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- Фрэнк Норрис
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- Спрут: Калифорнийская история
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- Стр. 16/416
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His
brown
canvas
overalls
were
thrust
into
laced
boots
.
A
cartridge
belt
without
any
cartridges
encircled
his
waist
.
A
grey
flannel
shirt
,
open
at
the
throat
,
showed
his
breast
,
tanned
and
ruddy
.
He
wore
no
hat
.
His
hair
was
very
black
and
rather
long
.
A
pointed
beard
covered
his
chin
,
growing
straight
and
fine
from
the
hollow
cheeks
.
The
absence
of
any
covering
for
his
head
was
,
no
doubt
,
habitual
with
him
,
for
his
face
was
as
brown
as
an
Indian
’
s
—
a
ruddy
brown
quite
different
from
Presley
’
s
dark
olive
.
To
Presley
’
s
morbidly
keen
observation
,
the
general
impression
of
the
shepherd
’
s
face
was
intensely
interesting
.
It
was
uncommon
to
an
astonishing
degree
.
Presley
’
s
vivid
imagination
chose
to
see
in
it
the
face
of
an
ascetic
,
of
a
recluse
,
almost
that
of
a
young
seer
.
So
must
have
appeared
the
half
-
inspired
shepherds
of
the
Hebraic
legends
,
the
younger
prophets
of
Israel
,
dwellers
in
the
wilderness
,
beholders
of
visions
,
having
their
existence
in
a
continual
dream
,
talkers
with
God
,
gifted
with
strange
powers
.
Suddenly
,
at
some
twenty
paces
distant
from
the
approaching
shepherd
,
Presley
stopped
short
,
his
eyes
riveted
upon
the
other
.
“
Vanamee
!
”
he
exclaimed
.
The
shepherd
smiled
and
came
forward
,
holding
out
his
hands
,
saying
,
“
I
thought
it
was
you
.
When
I
saw
you
come
over
the
hill
,
I
called
you
.
”
“
But
not
with
your
voice
,
”
returned
Presley
.
“
I
knew
that
some
one
wanted
me
.
I
felt
it
.
I
should
have
remembered
that
you
could
do
that
kind
of
thing
.
”
“
I
have
never
known
it
to
fail
.
It
helps
with
the
sheep
.
”
“
With
the
sheep
?
”
“
In
a
way
.
I
can
’
t
tell
exactly
how
.
We
don
’
t
understand
these
things
yet
.
There
are
times
when
,
if
I
close
my
eyes
and
dig
my
fists
into
my
temples
,
I
can
hold
the
entire
herd
for
perhaps
a
minute
.
Perhaps
,
though
,
it
’
s
imagination
,
who
knows
?
But
it
’
s
good
to
see
you
again
.
How
long
has
it
been
since
the
last
time
?
Two
,
three
,
nearly
five
years
.
”
It
was
more
than
that
.
It
was
six
years
since
Presley
and
Vanamee
had
met
,
and
then
it
had
been
for
a
short
time
only
,
during
one
of
the
shepherd
’
s
periodical
brief
returns
to
that
part
of
the
country
.
During
a
week
he
and
Presley
had
been
much
together
,
for
the
two
were
devoted
friends
.
Then
,
as
abruptly
,
as
mysteriously
as
he
had
come
,
Vanamee
disappeared
.
Presley
awoke
one
morning
to
find
him
gone
.
Thus
,
it
had
been
with
Vanamee
for
a
period
of
sixteen
years
.
He
lived
his
life
in
the
unknown
,
one
could
not
tell
where
—
in
the
desert
,
in
the
mountains
,
throughout
all
the
vast
and
vague
South
-
west
,
solitary
,
strange
.
Three
,
four
,
five
years
passed
.
The
shepherd
would
be
almost
forgotten
.
Never
the
most
trivial
scrap
of
information
as
to
his
whereabouts
reached
Los
Muertos
.
He
had
melted
off
into
the
surface
-
shimmer
of
the
desert
,
into
the
mirage
;
he
sank
below
the
horizons
;
he
was
swallowed
up
in
the
waste
of
sand
and
sage
.
Then
,
without
warning
,
he
would
reappear
,
coming
in
from
the
wilderness
,
emerging
from
the
unknown
.
No
one
knew
him
well
.
In
all
that
countryside
he
had
but
three
friends
,
Presley
,
Magnus
Derrick
,
and
the
priest
at
the
Mission
of
San
Juan
de
Guadalajara
,
Father
Sarria
.
He
remained
always
a
mystery
,
living
a
life
half
-
real
,
half
-
legendary
.
