That idea made him feel better. He grinned, looking at the two bent backs and the big packs ahead of him moving through the trees. He had not made any jokes with himself all day and now that he had made one he felt much better. You're getting to be as all the rest of them, he told himself. You're getting gloomy, too. He'd certainly been solemn and gloomy with Golz. The job had overwhelmed him a little. Slightly overwhelmed, he thought. Plenty overwhelmed. Golz was gay and he had wanted him to be gay too before he left, but he hadn't been.
All the best ones, when you thought it over, were gay. It was much better to be gay and it was a sign of something too. It was like having immortality64 while you were still alive. That was a complicated one. There were not many of them left though. No, there were not many of the gay ones left. There were very damned few of them left. And if you keep on thinking like that, my boy, you won't be left either. Turn off the thinking now, old timer, old comrade. You're a bridge-blower now. Not a thinker. Man, I'm hungry, he thought. I hope Pablo eats well.
他匍匐在树林里褐色的、积着一层松针的地上，交叉的手臂支着下颚；在高高的上空，风在松树梢上呼啸而过。他俯躺着的山坡坡度不大，再往下却很陡峭，他看得到黑色的柏油路蜿蜒穿过山口。沿柏油路有条小河，山口远处的河边有家锯木厂，拦水坝的泄水灾夏天的阳光下泛着白光。
“那就是锯木厂么？”他问。
“就是。”
“我记不得了。”
“那是你离开这儿以后造的。老锯木厂还在前面，离山口很远。”
他在地上摊开影印的军用地图，仔细端详。老头儿从他肩后看着。他是个结实的矮老头儿，身穿农民的黑罩衣和硬邦邦的灰裤子，叫上是一双绳底鞋。他爬山刚停下来，还在喘气，一手搁在他们带来的两只沉重的背包的一只上面。
“这么说从这里是望不到那座桥了。”
“望不到，”老头儿说。“这山口一带地势比较平坦，水流不急。再往前，公路拐进林子不见了踪影，那里地势突然低下去，有个挺深的峡谷－－－”
“我记得。”
“峡谷上面就是那座桥。”
“他们的哨所在哪儿？”
“你看到的锯木厂那边有个哨所。”
这个正在研究地形的年轻人从他褐色的黄褐色法兰绒衬衫口袋里掏出望远镜，用手帕擦擦镜片，调整焦距，目镜中的景象突然清晰，连锯木厂的木板都看到了，他还看到了门边的一条长板凳，敞棚里的圆锯，后面有一大堆木屑；他还看到一段把小河对岸山坡上的木材运下来的滑槽。小河在望远镜里显得清澈而平静，打着漩涡的水从拦水坝泻下来，底下的水花在风中飞溅。
“没有岗哨。”
“锯木房里在冒烟，”老头儿说。“还有晒衣服上挂着衣服。”
“这些我见到了，但看不到岗哨。”
“说不定他在背阴处，”老头儿解释说。“那儿现在挺热。他也许在我们看不到的背阴那头。”
“可能。另一个哨所在哪里？”
“在桥下方。在养路工的小屋边，里山口五公里的里程碑那里。”
“这里有多少士兵？”他指指锯木厂。
“也许有四个加上一个班长。”
“下面呢？”
“要多些。我能探听明白。”
“那么桥头呢？”
“总是两个。每边一个。”
“我们需要一批人手，”他说。“你能召集多少？”
“你要多少，我就能召集多少，”老头儿说。“这一带山里现在就有不少人。”
“多少？”
“一百多个。不过他们三三五五分散开了。你需要多少人？”
“等我们勘察了桥以后再跟你说。”
“你想现在就去勘察桥吗？”
“不。现在我想去找个地方把炸药藏起来，要用的时候再去取。我希望把它藏在最安全的地方，假如可能的话，离桥不能超过半个小时的路程。”
“那简单，”老头儿说。“从我们现在要去的地方到桥头全都是下坡路。不过，我们现在要去那儿倒得很认真地爬一会山哪。你饿吗？”
“饿，”年轻人说。“不过，我们过后再吃吧。你叫什么名字？我忘了。”他竟把名字都忘了，这对他来说是个不祥之兆。
“安塞尔莫，”老头儿说。“我叫安塞尔莫，老家在阿维拉省的巴尔科城。我来帮你拿那只背包。”
这年轻人是个瘦高个儿，张着闪亮的金发和一张饱经风霜日晒的脸，他穿着一件晒得褪了色的法兰绒衬衫，一条农民的裤子和一双绳底鞋。他弯下腰去，一条胳膊伸进背包皮带圈里，把那沉重的背包甩上肩头。他把另一条胳膊伸进另一条皮带圈里，使背包的重量全压在背上。他衬衫上原先被背包压住的地方还是汗湿的。
“我把它背上啦，”他说。“我们怎么走？”
“咱俩爬山。”安塞尔莫说。
他们被背包压得弯下了腰，在山坡上的松树林里一步步向上爬，身上淌着汗。年轻人发现林中并没有路径，但是他们继续向上攀登，绕到了前山，这时跨过了一条小溪，老头儿踩着溪边石块稳健地向前走去。这时，山路更陡峭，爬山更艰难了，到后来，溪水似乎是从他们头顶上一个平滑的花岗石悬崖边上直泻下来，于是老头儿在悬崖下停了步，等着年轻人赶上来。
“你行吗？”
“行，”年轻人说。他大汗淋漓，因为爬了陡峭的山路，大腿的肌肉抽搐起来。
“在这里等我。我先去通知他们。你带了这玩意总不希望人家朝你开枪吧。”
“当然不希望，”年轻人说。“路远吗？”
“很近。怎么称呼你？”
“罗伯托（这是本书主人公罗伯托 乔丹的名字的西班牙语读法的音译。），”年轻人回答。他卸下背包，轻轻地放在溪边两块大圆石之间。
“那么就在这儿等着，罗伯托，我回来接你。”
“好，”年轻人说。“难道你打算以后走这条路到下面桥头吗？”
“不。我们到桥头去得走另一条路。那条路近一些，比较容易走。”
“我不想把这东西藏得离桥太远。”
“你瞧着办吧。要是你不满意，我们另找地方。”
“我们瞧着办吧，”年轻人说。
他坐在背包旁边，看着老头儿攀登悬崖。这悬崖不难攀登，而且这年轻人发现，从老头儿不用摸索就找到攀手地方的利落样子看来，这地方他已经爬过好多次了。然而，待在上面的人们一向小心翼翼地不让留下任何痕迹来。
这年轻人名叫罗伯特·乔丹，他饿极了，并且心事重重。挨饿是常有的事，但担心却不常有，因为他对自己出的处境一向并不在意，并且他凭经验知道，在这一带开展敌后活动是多么容易。假如你有个好向导的话，在敌后活动也好，在他们防线中间穿插也好，都不是难事。问题只在于如果被敌人抓住，事情就不好办了；此外，就是判断可以信任谁的问题。你要么完全信任和你一起工作的人，要么丝毫也不信任，在这方面你必须作出决定。这些都不使他发愁。但是还有别的问题呢。
这个安塞尔莫一直是个好向导，他走山路的本领真了不起。罗伯特·乔丹自己也是走山路的能手，但是，他从黎明前跟着他走到现在，他知道这老家伙能够使他走得累死。除了判断力，罗伯特·乔丹事事都信得过这个安塞尔莫。他还没机会考验这老头儿的判断力，不过，反正这一回应该由他自己来负责作出判断。不，他不愁安塞尔莫，而炸桥的事也见不得比许多别的事更难办。随便什么样的桥，只要你叫得出名称他都会炸，各种大小和结构的桥，他都炸过。即使这座桥比安塞尔莫所介绍的大两倍，这两只背包里的炸药和装置也足够把它全炸掉。他记得一九三三年徒步旅行到拉格兰哈去的时候曾走过这座桥，戈尔兹①前晚在埃斯科里亚尔城外一幢房子的楼上曾给他念过关于这座桥的资料。
“炸桥本身没有什么了不起，”戈尔兹当时说，用铅笔在一张大地图上指着。灯光照在他那有伤疤的光头上。“你懂吗？”
“是，我懂。”
“根本不算一回事。仅仅把桥炸掉只能算是一种失败。”
“是，将军同志。”
“应该做到的是根据发动进攻的时间，在指定的时刻炸桥。你当然明白这一点。这就是你的权利，这就是你的任务。”
戈尔兹看看铅笔，然后用它轻轻地敲敲牙齿。
罗伯特·乔丹什么也没说。
“你明白，这就是你的权利和你的任务，”戈尔兹接着说，对他点点头。他这时用铅笔敲敲地图。“那就是我的责任。那也正是我们无法做到的。”
“为什么，将军同志？”
“为什么？”戈尔兹气愤地说。“你经历过好多次进攻，还问我为什么？有什么能保证我的命令不被变动？有什么能保证这次进攻不被取消？有什么能保证这次进攻不被推迟？有什么能保证实际发动进攻的时间和预定时间相差不超过六个小时？有过一次按计划进行的进攻吗？”
“如果指挥进攻的是你，就会准时发动，”罗伯特·乔丹说。
“我从来也指挥不了，”戈尔兹说。“我只是发动而已。但我就是指挥不了。炮队不是我的。我必须提出申请。即使他们有的东西也从没按照我要求的给我。那还是最小的事情。还有别的呢。你知道这些人的作风。没必要详谈。总是出问题。总有人干扰。你得了解这一点。”
“那么什么时候炸桥呢？”罗伯特·乔丹问。
“在进攻开始之后。进攻一开始就炸，不能提前。这样，增援部队就不能从那条路上开上来。”他用铅笔指着。“我必须肯定那条路上来不了援兵。”
“什么时候进攻？”
“我会告诉你的。但是你只能把日期和时间当作一种可能性的参考。你必须在那之前准备就绪。进攻开始后就炸桥。明白吗？”他用铅笔指着。“他们增援兵力只能进攻那条路。他们只能从那条路把坦克、大炮一直卡车开到我发动攻击的山口。我必须肯定桥要炸掉。不能提前，不然的话，如果进攻推迟，他们就可以把桥修好。那可不行。进攻开始的时候，就必须炸掉，我必须有充分把握。岗哨只有两个。跟你一起去的那人刚从那里来。据说他非常可靠。你就会明白的。他在山里有人。你需要多少人，就要多少。尽可能少用人，但要够用。我不必对你说这些事情了。”
“怎样才能断定进攻已经开始了呢？”
“进攻将由整整一师兵力发动。现有飞机轰炸作为准备。你耳朵不聋吧？”
“那么，我是不是可以这样理解，当飞机礽炸弹的时候，进攻就开始了？”
“你不能老是这样理解，”戈尔兹说，还摇摇头。“但是这一次，你可以这样看待。这是我布置的进攻。”
“我不懂了，”罗伯特·乔丹说，“老实说我不喜欢这个任务。”
“我也不是分喜欢。你要是不愿承担，现在就说。要是你认为自己干不了，现在就说。”
“我干，”罗伯特·乔丹说。“我去干，没问题。”
“我要知道的就是这一点。”戈尔兹说。“那就是桥上不能有任何东西通过。那一点要绝对保证。”
“我懂。”
“我不喜欢要求人做这种事情，并且用这种方式做，”戈尔兹接着说。“我不能命令你干这种事。我明白犹豫我提出的条件，你将被迫干些什么。我已经仔细解释过了，为的是要你明白，要你明白种种可能遇到的困难和任务的重要性。”
“如果桥炸了，你们怎样向拉格兰哈推进？”
“等我们攻占山口，就着手把桥修起来。这是一次十分复杂而漂亮的军事行动，象以往一切军事行动那样复杂而漂亮。这计划是在马德里制订的。这是维森特 罗霍，那位失意的教授的又一杰作。我布置这次进攻，象历来那样是在兵力不足的情况下进行的。尽管如此，这是一次大有可为的军事行动。我为这次行动比往常感到更为乐观。把桥炸掉之后，这一仗是可能大胜的。我们能拿下塞哥维亚。看，我来指给你看这是怎么回事。你看到吗？我们的目标可不是这次进攻的山口的顶端。我们要守住它。我们的目标在远远的那边。看－在这里－象这样－”
“我还是不知道的好，”罗伯特·乔丹说。
“好，”戈尔兹说。“这样，你到那边就可以少一点思想负担，是吗？”
“我即使不去那边也不想知道。那样，不管发生什么事，泄露情况的不会是我。”
“确实是不知道的好，”戈尔兹用铅笔敲敲前额。“有好多次我也希望自己不知道。但是你必须知道的有关桥的是，你知道了吗？”
“是。那我知道。”
“我相信你知道了，”戈尔兹说。“我不再向你发表讲话啦。我们现在来喝点酒吧。话说得不少，我很口渴了，霍丹同志。你的姓氏用西班牙语念起来很有趣，霍丹同志。”
“‘戈尔兹’用西班牙语是怎么念的，将军同志？”
“‘霍茨’，”戈尔兹露齿笑了，从喉咙深处发出这声音，就像患了重感冒咳痰似的。“‘霍茨’，”他声音嘶哑地说。“‘霍茨将军同志’。假使我早知道‘戈尔兹’在西班牙语里是这样念的，我来这里打仗以前就给自己另外取个好一点的名字了。我明知道要来指挥一个师，随便取什么名字都可以，可是竟取了‘霍茨’。‘霍茨将军’，现在要改已经太迟了，你喜欢partizan工作吗？”
“有时候。”
“你炸这座桥，可最好不要说什么‘有时候’啊。得，咱们别再唠叨这座桥啦。关于这座桥，你现在相当清楚了。我们非常认真，所以才能开些大玩笑。听着，你在火线另一边有很多姑娘吗？”
“没有，没时间花在姑娘身上。”
＂我不同意。任务越不正规，生活也就越不正规。你的任务太不正规。还有，你得把头发理一理。”
“我的头发理得很合适，”罗伯特·乔丹说。要他象戈尔兹那样把头发剃光才见鬼呢。“没有姑娘，我该思考的事情已经够多啦，”他阴郁地说。
“我该穿什么样的制服？”罗伯特·乔丹问。
“什么制服都不用穿，”戈尔兹说。“你的头发理得很不错。我是在逗你。你跟我很不一样，”戈尔兹说着有斟满了两人的酒杯。
“你思考的事情从来不仅仅是姑娘。我根本不思考。干吗要思考呢？我是将军。我从来不思考。别引诱我去思考吧。”
有个师部的人员坐在椅子上，正在研究制图板上的一张地图，这时用一种罗伯特·乔丹听不懂的语言对戈尔兹大声地说了些什么。
“闭嘴，”戈尔兹用英语说。“我想开玩笑就开。正因为我很认真，才能开玩笑。现在把酒喝了就走吧。你懂了吗，呃？”
“是，”罗伯特·乔丹说。“我懂了。”
他俩握了手，他敬了礼，出来上了师部的汽车，老头儿等在里面，已经睡着了。他们乘这辆车一路经过瓜达拉马镇，老头儿仍在睡觉，再顺着上纳瓦塞拉达的公路，来到登山俱乐部的小屋，罗伯特·乔丹在那儿睡了三小时才出发。
那是他最后一次会见戈尔兹的情景，戈尔兹有着一张永远晒不黑的白得出奇的脸，鹰一样的眼睛，大鼻子，薄嘴唇，剃光的头上有着一条条皱纹和伤疤。明天晚上，部队将集合在埃斯科里亚尔城外黑魅魅的公路上，长长两行车在夜色中装载着步兵；配备沉重的士兵爬上卡车；机枪排把他们的枪支抬上卡车；坦克顺着垫木开上装坦克的长平板车；在深夜把一师兵力拉出去，调动布置，准备进攻山口。他不愿想这些事。那不是他的事。那是戈尔兹的事。他只有一件事要做，那才是他应该考虑的，而且必须把它计划得清清楚楚，把所有的情况都估计到，不能发愁。发愁和恐惧一样糟糕。这只会使事情更难办。
这是，他坐在小溪边，望着山石间清澈的水流。他发现溪水对面有一簇稠密的水田芥。他涉过小溪，拔了两把，在水流中把根上的泥洗净，然后返身坐在背包旁，吃着那干净而凉爽的绿叶和鲜嫩尔带辣味的茎梗。他跪在溪边，把系在腰带上的自动手枪挪到背后，免得弄潮。他两手各撑在一块岩石上，附身去和溪水。溪水冷彻骨髓。
他撑起身体，转过头来，看见老头儿正在悬崖上爬下来。和他一起的还有一个人，也穿着这地区几乎成为制服的农民黑罩衣和深灰色裤子，脚上是一双绳底鞋，还背着一支卡宾枪。这人光着脑袋。两人象山羊般灵活地从悬崖上爬上来。
他们向他走来，罗伯特·乔丹站起身。
”你好，同志，“他对背卡宾枪的人说，并且微微一笑。
”你好，“对方勉强地说。罗伯特·乔丹望着这个人满是胡子茬的大脸。这张脸盘差不多是滚圆的，脑袋也是圆圆的，紧挨在肩膀上。两只眼睛小而分得很开，一双耳朵小而紧贴在脑袋上。他身子粗壮，高五英尺十英寸左右，大手大脚，鼻子破裂过，嘴角一边被刀砍过，横过上唇和小颌的刀疤在丛生的胡子中露了出来。
老头儿对这个人点点头，微微一笑。
”他是这里的头儿，“他露齿笑着说，然后屈起双臂，仿佛要使肌肉鼓起来似的。他以一种半带嘲弄的钦佩神情望着这个背卡宾枪的人。”一条好汉。“
“我看得出来，”罗伯特·乔丹说，又笑了笑。他不喜欢这个人的神情，心里没有一丁点儿笑意。
“你有什么可以证明你的身份？”背卡宾枪的人问。
罗伯特·乔丹把别住衣带盖的安全别针解开，从法兰绒衬衫的左胸袋里掏出一张折好的纸，交给这个人，这个人摊开证件，怀疑地看看，在手里翻弄着。
罗伯特·乔丹看出他原来不识字。
“看这公章，”他说。
老头儿指指印鉴，背卡宾枪的人端详着，把证件夹在手指间翻来翻去。
“这是啥公章？”
“你以前从没见过？”
“没有。”
“有两个，”罗伯特·乔丹说。“一个是S.I.M.-军事情报部。另一个是总参谋部的。”
“对，那个公章我以前见过。不过在这里要我说了才算数，”对方阴郁地说。“你包里藏的什么？”
“炸药，”老头儿神气地说。“昨晚我们摸黑越过了火线，今天一整天，背着这炸药走山路。”
“我用得着炸药，”背卡宾枪的人说。他把证件还给罗伯特·乔丹，上下打量着他。“对。炸药对我很有用。你给我带来了多少？”
“我带来的炸药不是给你的，”罗伯特·乔丹平静地对他说。“炸药另有用处。你叫什么名字？”
“这跟你有什么相干？”
“他叫巴勃罗，”老头儿说。背卡宾枪的人阴郁地望着他们俩。
“好。我听到过很多夸你的话，”罗伯特·乔丹说。
“你听到关于我的什么话？”巴勃罗问。
“我听说你是个了不起的游击队长，你忠于共和国，并用行动证实了你的忠诚，你这个人既严肃又勇敢。我给你带来了总参谋部的问候。”
“你这些话是从哪里听来的？”巴勃罗问。罗伯特·乔丹注意到这个人一点也不吃马屁。
“从布伊特拉戈到埃斯科里亚尔，我都听说，”他说，提到了火线另一边的整个地区。
“布伊特拉戈也好，埃斯科里亚尔也好，我都没熟人，”巴勃罗对他说。
“山脉的另一边有很多人从前都不是住在哪里的②。你是哪里人？”
“阿维拉省人。你打算用炸药干什么？”
“炸毁一座桥。”
“什么桥？”
① 西班牙于一九三一年四月十四日推翻君主制，成立共和国。一九三六年二月十六日的国会选举中，以共产党、共和党左派等为中坚力量的人民阵线取得了压倒多数，成立联合政府。在德国和意大利的公开武装支持下，佛朗哥将军于七月十八日在西属摩洛哥发动叛乱，西班牙法西斯组织长枪党等右派集团及各地驻军纷起响应，很快就占领了西班牙西北及西南部。八月十四日，叛军攻陷西部边境重镇巴达霍斯，南北部队在此会师，整个西部都落入叛军之手，就集中兵力进攻首都马德里。十一月初，四支纵队兵临城下。这时形势非常危急，共和国政府被迫于十一月九日迁东部地中海边的瓦伦西亚。内战爆发后，德意源源不绝地提供飞机、大炮、坦克等军需及武装人员直接介入，英法却在“不干涉政策”的名义下对西班牙实行封锁。国际进步力量在各国共产党的领导下积极支援西班牙政府，在法国成立由志愿人员组成的国际纵队，于十月正式西班牙参战，和英雄的首都人民一起，在马德里保卫战中起了积极的作用，马德里巍然不动。本书故事发生在第二年五月，地点是马德里西北的瓜达拉马山区，改山脉为西南-东北向，叛军占领着各山口，并在山顶有一道防线，但防线后深山中有几个游击小组在展开敌后活动。这是政府军司令戈尔兹将军正计划向该山区发动强攻，目的在突破敌人防线，收复山后重镇塞哥维亚。本书主人公美国志愿军罗伯特·乔丹奉命进山，和游击队取得联系，配合此次进攻，完成炸桥任务。
② 由于国内战争，很多拥护共和国政府的人从敌占区投奔到瓜达拉马山脉东南政府军控制的地区去。
“那是我的事。”
“如果桥在这个地区，那就是我的事。你不能在紧挨你住的地方炸桥。你住在一个地方，就只能到另一个地方去活动。我这儿的事我了解。在这儿能带上ｙ８ｉｎｉａｎ没死掉的人了解自己的事。”
“这是我的事，”罗伯特 乔丹说。“我们可以一起商量，你愿意帮我们拿背包吗？”
“不，”巴勃罗说，摇摇头。
老头儿突然转过身，用一种罗伯特 乔丹勉强能听懂的方言，迅速而愤怒地对巴勃罗说话。仿佛是在朗诵克维多的诗篇。安塞尔莫这时是在说古卡斯迪语①，大意是这样的：“你是野兽吗？是呀。你是畜生吗？一点不错。你有头脑吗？不，没有。我们这次来，要干的是重要透顶的事，可你呢，只求不惊动你自家住的地方，把你自己的狐狸洞看得比人类的利益海中。比你同胞的利益还要紧。我操你的祖宗。把背包提起来。”
巴勃罗把头低了下去。
“人人都得根据实际情况干他力所能及的事，”他说。“我住在这里，就到塞哥维亚以外活动。你要是在这一带山里搞什么名堂，我们就会被敌人从这里赶出去。我们只有在这一带山里按兵不动，才待得下去。这是狐狸的原则。”
“是啊，”安塞尔莫尖刻地说。“这是狐狸的原则，可是我们需要的是狼。”
“我比你更像狼啊，”巴勃罗说，罗伯特 乔丹看出他会拿起那个背包的。
① 克维多(1580-1645）：西班牙作家，著有讽刺文、流浪汉小说及诗歌等。阿维拉省及塞哥维亚省属古卡斯蒂尔地区，其方言至今带有古风。
“唏，嗬，”安塞尔莫冲着他说，“你居然跟我比谁更象狼，我六十八啦。”
他往地上唾了一口，摇摇头。
&ldqu
收听单词发音 |
1
winding
|
|
| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
gorge
|
|
| n.咽喉，胃，暴食，山峡；v.塞饱，狼吞虎咽地吃 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
flannel
|
|
| n.法兰绒；法兰绒衣服 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
hind
|
|
| adj.后面的，后部的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
sentry
|
|
| n.哨兵，警卫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
pointed
|
|
| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
strap
|
|
| n.皮带，带子；v.用带扣住，束牢；用绷带包扎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
straps
|
|
| n.带子( strap的名词复数 )；挎带；肩带；背带v.用皮带捆扎( strap的第三人称单数 )；用皮带抽打；包扎；给…打绷带 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
steadily
|
|
| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
granite
|
|
| adj.花岗岩，花岗石 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
ledge
|
|
| n.壁架，架状突出物；岩架，岩礁 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
thigh
|
|
| n.大腿；股骨 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
boulders
|
|
| n.卵石( boulder的名词复数 )；巨砾；（受水或天气侵蚀而成的）巨石；漂砾 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
judgment
|
|
| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
annulled
|
|
| v.宣告无效( annul的过去式和过去分词 )；取消；使消失；抹去 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
postponed
|
|
| vt.& vi.延期，缓办，（使）延迟vt.把…放在次要地位；[语]把…放在后面（或句尾）vi.（疟疾等）延缓发作（或复发） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
artillery
|
|
| n.(军)火炮，大炮；炮兵(部队) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
interfere
|
|
| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
sentries
|
|
| 哨兵，步兵( sentry的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
hawking
|
|
| 利用鹰行猎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
hawk
|
|
| n.鹰，骗子；鹰派成员 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
croaked
|
|
| v.呱呱地叫( croak的过去式和过去分词 )；用粗的声音说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
hearsay
|
|
| n.谣传，风闻 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
sullenly
|
|
| 不高兴地，绷着脸，忧郁地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
growled
|
|
| 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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
saluted
|
|
| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的过去式和过去分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
alpine
|
|
| adj.高山的；n.高山植物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
infantry
|
|
| n.[总称]步兵(部队) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
skids
|
|
| n.滑向一侧( skid的名词复数 )；滑道；滚道；制轮器v.（通常指车辆） 侧滑( skid的第三人称单数 )；打滑；滑行；（住在）贫民区 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
slung
|
|
| 抛( sling的过去式和过去分词 )； 吊挂； 遣送； 押往 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
scrambling
|
|
| v.快速爬行( scramble的现在分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
grudgingly
|
|
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
jaw
|
|
| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
flexed
|
|
| adj.[医]曲折的，屈曲v.屈曲( flex的过去式和过去分词 )；弯曲；（为准备大干而）显示实力；摩拳擦掌 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
admiration
|
|
| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
justify
|
|
| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
noted
|
|
| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
dynamite
|
|
| n./vt.(用)炸药(爆破) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
loyalty
|
|
| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
valiant
|
|
| adj.勇敢的，英勇的；n.勇士，勇敢的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
spoke
|
|
| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
brute
|
|
| n.野兽，兽性 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
nay
|
|
| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
consummate
|
|
| adj.完美的；v.成婚；使完美 [反]baffle | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
dwelling
|
|
| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
disturbance
|
|
| n.动乱，骚动；打扰，干扰；(身心)失调 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
spat
|
|
| n.口角，掌击；v.发出呼噜呼噜声 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
sullenness
|
|
| n. 愠怒, 沉闷, 情绪消沉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
rigid
|
|
| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
picket
|
|
| n.纠察队；警戒哨；v.设置纠察线；布置警卫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
manure
|
|
| n.粪，肥，肥粒；vt.施肥 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
thighs
|
|
| n.股，大腿( thigh的名词复数 )；食用的鸡（等的）腿 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
outfit
|
|
| n.（为特殊用途的）全套装备，全套服装 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
tarpaulin
|
|
| n.涂油防水布，防水衣，防水帽 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
cavalry
|
|
| n.骑兵；轻装甲部队 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
lame
|
|
| adj.跛的，(辩解、论据等)无说服力的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
hoof
|
|
| n.(马，牛等的)蹄 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
swelling
|
|
| n.肿胀 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
cannon
|
|
| n.大炮，火炮；飞机上的机关炮 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
hooded
|
|
| adj.戴头巾的；有罩盖的；颈部因肋骨运动而膨胀的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
moors
|
|
| v.停泊，系泊（船只）( moor的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
bent
|
|
| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
awfully
|
|
| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
immortality
|
|
| n.不死，不朽 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |