章节正文
pattered a few yards to the rise of ground and there crouched on
guard. And in that wild covert Venters shut his eyes under the
great white stars and intense vaulted blue, bitterly comparing
their loneliness to his own, and fell asleep.
When he awoke, day had dawned and all about him was bright
steel-gray. The air had a cold tang. Arising, he greeted the
fawning dogs and stretched his cramped body, and then, gathering
together bunches of dead sage sticks, he lighted a fire. Strips
of dried beef held to the blaze for a moment served him and the
dogs. He drank from a canteen. There was nothing else in his
outfit; he had grown used to a scant fire. Then he sat over the
fire, palms outspread, and waited. Waiting had been his chief
occupation for months, and he scarcely knew what he waited for
unless it was the passing of the hours. But now he sensed action
in the immediate present; the day promised another meeting with
Lassiter and Lane, perhaps news of the rustlers; on the morrow he
meant to take the trail to Deception Pass.
And while he waited he talked to his dogs. He called them Ring
and Whitie; they were sheep-dogs, half collie, half deerhound,
superb in build, perfectly trained. It seemed that in his fallen
fortunes these dogs understood the nature of their value to him,
and governed their affection and faithfulness accordingly. Whitie
watched him with somber eyes of love, and Ring, crouched on the
little rise of ground above, kept tireless guard. When the sun
rose, the white dog took the place of the other, and Ring went to
sleep at his master's feet.
By and by Venters rolled up his blankets and tied them and his
meager pack together, then climbed out to look for his horse. He
saw him, presently, a little way off in the sage, and went to
fetch him. In that country, where every rider boasted of a fine
mount and was eager for a race, where thoroughbreds dotted the
wonderful grazing ranges, Venters rode a horse that was sad proof
of his misfortunes.
Then, with his back against a stone, Venters faced the east, and,
stick in hand and idle blade, he waited. The glorious sunlight
filled the valley with purple fire. Before him, to left, to
right, waving, rolling, sinking, rising, like low swells of a
purple sea, stretched the sage. Out of the grove of cottonwoods,
a green patch on the purple, gleamed the dull red of Jane
Withersteen's old stone house. And from there extended the wide
green of the village gardens and orchards marked by the graceful
poplars; and farther down shone the deep, dark richness of the
alfalfa fields. Numberless red and black and white dots speckled
the sage, and these were cattle and horses.
So, watching and waiting, Venters let the time wear away. At
length he saw a horse rise above a ridge, and he knew it to be
Lassiter's black. Climbing to the highest rock, so that he would
show against the sky-line, he stood and waved his hat. The almost
instant turning of Lassiter's horse attested to the quickness of
that rider's eye. Then Venters climbed down, saddled his horse,
tied on his pack, and, with a word to his dogs, was about to ride
out to meet Lassiter, when he concluded to wait for him there, on
higher ground, where the outlook was commanding.
It had been long since Venters had experienced friendly greeting
from a man. Lassiter's warmed in him something that had grown
cold from neglect. And when he had returned it, with a strong
grip of the iron hand that held his, and met the gray eyes, he
knew that Lassiter and he were to be friends.
"Venters, let's talk awhile before we go down there," said
Lassiter, slipping his bridle. "I ain't in no hurry. Them's sure
fine dogs you've got." With a rider's eye he took in the points
of Venter's horse, but did not speak his thought. "Well, did
anythin' come off after I left you last night?"
Venters told him about the rustlers.
"I was snug hid in the sage," replied Lassiter, "an' didn't see
or hear no one. Oldrin's got a high hand here, I reckon. It's no
news up in Utah how he holes in canyons an' leaves no track."
Lassiter was silent a moment. "Me an' Oldrin' wasn't exactly
strangers some years back when he drove cattle into Bostil's
Ford, at the head of the Rio Virgin. But he got harassed there
an' now he drives some place else."
"Lassiter, you knew him? Tell me, is he Mormon or Gentile?"
"I can't say. I've knowed Mormons who pretended to be Gentiles."
"No Mormon ever pretended that unless he was a rustler" declared
Venters.
"Mebbe so."
"It's a hard country for any one, but hardest for Gentiles. Did
you ever know or hear of a Gentile prospering in a Mormon
community?"
"I never did."
"Well, I want to get out of Utah. I've a mother living in
Illinois. I want to go home. It's eight years now."
The older man's sympathy moved Venters to tell his story. He had
left Quincy, run off to seek his fortune in the gold fields had
never gotten any farther than Salt Lake City, wandered here and
there as helper, teamster, shepherd, and drifted southward over
the divide and across the barrens and up the rugged plateau
through the passes to the last border settlements. Here he became
a rider of the sage, had stock of his own, and for a time
prospered, until chance threw him in the employ of Jane
Withersteen.
"Lassiter, I needn't tell you the rest."
"Well, it'd be no news to me. I know Mormons. I've seen their
women's strange love en' patience en' sacrifice an' silence en'
whet I call madness for their idea of God. An' over against that
I've seen the tricks of men. They work hand in hand, all
together, an' in the dark. No man can hold out against them,
unless he takes to packin' guns. For Mormons are slow to kill.
That's the only good I ever seen in their religion. Venters, take
this from me, these Mormons ain't just right in their minds. Else
could a Mormon marry one woman when he already has a wife, an'
call it duty?"
"Lassiter, you think as I think," returned Venters.
"How'd it come then that you never throwed a gun on Tull or some
of them?" inquired the rider, curiously.
"Jane pleaded with me, begged me to be patient, to overlook. She
even took my guns from me. I lost all before I knew it," replied
Venters, with the red color in his face. "But, Lassiter,
listen.
"Out of the wreck I saved a Winchester, two Colts, and plenty of
shells. I packed these down into Deception Pass. There, almost
every day for six months, I have practiced with my rifle till the
barrel burnt my hands. Practised the draw--the firing of a Colt,
hour after hour!"
"Now that's interestin' to me," said Lassiter, with a quick
uplift of his head and a concentration of his gray gaze on
Venters. "Could you throw a gun before you began that
practisin'?"
"Yes. And now..." Venters made a lightning-swift movement.
Lassiter smiled, and then his bronzed eyelids narrowed till his
eyes seemed mere gray slits. "You'll kill Tull!" He did not
question; he affirmed.
"I promised Jane Withersteen I'd try to avoid Tull. I'll keep my
word. But sooner or later Tull and I will meet. As I feel now, if
he even looks at me I'll draw!"
"I reckon so. There'll be hell down there, presently." He paused
a moment and flicked a sage-brush with his quirt. "Venters,
seein' as you're considerable worked up, tell me Milly Erne's
story."
Venters's agitation stilled to the trace of suppressed eagerness
in Lassiter's query.
"Milly Erne's story? Well, Lassiter, I'll tell you what I know.
Milly Erne had been in Cottonwoods years when I first arrived
there, and most of what I tell you happened before my arrival. I
got to know her pretty well. She was a slip of a woman, and crazy
on religion. I conceived an idea that I never mentioned--I
thought she was at heart more Gentile than Mormon. But she passed
as a Mormon, and certainly she had the Mormon woman's locked
lips. You know, in every Mormon village there are women who seem
mysterious to us, but about Milly there was more than the
ordinary mystery. When she came to Cottonwoods she had a
beautiful little girl whom she loved passionately. Milly was not
known openly in Cottonwoods as a Mormon wife. That she really was
a Mormon wife I have no doubt. Perhaps the Mormon's other wife or
wives would not acknowledge Milly. Such things happen in these
villages. Mormon wives wear yokes, but they get jealous. Well,
whatever had brought Milly to this country-- love or madness of
religion--she repented of it. She gave up teaching the village
school. She quit the church. And she began to fight Mormon
upbringing for her baby girl. Then the Mormons put on the
screws-- slowly, as is their way. At last the child disappeared.
'Lost' was the report. The child was stolen, I know that. So do
you. That wrecked Milly Erne. But she lived on in hope. She
became a slave. She worked her heart and soul and life out to get
back her child. She never heard of it again. Then she sank....I
can see her now, a frail thing, so transparent you could almost
look through her--white like ashes--and her eyes!...Her eyes have
always haunted me. She had one real friend--Jane Withersteen. But
Jane couldn't mend a broken heart, and Milly died."
For moments Lassiter did not speak, or turn his head.
"The man!" he exclaimed, presently, in husky accents.
"I haven't the slightest idea who the Mormon was," replied
Venters; "nor has any Gentile in Cottonwoods."
"Does Jane Withersteen know?"
"Yes. But a red-hot running-iron couldn't burn that name out of
her!"
Without further speech Lassiter started off, walking his horse
and Venters followed with his dogs. Half a mile down the slope
they entered a luxuriant growth of willows, and soon came into an
open space carpeted with grass like deep green velvet. The
rushing of water and singing of birds filled their ears. Venters
led his comrade to a shady bower and showed him Amber Spring. It
was a magnificentoutburst of clear, amber water pouring from a
dark, stone-lined hole. Lassiter knelt and drank, lingered there
to drink again. He made no comment, but Venters did not need
words. Next to his horse a rider of the sage loved a spring. And
this spring was the most beautiful and remarkable known to the
upland riders of southern Utah. It was the spring that made old
Withersteen a feudal lord and now enabled his daughter to return
the toll which her father had exacted from the toilers of the
sage.
The spring gushed forth in a swirling torrent, and leaped down
joyously to make its swift way along a willow-skirted channel.
Moss and ferns and lilies overhung its green banks. Except for
the rough-hewn stones that held and directed the water, this
willow thicket and glade had been left as nature had made it.
Below were artificial lakes, three in number, one above the other
in banks of raised earth, and round about them rose the lofty
green-foliaged shafts of poplar trees. Ducks dotted the glassy
surface of the lakes; a blue heron stood motionless on a
water-gate; kingfishers darted with shrieking flight along the
shady banks; a white hawk sailed above; and from the trees and
shrubs came the song of robins and cat-birds. It was all in
strange contrast to the endless slopes of lonely sage and the
wild rock environs beyond. Venters thought of the woman who loved
the birds and the green of the leaves and the murmur of the
water.
Next on the slope, just below the third and largest lake, were
corrals and a wide stone barn and open sheds and coops and pens.
Here were clouds of dust, and cracking sounds of hoofs, and
romping colts and heehawing burros. Neighing horses trampled to
guard. And in that wild covert Venters shut his eyes under the
great white stars and intense vaulted blue, bitterly comparing
their loneliness to his own, and fell asleep.
When he awoke, day had dawned and all about him was bright
steel-gray. The air had a cold tang. Arising, he greeted the
fawning dogs and stretched his cramped body, and then, gathering
together bunches of dead sage sticks, he lighted a fire. Strips
of dried beef held to the blaze for a moment served him and the
dogs. He drank from a canteen. There was nothing else in his
outfit; he had grown used to a scant fire. Then he sat over the
fire, palms outspread, and waited. Waiting had been his chief
occupation for months, and he scarcely knew what he waited for
unless it was the passing of the hours. But now he sensed action
in the immediate present; the day promised another meeting with
Lassiter and Lane, perhaps news of the rustlers; on the morrow he
meant to take the trail to Deception Pass.
And while he waited he talked to his dogs. He called them Ring
and Whitie; they were sheep-dogs, half collie, half deerhound,
superb in build, perfectly trained. It seemed that in his fallen
fortunes these dogs understood the nature of their value to him,
and governed their affection and faithfulness accordingly. Whitie
watched him with somber eyes of love, and Ring, crouched on the
little rise of ground above, kept tireless guard. When the sun
rose, the white dog took the place of the other, and Ring went to
sleep at his master's feet.
By and by Venters rolled up his blankets and tied them and his
meager pack together, then climbed out to look for his horse. He
saw him, presently, a little way off in the sage, and went to
fetch him. In that country, where every rider boasted of a fine
mount and was eager for a race, where thoroughbreds dotted the
wonderful grazing ranges, Venters rode a horse that was sad proof
of his misfortunes.
Then, with his back against a stone, Venters faced the east, and,
stick in hand and idle blade, he waited. The glorious sunlight
filled the valley with purple fire. Before him, to left, to
right, waving, rolling, sinking, rising, like low swells of a
purple sea, stretched the sage. Out of the grove of cottonwoods,
a green patch on the purple, gleamed the dull red of Jane
Withersteen's old stone house. And from there extended the wide
green of the village gardens and orchards marked by the graceful
poplars; and farther down shone the deep, dark richness of the
alfalfa fields. Numberless red and black and white dots speckled
the sage, and these were cattle and horses.
So, watching and waiting, Venters let the time wear away. At
length he saw a horse rise above a ridge, and he knew it to be
Lassiter's black. Climbing to the highest rock, so that he would
show against the sky-line, he stood and waved his hat. The almost
instant turning of Lassiter's horse attested to the quickness of
that rider's eye. Then Venters climbed down, saddled his horse,
tied on his pack, and, with a word to his dogs, was about to ride
out to meet Lassiter, when he concluded to wait for him there, on
higher ground, where the outlook was commanding.
It had been long since Venters had experienced friendly greeting
from a man. Lassiter's warmed in him something that had grown
cold from neglect. And when he had returned it, with a strong
grip of the iron hand that held his, and met the gray eyes, he
knew that Lassiter and he were to be friends.
"Venters, let's talk awhile before we go down there," said
Lassiter, slipping his bridle. "I ain't in no hurry. Them's sure
fine dogs you've got." With a rider's eye he took in the points
of Venter's horse, but did not speak his thought. "Well, did
anythin' come off after I left you last night?"
Venters told him about the rustlers.
"I was snug hid in the sage," replied Lassiter, "an' didn't see
or hear no one. Oldrin's got a high hand here, I reckon. It's no
news up in Utah how he holes in canyons an' leaves no track."
Lassiter was silent a moment. "Me an' Oldrin' wasn't exactly
strangers some years back when he drove cattle into Bostil's
Ford, at the head of the Rio Virgin. But he got harassed there
an' now he drives some place else."
"Lassiter, you knew him? Tell me, is he Mormon or Gentile?"
"I can't say. I've knowed Mormons who pretended to be Gentiles."
"No Mormon ever pretended that unless he was a rustler" declared
Venters.
"Mebbe so."
"It's a hard country for any one, but hardest for Gentiles. Did
you ever know or hear of a Gentile prospering in a Mormon
community?"
"I never did."
"Well, I want to get out of Utah. I've a mother living in
Illinois. I want to go home. It's eight years now."
The older man's sympathy moved Venters to tell his story. He had
left Quincy, run off to seek his fortune in the gold fields had
never gotten any farther than Salt Lake City, wandered here and
there as helper, teamster, shepherd, and drifted southward over
the divide and across the barrens and up the rugged plateau
through the passes to the last border settlements. Here he became
a rider of the sage, had stock of his own, and for a time
prospered, until chance threw him in the employ of Jane
Withersteen.
"Lassiter, I needn't tell you the rest."
"Well, it'd be no news to me. I know Mormons. I've seen their
women's strange love en' patience en' sacrifice an' silence en'
whet I call madness for their idea of God. An' over against that
I've seen the tricks of men. They work hand in hand, all
together, an' in the dark. No man can hold out against them,
unless he takes to packin' guns. For Mormons are slow to kill.
That's the only good I ever seen in their religion. Venters, take
this from me, these Mormons ain't just right in their minds. Else
could a Mormon marry one woman when he already has a wife, an'
call it duty?"
"Lassiter, you think as I think," returned Venters.
"How'd it come then that you never throwed a gun on Tull or some
of them?" inquired the rider, curiously.
"Jane pleaded with me, begged me to be patient, to overlook. She
even took my guns from me. I lost all before I knew it," replied
Venters, with the red color in his face. "But, Lassiter,
listen.
"Out of the wreck I saved a Winchester, two Colts, and plenty of
shells. I packed these down into Deception Pass. There, almost
every day for six months, I have practiced with my rifle till the
barrel burnt my hands. Practised the draw--the firing of a Colt,
hour after hour!"
"Now that's interestin' to me," said Lassiter, with a quick
uplift of his head and a concentration of his gray gaze on
Venters. "Could you throw a gun before you began that
practisin'?"
"Yes. And now..." Venters made a lightning-swift movement.
Lassiter smiled, and then his bronzed eyelids narrowed till his
eyes seemed mere gray slits. "You'll kill Tull!" He did not
question; he affirmed.
"I promised Jane Withersteen I'd try to avoid Tull. I'll keep my
word. But sooner or later Tull and I will meet. As I feel now, if
he even looks at me I'll draw!"
"I reckon so. There'll be hell down there, presently." He paused
a moment and flicked a sage-brush with his quirt. "Venters,
seein' as you're considerable worked up, tell me Milly Erne's
story."
Venters's agitation stilled to the trace of suppressed eagerness
in Lassiter's query.
"Milly Erne's story? Well, Lassiter, I'll tell you what I know.
Milly Erne had been in Cottonwoods years when I first arrived
there, and most of what I tell you happened before my arrival. I
got to know her pretty well. She was a slip of a woman, and crazy
on religion. I conceived an idea that I never mentioned--I
thought she was at heart more Gentile than Mormon. But she passed
as a Mormon, and certainly she had the Mormon woman's locked
lips. You know, in every Mormon village there are women who seem
mysterious to us, but about Milly there was more than the
ordinary mystery. When she came to Cottonwoods she had a
beautiful little girl whom she loved passionately. Milly was not
known openly in Cottonwoods as a Mormon wife. That she really was
a Mormon wife I have no doubt. Perhaps the Mormon's other wife or
wives would not acknowledge Milly. Such things happen in these
villages. Mormon wives wear yokes, but they get jealous. Well,
whatever had brought Milly to this country-- love or madness of
religion--she repented of it. She gave up teaching the village
school. She quit the church. And she began to fight Mormon
upbringing for her baby girl. Then the Mormons put on the
screws-- slowly, as is their way. At last the child disappeared.
'Lost' was the report. The child was stolen, I know that. So do
you. That wrecked Milly Erne. But she lived on in hope. She
became a slave. She worked her heart and soul and life out to get
back her child. She never heard of it again. Then she sank....I
can see her now, a frail thing, so transparent you could almost
look through her--white like ashes--and her eyes!...Her eyes have
always haunted me. She had one real friend--Jane Withersteen. But
Jane couldn't mend a broken heart, and Milly died."
For moments Lassiter did not speak, or turn his head.
"The man!" he exclaimed, presently, in husky accents.
"I haven't the slightest idea who the Mormon was," replied
Venters; "nor has any Gentile in Cottonwoods."
"Does Jane Withersteen know?"
"Yes. But a red-hot running-iron couldn't burn that name out of
her!"
Without further speech Lassiter started off, walking his horse
and Venters followed with his dogs. Half a mile down the slope
they entered a luxuriant growth of willows, and soon came into an
open space carpeted with grass like deep green velvet. The
rushing of water and singing of birds filled their ears. Venters
led his comrade to a shady bower and showed him Amber Spring. It
was a magnificentoutburst of clear, amber water pouring from a
dark, stone-lined hole. Lassiter knelt and drank, lingered there
to drink again. He made no comment, but Venters did not need
words. Next to his horse a rider of the sage loved a spring. And
this spring was the most beautiful and remarkable known to the
upland riders of southern Utah. It was the spring that made old
Withersteen a feudal lord and now enabled his daughter to return
the toll which her father had exacted from the toilers of the
sage.
The spring gushed forth in a swirling torrent, and leaped down
joyously to make its swift way along a willow-skirted channel.
Moss and ferns and lilies overhung its green banks. Except for
the rough-hewn stones that held and directed the water, this
willow thicket and glade had been left as nature had made it.
Below were artificial lakes, three in number, one above the other
in banks of raised earth, and round about them rose the lofty
green-foliaged shafts of poplar trees. Ducks dotted the glassy
surface of the lakes; a blue heron stood motionless on a
water-gate; kingfishers darted with shrieking flight along the
shady banks; a white hawk sailed above; and from the trees and
shrubs came the song of robins and cat-birds. It was all in
strange contrast to the endless slopes of lonely sage and the
wild rock environs beyond. Venters thought of the woman who loved
the birds and the green of the leaves and the murmur of the
water.
Next on the slope, just below the third and largest lake, were
corrals and a wide stone barn and open sheds and coops and pens.
Here were clouds of dust, and cracking sounds of hoofs, and
romping colts and heehawing burros. Neighing horses trampled to
- bitterly [´bitəli]
ad.悲痛地；憎恨地 (初中英语单词) - waiting [´weitiŋ] n.等候；伺候 (初中英语单词)
- affection [ə´fekʃən] n.友爱；慈爱 (初中英语单词)
- accordingly [ə´kɔ:diŋli] ad.因此；从而；依照 (初中英语单词)
- presently [´prezəntli] ad.不久；目前 (初中英语单词)
- glorious [´glɔ:riəs] a.光荣的；辉煌的 (初中英语单词)
- valley [´væli] n.谷；河谷；流域 (初中英语单词)
- purple [´pə:pl] n.紫色 a.紫(红)的 (初中英语单词)
- neglect [ni´glekt] vt.&n.疏忽；忽视；忽略 (初中英语单词)
- awhile [ə´wail] ad.少顷；片刻 (初中英语单词)
- reckon [´rekən] v.计算；认为；估计 (初中英语单词)
- sympathy [´simpəθi] n.同情，怜悯 (初中英语单词)
- shepherd [´ʃepəd] n.牧羊人 vt.带领 (初中英语单词)
- patience [´peiʃəns] n.忍耐(力)；耐心；坚韧 (初中英语单词)
- overlook [,əuvə´luk] vt.&n.俯瞰；忽略；观察 (初中英语单词)
- concentration [,kɔnsən´treiʃən] n.集中，专心 (初中英语单词)
- considerable [kən´sidərəbəl] a.重要的；值得重视 (初中英语单词)
- arrival [ə´raivəl] n.到达；到达的人(物) (初中英语单词)
- mystery [´mistəri] n.神秘；秘密；故弄玄虚 (初中英语单词)
- acknowledge [ək´nɔlidʒ] vt.(公开)承认；感谢 (初中英语单词)
- jealous [´dʒeləs] a.妒忌的 (初中英语单词)
- stolen [´stəulən] steal 的过去分词 (初中英语单词)
- haunted [´hɔ:tid] a.常出现鬼的，闹鬼的 (初中英语单词)
- velvet [´velvit] n.&a.天鹅绒(般的) (初中英语单词)
- magnificent [mæg´nifisənt] a.壮丽的；豪华的 (初中英语单词)
- comment [´kɔment] n.&v.评论；评注；注意 (初中英语单词)
- remarkable [ri´mɑ:kəbl] a.值得注意的；显著的 (初中英语单词)
- artificial [,ɑ:ti´fiʃəl] a.人工的；模拟的 (初中英语单词)
- flight [flait] n.逃走；飞行；班机 (初中英语单词)
- contrast [´kɔntrɑ:st] n.对比 v.使对比(照) (初中英语单词)
- lonely [´ləunli] a.孤独的；无人烟的 (初中英语单词)
- intense [in´tens] a.强烈的；紧张的 (高中英语单词)
- loneliness [´ləunliniz] n.孤独，寂寞 (高中英语单词)
- perfectly [´pə:fiktli] ad.理想地；完美地 (高中英语单词)
- bridle [´braidl] n.(马)笼头；束缚 (高中英语单词)
- virgin [´və:dʒin] a.处女(般)的 n.处女 (高中英语单词)
- helper [´helpə] n.帮助者，助手 (高中英语单词)
- southward [´sauθwəd] a.&n.向南方向(的) (高中英语单词)
- rugged [´rʌgid] a.不平的；粗犷的 (高中英语单词)
- madness [´mædnis] n.疯狂；狂热 (高中英语单词)
- agitation [,ædʒi´teiʃən] n.鼓动；摇动；焦虑 (高中英语单词)
- openly [´əupənli] ad.公开地；直率地 (高中英语单词)
- transparent [træns´peərənt] a.透明的；显而易见的 (高中英语单词)
- torrent [´tɔrənt] n.奔流，激流，洪流；迸发 (高中英语单词)
- thicket [´θikit] n.灌木丛；密集的东西 (高中英语单词)
- motionless [´məuʃənləs] a.静止的；固定的 (高中英语单词)
- morrow [´mɔrəu] n.翌日 (英语四级单词)
- somber [´sɔmbə] a.昏暗的；忧郁的 (英语四级单词)
- outlook [´autluk] n.眺望；景色；展望 (英语四级单词)
- experienced [ik´spiəriənst] a.有经验的；熟练的 (英语四级单词)
- gotten [´gɔtn] get的过去分词 (英语四级单词)
- passionately [´pæʃənitli] ad.多情地；热烈地 (英语四级单词)
- feudal [´fju:dl] a.封建的，封建制度的 (英语四级单词)
- poplar [´pɔplə] n.白杨；杨木 (英语四级单词)
- covert [kʌvət] a.隐藏的 n.隐藏处 (英语六级单词)
- deception [di´sepʃən] n.欺骗，诈骗；骗术 (英语六级单词)
- collie [´kɔli] n.柯利牧羊犬 (英语六级单词)
- tireless [´taiələs] a.不疲倦的；无轮胎的 (英语六级单词)
- extended [iks´tendid] a.伸长的；广大的 (英语六级单词)
- richness [´ritʃnis] n.富饶；富裕；华美 (英语六级单词)
- numberless [´nʌmbələs] a.无号码的；数不清的 (英语六级单词)
- practiced [´præktist] a.经验丰富的；熟练的 (英语六级单词)
- luxuriant [lʌg´zjuəriənt] a.繁茂的；丰富的 (英语六级单词)
- outburst [´autbə:st] n.喷发；爆发；激增 (英语六级单词)
文章标签:名著
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