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- Фрэнк Норрис
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- Спрут: Калифорнийская история
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- Стр. 309/416
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“
ALL
.
Is
this
all
of
us
?
”
cried
Annixter
.
“
Where
are
the
six
hundred
men
who
were
going
to
rise
when
this
happened
?
”
They
had
wavered
,
these
other
Leaguers
.
Now
,
when
the
actual
crisis
impended
,
they
were
smitten
with
confusion
.
Ah
,
no
,
they
were
not
going
to
stand
up
and
be
shot
at
just
to
save
Derrick
’
s
land
.
They
were
not
armed
.
What
did
Annixter
and
Osterman
take
them
for
?
No
,
sir
;
the
Railroad
had
stolen
a
march
on
them
.
After
all
his
big
talk
Derrick
had
allowed
them
to
be
taken
by
surprise
.
The
only
thing
to
do
was
to
call
a
meeting
of
the
Executive
Committee
.
That
was
the
only
thing
.
As
for
going
down
there
with
no
weapons
in
their
hands
,
NO
,
sir
.
That
was
asking
a
little
TOO
much
.
“
Come
on
,
then
,
boys
,
”
shouted
Osterman
,
turning
his
back
on
the
others
.
“
The
Governor
says
to
meet
him
at
Hooven
’
s
.
We
’
ll
make
for
the
Long
Trestle
and
strike
the
trail
to
Hooven
’
s
there
.
”
They
set
off
.
It
was
a
terrible
ride
.
Twice
during
the
scrambling
descent
from
the
hills
,
Presley
’
s
pony
fell
beneath
him
.
Annixter
,
on
his
buckskin
,
and
Osterman
,
on
his
thoroughbred
,
good
horsemen
both
,
led
the
others
,
setting
a
terrific
pace
.
The
hills
were
left
behind
.
Broderson
Creek
was
crossed
and
on
the
levels
of
Quien
Sabe
,
straight
through
the
standing
wheat
,
the
nine
horses
,
flogged
and
spurred
,
stretched
out
to
their
utmost
.
Their
passage
through
the
wheat
sounded
like
the
rip
and
tear
of
a
gigantic
web
of
cloth
.
The
landscape
on
either
hand
resolved
itself
into
a
long
blur
.
Tears
came
to
the
eyes
,
flying
pebbles
,
clods
of
earth
,
grains
of
wheat
flung
up
in
the
flight
,
stung
the
face
like
shot
.
Osterman
’
s
thoroughbred
took
the
second
crossing
of
Broderson
’
s
Creek
in
a
single
leap
.
Down
under
the
Long
Trestle
tore
the
cavalcade
in
a
shower
of
mud
and
gravel
;
up
again
on
the
further
bank
,
the
horses
blowing
like
steam
engines
;
on
into
the
trail
to
Hooven
’
s
,
single
file
now
,
Presley
’
s
pony
lagging
,
Hooven
’
s
horse
bleeding
at
the
eyes
,
the
buckskin
,
game
as
a
fighting
cock
,
catching
her
second
wind
,
far
in
the
lead
now
,
distancing
even
the
English
thoroughbred
that
Osterman
rode
.
At
last
Hooven
’
s
unpainted
house
,
beneath
the
enormous
live
oak
tree
,
came
in
sight
.
Across
the
Lower
Road
,
breaking
through
fences
and
into
the
yard
around
the
house
,
thundered
the
Leaguers
.
Magnus
was
waiting
for
them
.
The
riders
dismounted
,
hardly
less
exhausted
than
their
horses
.
“
Why
,
where
’
s
all
the
men
?
”
Annixter
demanded
of
Magnus
.
“
Broderson
is
here
and
Cutter
,
”
replied
the
Governor
,
“
no
one
else
.
I
thought
YOU
would
bring
more
men
with
you
.
”
“
There
are
only
nine
of
us
.
”
