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- Фрэнк Норрис
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- Спрут: Калифорнийская история
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- Стр. 288/416
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He
slowed
the
engine
down
,
and
,
reloading
his
revolver
,
jumped
from
the
platform
to
the
road
.
He
looked
about
him
,
listening
.
All
around
him
widened
an
ocean
of
wheat
.
There
was
no
one
in
sight
.
The
released
engine
,
alone
,
unattended
,
drew
slowly
away
from
him
,
jolting
ponderously
over
the
rail
joints
.
As
he
watched
it
go
,
a
certain
indefinite
sense
of
abandonment
,
even
in
that
moment
,
came
over
Dyke
.
His
last
friend
,
that
also
had
been
his
first
,
was
leaving
him
.
He
remembered
that
day
,
long
ago
,
when
he
had
opened
the
throttle
of
his
first
machine
.
To
-
day
,
it
was
leaving
him
alone
,
his
last
friend
turning
against
him
.
Slowly
it
was
going
back
towards
Bonneville
,
to
the
shops
of
the
Railroad
,
the
camp
of
the
enemy
,
that
enemy
that
had
ruined
him
and
wrecked
him
.
For
the
last
time
in
his
life
,
he
had
been
the
engineer
.
Now
,
once
more
,
he
became
the
highwayman
,
the
outlaw
against
whom
all
hands
were
raised
,
the
fugitive
skulking
in
the
mountains
,
listening
for
the
cry
of
dogs
.
But
he
would
not
give
in
.
They
had
not
broken
him
yet
.
Never
,
while
he
could
fight
,
would
he
allow
S
.
Behrman
the
triumph
of
his
capture
.
He
found
his
wound
was
not
bad
.
He
plunged
into
the
wheat
on
Quien
Sabe
,
making
northward
for
a
division
house
that
rose
with
its
surrounding
trees
out
of
the
wheat
like
an
island
.
He
reached
it
,
the
blood
squelching
in
his
shoes
.
But
the
sight
of
two
men
,
Portuguese
farm
-
hands
,
staring
at
him
from
an
angle
of
the
barn
,
abruptly
roused
him
to
action
.
He
sprang
forward
with
peremptory
commands
,
demanding
a
horse
.
At
Guadalajara
,
Delaney
and
the
sheriff
descended
from
the
freight
engine
.
“
Horses
now
,
”
declared
the
sheriff
.
“
He
won
’
t
go
into
Bonneville
,
that
’
s
certain
.
He
’
ll
leave
the
engine
between
here
and
there
,
and
strike
off
into
the
country
.
We
’
ll
follow
after
him
now
in
the
saddle
.
Soon
as
he
leaves
his
engine
,
HE
’
S
on
foot
.
We
’
ve
as
good
as
got
him
now
.
”
Their
horses
,
including
even
the
buckskin
mare
that
Dyke
had
ridden
,
were
still
at
the
station
.
The
party
swung
themselves
up
,
Delaney
exclaiming
,
“
Here
’
s
MY
mount
,
”
as
he
bestrode
the
buckskin
.
At
Guadalajara
,
the
two
bloodhounds
were
picked
up
again
.
Urging
the
jaded
horses
to
a
gallop
,
the
party
set
off
along
the
Upper
Road
,
keeping
a
sharp
lookout
to
right
and
left
for
traces
of
Dyke
’
s
abandonment
of
the
engine
.
Three
miles
beyond
the
Long
Trestle
,
they
found
S
.
Behrman
holding
his
saddle
horse
by
the
bridle
,
and
looking
attentively
at
a
trail
that
had
been
broken
through
the
standing
wheat
on
Quien
Sabe
.
The
party
drew
rein
.
