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- Джон Стейнбек
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- Стр. 465/563
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«
Can
’
t
really
tell
if
you
hear
it
.
Fools
you
.
Get
nervous
,
"
Casy
reassured
them
.
«
We
’
re
all
nervous
.
Can
’
t
really
tell
.
You
hear
it
,
Tom
?
»
«
I
hear
it
,
"
said
Tom
.
«
Yeah
,
I
hear
it
.
I
think
they
’
s
guys
comin
’
from
ever
’
which
way
.
We
better
get
outa
here
.
»
The
wizened
man
whispered
,
«
Under
the
bridge
span
—
out
that
way
.
Hate
to
leave
my
tent
.
»
«
Le
’
s
go
,
"
said
Casy
.
They
moved
quietly
along
the
edge
of
the
stream
.
The
black
span
was
a
cave
before
them
.
Casy
bent
over
and
moved
through
.
Tom
behind
.
Their
feet
slipped
into
the
water
.
Thirty
feet
they
moved
,
and
their
breathing
echoed
from
the
curved
ceiling
.
Then
they
came
out
on
the
other
side
and
straightened
up
.
A
sharp
call
,
«
There
they
are
!
»
Two
flashlight
beams
fell
on
the
men
,
caught
them
,
blinded
them
.
«
Stand
where
you
are
.
»
The
voices
came
out
of
the
darkness
.
«
That
’
s
him
.
That
shiny
bastard
.
That
’
s
him
.
»
Casy
stared
blindly
at
the
light
.
He
breathed
heavily
.
«
Listen
,
"
he
said
.
«
You
fellas
don
’
know
what
you
’
re
doin
’
.
You
’
re
helpin
’
to
starve
kids
.
»
«
Shut
up
,
you
red
son
-
of
-
a
-
bitch
.
»
A
short
heavy
man
stepped
into
the
light
.
He
carried
a
new
white
pick
handle
.
Casy
went
on
,
«
You
don
’
know
what
you
’
re
a
-
doin
’
.
»
The
heavy
man
swung
with
the
pick
handle
.
Casy
dodged
down
into
the
swing
.
The
heavy
club
crashed
into
the
side
of
his
head
with
a
dull
crunch
of
bone
,
and
Casy
fell
sideways
out
of
the
light
.
«
Jesus
,
George
.
I
think
you
killed
him
.
»
«
Put
the
light
on
him
,
"
said
George
.
«
Serve
the
son
-
of
-
a
-
bitch
right
.
»
The
flashlight
beam
dropped
,
searched
and
found
Casy
’
s
crushed
head
.
Tom
looked
down
at
the
preacher
.
The
light
crossed
the
heavy
man
’
s
legs
and
the
white
new
pick
handle
.
Tom
leaped
silently
.
He
wrenched
the
club
free
.
The
first
time
he
knew
he
had
missed
and
struck
a
shoulder
,
but
the
second
time
his
crushing
blow
found
the
head
,
and
as
the
heavy
man
sank
down
,
three
more
blows
found
his
head
.
The
lights
danced
about
.
There
were
shouts
,
the
sound
of
running
feet
,
crashing
through
brush
.
Tom
stood
over
the
prostrate
man
.
And
then
a
club
reached
his
head
,
a
glancing
blow
.
He
felt
the
stroke
like
an
electric
shock
.
And
then
he
was
running
along
the
stream
,
bending
low
.
He
heard
the
splash
of
footsteps
following
him
.
Suddenly
he
turned
and
squirmed
up
into
the
brush
,
deep
into
a
poison
-
oak
thicket
.
And
he
lay
still
.
The
footsteps
came
near
,
the
light
beams
glanced
along
the
stream
bottom
.
Tom
wriggled
up
through
the
thicket
to
the
top
.
He
emerged
in
an
orchard
.
And
still
he
could
hear
the
calls
,
the
pursuit
in
the
stream
bottom
.
He
bent
low
and
ran
over
the
cultivated
earth
;
the
clods
slipped
and
rolled
under
his
feet
.
Ahead
he
saw
the
bushes
that
bounded
the
field
,
bushes
along
the
edges
of
an
irrigation
ditch
.
He
slipped
through
the
fence
,
edged
in
among
vines
and
blackberry
bushes
.
And
then
he
lay
still
,
panting
hoarsely
.
He
felt
his
numb
face
and
nose
.
The
nose
was
crushed
,
and
a
trickle
of
blood
dripped
from
his
chin
.
He
lay
still
on
his
stomach
until
his
mind
came
back
.
And
then
he
crawled
slowly
over
the
edge
of
the
ditch
.
He
bathed
his
face
in
the
cool
water
,
tore
off
the
tail
of
his
blue
shirt
and
dipped
it
and
held
it
against
his
torn
cheek
and
nose
.
The
water
stung
and
burned
.
The
black
cloud
had
crossed
the
sky
,
a
blob
of
dark
against
the
stars
.
The
night
was
quiet
again
.
