-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Фрэнк Норрис
-
- Спрут: Калифорнийская история
-
- Стр. 284/416
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
From
a
wagon
?
No
,
horses
on
the
run
,
and
their
riders
were
armed
!
He
could
catch
the
flash
of
gun
barrels
.
They
were
all
closing
in
on
him
,
converging
on
Guadalajara
by
every
available
road
.
The
Upper
Road
west
of
Guadalajara
led
straight
to
Bonneville
.
That
way
was
impossible
.
Was
he
in
a
trap
?
Had
the
time
for
fighting
come
at
last
?
But
as
Dyke
neared
the
depot
at
Guadalajara
,
his
eye
fell
upon
the
detached
locomotive
that
lay
quietly
steaming
on
the
up
line
,
and
with
a
thrill
of
exultation
,
he
remembered
that
he
was
an
engineer
born
and
bred
.
Delaney
’
s
dogs
were
already
to
be
heard
,
and
the
roll
of
hoofs
on
the
Lower
Road
was
dinning
in
his
ears
,
as
he
leaped
from
the
buckskin
before
the
depot
.
The
train
crew
scattered
like
frightened
sheep
before
him
,
but
Dyke
ignored
them
.
His
pistol
was
in
his
hand
as
,
once
more
on
foot
,
he
sprang
toward
the
lone
engine
.
“
Out
of
the
cab
,
”
he
shouted
.
“
Both
of
you
.
Quick
,
or
I
’
ll
kill
you
both
.
”
The
two
men
tumbled
from
the
iron
apron
of
the
tender
as
Dyke
swung
himself
up
,
dropping
his
pistol
on
the
floor
of
the
cab
and
reaching
with
the
old
instinct
for
the
familiar
levers
.
The
great
compound
hissed
and
trembled
as
the
steam
was
released
,
and
the
huge
drivers
stirred
,
turning
slowly
on
the
tracks
.
But
there
was
a
shout
.
Delaney
’
s
posse
,
dogs
and
men
,
swung
into
view
at
the
turn
of
the
road
,
their
figures
leaning
over
as
they
took
the
curve
at
full
speed
.
Dyke
threw
everything
wide
open
and
caught
up
his
revolver
.
From
behind
came
the
challenge
of
a
Winchester
.
The
party
on
the
Lower
Road
were
even
closer
than
Delaney
.
They
had
seen
his
manoeuvre
,
and
the
first
shot
of
the
fight
shivered
the
cab
windows
above
the
engineer
’
s
head
.
But
spinning
futilely
at
first
,
the
drivers
of
the
engine
at
last
caught
the
rails
.
The
engine
moved
,
advanced
,
travelled
past
the
depot
and
the
freight
train
,
and
gathering
speed
,
rolled
out
on
the
track
beyond
.
Smoke
,
black
and
boiling
,
shot
skyward
from
the
stack
;
not
a
joint
that
did
not
shudder
with
the
mighty
strain
of
the
steam
;
but
the
great
iron
brute
—
one
of
Baldwin
’
s
newest
and
best
—
came
to
call
,
obedient
and
docile
as
soon
as
ever
the
great
pulsing
heart
of
it
felt
a
master
hand
upon
its
levers
.
It
gathered
its
speed
,
bracing
its
steel
muscles
,
its
thews
of
iron
,
and
roared
out
upon
the
open
track
,
filling
the
air
with
the
rasp
of
its
tempest
-
breath
,
blotting
the
sunshine
with
the
belch
of
its
hot
,
thick
smoke
.
Already
it
was
lessening
in
the
distance
,
when
Delaney
,
Christian
,
and
the
sheriff
of
Visalia
dashed
up
to
the
station
.
The
posse
had
seen
everything
.
“
Stuck
.
Curse
the
luck
!
”
vociferated
the
cow
-
Puncher
.
But
the
sheriff
was
already
out
of
the
saddle
and
into
the
telegraph
office
.
“
There
’
s
a
derailing
switch
between
here
and
Pixley
,
isn
’
t
there
?
”
he
cried
.
