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- Фрэнк Норрис
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- Спрут: Калифорнийская история
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- Стр. 287/416
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A
bright
,
white
sliver
of
wood
leaped
into
the
air
from
the
sooty
window
sill
of
the
cab
.
“
Fire
on
him
!
Fire
on
him
!
”
While
the
engines
were
yet
two
hundred
yards
apart
,
the
duel
began
,
shot
answering
shot
,
the
sharp
staccato
reports
punctuating
the
thunder
of
wheels
and
the
clamour
of
steam
.
Then
the
ground
trembled
and
rocked
;
a
roar
as
of
heavy
ordnance
developed
with
the
abruptness
of
an
explosion
.
The
two
engines
passed
each
other
,
the
men
firing
the
while
,
emptying
their
revolvers
,
shattering
wood
,
shivering
glass
,
the
bullets
clanging
against
the
metal
work
as
they
struck
and
struck
and
struck
.
The
men
leaned
from
the
cabs
towards
each
other
,
frantic
with
excitement
,
shouting
curses
,
the
engines
rocking
,
the
steam
roaring
;
confusion
whirling
in
the
scene
like
the
whirl
of
a
witch
’
s
dance
,
the
white
clouds
of
steam
,
the
black
eddies
from
the
smokestack
,
the
blue
wreaths
from
the
hot
mouths
of
revolvers
,
swirling
together
in
a
blinding
maze
of
vapour
,
spinning
around
them
,
dazing
them
,
dizzying
them
,
while
the
head
rang
with
hideous
clamour
and
the
body
twitched
and
trembled
with
the
leap
and
jar
of
the
tumult
of
machinery
.
Roaring
,
clamouring
,
reeking
with
the
smell
of
powder
and
hot
oil
,
spitting
death
,
resistless
,
huge
,
furious
,
an
abrupt
vision
of
chaos
,
faces
,
rage
-
distorted
,
peering
through
smoke
,
hands
gripping
outward
from
sudden
darkness
,
prehensile
,
malevolent
;
terrible
as
thunder
,
swift
as
lightning
,
the
two
engines
met
and
passed
.
“
He
’
s
hit
,
”
cried
Delaney
.
“
I
know
I
hit
him
.
He
can
’
t
go
far
now
.
After
him
again
.
He
won
’
t
dare
go
through
Bonneville
.
”
It
was
true
.
Dyke
had
stood
between
cab
and
tender
throughout
all
the
duel
,
exposed
,
reckless
,
thinking
only
of
attack
and
not
of
defence
,
and
a
bullet
from
one
of
the
pistols
had
grazed
his
hip
.
How
serious
was
the
wound
he
did
not
know
,
but
he
had
no
thought
of
giving
up
.
He
tore
back
through
the
depot
at
Guadalajara
in
a
storm
of
bullets
,
and
,
clinging
to
the
broken
window
ledge
of
his
cab
,
was
carried
towards
Bonneville
,
on
over
the
Long
Trestle
and
Broderson
Creek
and
through
the
open
country
between
the
two
ranches
of
Los
Muertos
and
Quien
Sabe
.
But
to
go
on
to
Bonneville
meant
certain
death
.
Before
,
as
well
as
behind
him
,
the
roads
were
now
blocked
.
Once
more
he
thought
of
the
mountains
.
He
resolved
to
abandon
the
engine
and
make
another
final
attempt
to
get
into
the
shelter
of
the
hills
in
the
northernmost
corner
of
Quien
Sabe
.
He
set
his
teeth
.
He
would
not
give
in
.
There
was
one
more
fight
left
in
him
yet
.
Now
to
try
the
final
hope
.
