What is the full Chinese translation of The interlopers by: Saki?

Chinese translation of Saki:

In a forest somewhere in the eastern spurs of the mixed growth in the Carpathian Mountains, a man stood on a winter's night, watching and listening as he though some of the beasts of the woods, within his field of vision, came to wait and after that his rifle. But in pursuing the presence of the enemies of mankind, he maintains the prospect so keenly that there is no lawful and proper chase, in the dark forests patrolled by the athlete's calendar-calculated game of Ulrich von Gradwitz. The extensiveness of the Gradwitz woodland, as well as the game herding, game harboring or shooting it gives no significance on the narrow steep woodland and its outskirts, but it is the most carefully guarded territory of all its property owners. The seizure of illegal possession from a neighboring family of small landowners, whose grandfather was a famous litigious and unsupported party never acquiesced in the court's decision, as well as a long series of poaching affrays and similar scandals have afflicted relations between the families for three generations. Neighborhood disputes have grown personal as Ulrich comes to the head of his family, if there are people in the world he abhors and wishes ill, the quarrels of inheritance and the relentless game of Jorg Znaeym kidnappers and intruders in the forests of the disputed border region. Vengeance may, perhaps, die fall or suffer damage if the individual is sick, the two men did not think like boys in the way that they have the desire of others, as men each pray that misfortune may fall. On the other hand, this wind whipped winter nights Ulrich linked up with his forester watched the dark forests, not in pursuit of the four-legged quarry, but in order to keep what he suspected to be stalking thieves from all over the country in the land in progress take a look at the borders. Roebuck's company, usually kept in sheltered alcoves in a gale that was running late-driven like a thing, had the habit of sporting through the dark hours of sleep between creatures and restlessness. Undoubtedly there was a disturbing element in the forest and Ulrich could guess where the quarter had come from when it was introduced. He deviated by himself from the observer he had ambushed on the summit of the mountain, strolling far up the steep slopes of the underwood in a wild tangle, reciprocating through the trunks of the trees, listening to the whistling winds skirling anxiously throbbing in the line of sight and the voice of the predator in the branches. If only on this wild night, in this dark, lonely place, he might straddle George Znaeym, man-to-man, no one could have witnessed to what was hopefully the most important moment in his thoughts. As he strengthened round the trunk of a huge beech, he shone the face he demanded of the man. The two enemies stood out in a moment of prolonged silence. Each with a rifle in his hand, each hating his heart, murdering supremacy in his mind. The opportunity came to give full play to a lifelong passion. But the man who has been constrained by the code of civilization does not easily nerve himself to shoot down his cold-blooded and wordless spoken neighbors, except for the crimes against his mantle and honor. And before a moment's hesitation the violent way of nature's own action deed overwhelmed the two men. A splintering crash had answered a fierce screaming storm over their heads, and ere they could leap the open beech with a falling mass had rumbled down on it. Ulrich von Gradwitz found himself lying on the ground, one arm numb beneath him, the other held almost helplessly tightly entangled in a forked branch, while the legs were pinned under the fallen mass. His heavy shooting boots had saved his feet from being crushed to splinters, but if his fractures were broken, at least they were not as serious as they might have been had it been obvious that he could not move from his present position until someone came to set him free. Descending branches had cut the skin of his face, and he eye-colored some drops of blood away from his eyelashes before he could get a general view of the disaster. Beside him, so generally near that he had almost struck him, the well-fought Jorg Znaeym, alive and struggling, but apparently helpless pinioned down. Around them struck down a thick split branches and broken branches scattered wreckage. Alive and irritated at the plight of his captors, Relief brought a strange medley of pious thanksgiving offerings and sharp curses from Ulrich's lips. Jorg, who was early blinded by the flow of blood in his eyes, paused for a moment as he struggled to hear the complaint, and then gave a short and snarling laugh. "So you weren't killed, as you should have been, but you caught, anyway," he cried, "catching fast and a joke, trapping in his stolen forest Ulrich von Gradwitz has real justice for you! " He laughed again, mockingly and savagely. "I am in my own woodland," retorted Ulrich. "When my man comes to free us, you will think, perhaps, that you are in a better plight than your neighbor's land, and shameful that you catch poaching." George was silent for a moment, then, quietly, he replied, "You're sure your men will find that greatly released, and also the men, I'm in the forest at night, and I'm close behind, and they'll be here first to do the releasing, and when they're dragging me according to these damned branches it won't take them a part of their clumsiness to right on the trunk of the massive roll-out that you haven't negotiated. Your man will find the next fallen beech tree dead on you. For form's sake, I'll send your family my deepest condolences. "It's a useful tip to say," said Ulrich fiercely. "My men have orders to follow a 10-minute period, of which seven must have passed, and when they get to me , I will remember the tip that only you will meet in my land I do not, you're dead poachers. Thought I could be decent enough to send any messages of condolence to your family. "Good" growled George, "good, we fight this quarrel of death, death and curses to you, to you, to me and to our forester to come, and no curses between us to the intruder. Ulrich von Gradwitz. "The same to you, George Znaeym, forest thief, game for kidnapping." Before them both spoke of the pungency of possible failure, each knowing that it might be long before his men would seek him or find him; it was a bare chance whichever side first arrived on the scene. Both had now given up the useless struggle to rid themselves of the mass of timber that had come down; Ulrich limiting his strenuous efforts to bring him near enough to a partially free arm, drew his bottle of wine from the pocket of his outer coat. Even when he had completed the operation, which was not long before, he could manage to screw the cork out of any liquid or get it down his throat. But a heavenly draft it seemed! It was an open winter, and a little snow had not yet fallen, and therefore suffered the captive from the cold which all the year round is likely to be in the case; yet the wine warmed and recovered to the wounded man, and he watched the whole like a throbbing pity for his enemy where it was, and just kept the groans from crossing his lips, agonized and weary. "Can you get this flask if I give it to you?" Ulrich asked suddenly, "There is good wine, as well as comfort as one, let us drink, even if tonight we will die. "No, I can scarcely see so much as a lump of blood round my eyes," said Georg; "I do not drink under any circumstances and with the enemy." Ulrich was silent for a few minutes, playing fast and loose with the wind. An idea was slowly forming and growing in his brain, an idea that gained strength every time he straddled the man against pain and fatigue, coldly watching. In the agony and weariness of fierce old hatred, Ulrich himself felt what seemed like an epilogue. "Neighbor," he said, "for the present, please, if your men come first, it is a fair compact; but as for me, I have changed my mind, and if my men come first, you shall first have to help, though you are my guest, and we have our lives in this stupid forest, where the trees can't even stand in the upright zone of the wind's breath. Lying here like ghosts quarrelling into the night thinking I come to think we've had rather a fight, and that there are better things in life than to get better neighbors in border disputes, and if you help me to bury my old quarrels, I'll ask you to be my friend. " Jorg Znaeym was silent for so long that Ulrich thought, perhaps, that he fainted at the pain of his injury. Then, without slowing down, he was twitching. "How will the whole area gazing and counting, if we enter the market party riding together. No one's life can remember seeing one Znaeym and von Gradwitz friendship another conversation. What peace will become of the Forester Forester folk if we end our feud late, if we choose to make peace between our people that is free from other disturbances, free from outsiders without intruders ...... You will come and go under my roof, Sylvester in the evening, and I will come and feast on some high day in your castle ...... I will never fire up your land to shoot and save when you invite me as a guest; and wildfowl in the marshes, you should come with me to shoot down in all the countryside here there is no possibility of hindrance if we will to make peace, I never wanted to do other than hate you for all my life there is hope but I feel I have changed things in my mind too much for this last half hour and you have given it to me! wineflask ... Ulrich von Gradwitz, I will be your friend. " A space both were silent, and in their minds this dramatic reconciliation would bring about a marvelous change. The wind tore at the naked branches, and in intermittent gusts whistled round the trunks of the trees, and in the cold, gloomy forest they fought under the help that now brought release and succor to both parties waited. And every private prayer-prayer of his men may be the first to arrive, so that he may be the first to show the honored attentions of an enemy who has become a friend. Presently, as the wind dropped for a moment, Ulrich broke the silence. "Let our shouts for help," said he, "be carried a little in this calm voice; they will not carry through the trees and bushes far," said George; "but we may try. Together, then." The two men lifted their voices in a long hunting call. "Hand in hand again," said Ulrich, a few minutes afterward, and after hearing the white answer to the high call. "I hear nothing but the plague wind," said Georg hoarsely. "There was silence for a few minutes again, and then Ulrich had a joyful shout. "I can see the figures through the wood, and they are below the way I came up the hill." Both men raised a loud shout of their voices as loud as they could muster. "They hear us! They have ceased, and now they see us, and they run down the hill against us, calling, "Ulrich. How many have which?" Asked Georg. "I don't see distinctly," said Ulrich, "nine, ten, and then, they are yours," said George, "I am only with my seven." Ulrich said, "They are making all the speed they can, brave lads, gladly. "Are they your men?" Asked George. "Are they your men?" He repeated impatiently as Ulrich did not answer. "No," said Ulrich as one of the men giggled a little with the ugly fear-threading idiot. "Who are they?" Asked Georg quickly, his eyes straining to see what other would like to see. "Wolves."

The Interloper is a book by author Donald Hamilton.