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- Фрэнк Норрис
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- Спрут: Калифорнийская история
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- Стр. 145/416
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“
Hand
over
that
horse
,
Delaney
,
”
said
Annixter
,
without
raising
his
voice
,
“
and
clear
out
.
”
The
other
affected
to
be
overwhelmed
with
infinite
astonishment
,
his
eyes
staring
.
He
peered
down
from
the
saddle
.
“
Wh
-
a
-
a
-
t
!
”
he
exclaimed
;
“
wh
-
a
-
a
-
t
did
you
say
?
Why
,
I
guess
you
must
be
looking
for
trouble
;
that
’
s
what
I
guess
.
”
“
There
’
s
where
you
’
re
wrong
,
m
’
son
,
”
muttered
Annixter
,
partly
to
Delaney
,
partly
to
himself
.
“
If
I
was
looking
for
trouble
there
wouldn
’
t
be
any
guess
-
work
about
it
.
”
With
the
words
he
began
firing
.
Delaney
had
hardly
entered
the
barn
before
Annixter
’
s
plan
had
been
formed
.
Long
since
his
revolver
was
in
the
pocket
of
his
coat
,
and
he
fired
now
through
the
coat
itself
,
without
withdrawing
his
hands
.
Until
that
moment
Annixter
had
not
been
sure
of
himself
.
There
was
no
doubt
that
for
the
first
few
moments
of
the
affair
he
would
have
welcomed
with
joy
any
reasonable
excuse
for
getting
out
of
the
situation
.
But
the
sound
of
his
own
revolver
gave
him
confidence
.
He
whipped
it
from
his
pocket
and
fired
again
.
Abruptly
the
duel
began
,
report
following
report
,
spurts
of
pale
blue
smoke
jetting
like
the
darts
of
short
spears
between
the
two
men
,
expanding
to
a
haze
and
drifting
overhead
in
wavering
strata
.
It
was
quite
probable
that
no
thought
of
killing
each
other
suggested
itself
to
either
Annixter
or
Delaney
.
Both
fired
without
aiming
very
deliberately
.
To
empty
their
revolvers
and
avoid
being
hit
was
the
desire
common
to
both
.
They
no
longer
vituperated
each
other
.
The
revolvers
spoke
for
them
.
Long
after
,
Annixter
could
recall
this
moment
.
For
years
he
could
with
but
little
effort
reconstruct
the
scene
—
the
densely
packed
crowd
flattened
against
the
sides
of
the
barn
,
the
festoons
of
lanterns
,
the
mingled
smell
of
evergreens
,
new
wood
,
sachets
,
and
powder
smoke
;
the
vague
clamour
of
distress
and
terror
that
rose
from
the
throng
of
guests
,
the
squealing
of
the
buckskin
,
the
uneven
explosions
of
the
revolvers
,
the
reverberation
of
trampling
hoofs
,
a
brief
glimpse
of
Harran
Derrick
’
s
excited
face
at
the
door
of
the
harness
room
,
and
in
the
open
space
in
the
centre
of
the
floor
,
himself
and
Delaney
,
manoeuvring
swiftly
in
a
cloud
of
smoke
.
Annixter
’
s
revolver
contained
but
six
cartridges
.
Already
it
seemed
to
him
as
if
he
had
fired
twenty
times
.
Without
doubt
the
next
shot
was
his
last
.
Then
what
?
He
peered
through
the
blue
haze
that
with
every
discharge
thickened
between
him
and
the
buster
.
For
his
own
safety
he
must
“
place
”
at
least
one
shot
.
Delaney
’
s
chest
and
shoulders
rose
suddenly
above
the
smoke
close
upon
him
as
the
distraught
buckskin
reared
again
.
Annixter
,
for
the
first
time
during
the
fight
,
took
definite
aim
,
but
before
he
could
draw
the
trigger
there
was
a
great
shout
and
he
was
aware
of
the
buckskin
,
the
bridle
trailing
,
the
saddle
empty
,
plunging
headlong
across
the
floor
,
crashing
into
the
line
of
chairs
.
Delaney
was
scrambling
off
the
floor
.
There
was
blood
on
the
buster
’
s
wrist
and
he
no
longer
carried
his
revolver
.
Suddenly
he
turned
and
ran
.
The
crowd
parted
right
and
left
before
him
as
he
made
toward
the
doorway
.
He
disappeared
.
