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- Фрэнк Норрис
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- Спрут: Калифорнийская история
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- Стр. 341/416
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Presley
beat
his
forehead
with
his
clenched
fist
as
he
rode
on
.
“
No
,
”
he
cried
,
“
no
,
kill
him
,
kill
him
,
kill
him
with
my
hands
.
”
The
idea
of
it
put
him
beside
himself
.
Oh
,
to
sink
his
fingers
deep
into
the
white
,
fat
throat
of
the
man
,
to
clutch
like
iron
into
the
great
puffed
jowl
of
him
,
to
wrench
out
the
life
,
to
batter
it
out
,
strangle
it
out
,
to
pay
him
back
for
the
long
years
of
extortion
and
oppression
,
to
square
accounts
for
bribed
jurors
,
bought
judges
,
corrupted
legislatures
,
to
have
justice
for
the
trick
of
the
Ranchers
’
Railroad
Commission
,
the
charlatanism
of
the
“
ten
per
cent
.
cut
,
”
the
ruin
of
Dyke
,
the
seizure
of
Quien
Sabe
,
the
murder
of
Harran
,
the
assassination
of
Annixter
!
It
was
in
such
mood
that
he
reached
Caraher
’
s
.
The
saloon
-
keeper
had
just
opened
his
place
and
was
standing
in
his
doorway
,
smoking
his
pipe
.
Presley
dismounted
and
went
in
and
the
two
had
a
long
talk
.
When
,
three
hours
later
,
Presley
came
out
of
the
saloon
and
rode
on
towards
Bonneville
,
his
face
was
very
pale
,
his
lips
shut
tight
,
resolute
,
determined
.
His
manner
was
that
of
a
man
whose
mind
is
made
up
.
The
hour
for
the
mass
meeting
at
the
Opera
House
had
been
set
for
one
o
’
clock
,
but
long
before
noon
the
street
in
front
of
the
building
and
,
in
fact
,
all
the
streets
in
its
vicinity
,
were
packed
from
side
to
side
with
a
shifting
,
struggling
,
surging
,
and
excited
multitude
.
There
were
few
women
in
the
throng
,
but
hardly
a
single
male
inhabitant
of
either
Bonneville
or
Guadalajara
was
absent
.
Men
had
even
come
from
Visalia
and
Pixley
.
It
was
no
longer
the
crowd
of
curiosity
seekers
that
had
thronged
around
Hooven
’
s
place
by
the
irrigating
ditch
;
the
People
were
no
longer
confused
,
bewildered
.
A
full
realisation
of
just
what
had
been
done
the
day
before
was
clear
now
in
the
minds
of
all
.
Business
was
suspended
;
nearly
all
the
stores
were
closed
.
Since
early
morning
the
members
of
the
League
had
put
in
an
appearance
and
rode
from
point
to
point
,
their
rifles
across
their
saddle
pommels
.
Then
,
by
ten
o
’
clock
,
the
streets
had
begun
to
fill
up
,
the
groups
on
the
corners
grew
and
merged
into
one
another
;
pedestrians
,
unable
to
find
room
on
the
sidewalks
,
took
to
the
streets
.
Hourly
the
crowd
increased
till
shoulders
touched
and
elbows
,
till
free
circulation
became
impeded
,
then
congested
,
then
impossible
.
The
crowd
,
a
solid
mass
,
was
wedged
tight
from
store
front
to
store
front
.
And
from
all
this
throng
,
this
single
unit
,
this
living
,
breathing
organism
—
the
People
—
there
rose
a
droning
,
terrible
note
.
It
was
not
yet
the
wild
,
fierce
clamour
of
riot
and
insurrection
,
shrill
,
high
pitched
;
but
it
was
a
beginning
,
the
growl
of
the
awakened
brute
,
feeling
the
iron
in
its
flank
,
heaving
up
its
head
with
bared
teeth
,
the
throat
vibrating
to
the
long
,
indrawn
snarl
of
wrath
.
Thus
the
forenoon
passed
,
while
the
people
,
their
bulk
growing
hourly
vaster
,
kept
to
the
streets
,
moving
slowly
backward
and
forward
,
oscillating
in
the
grooves
of
the
thoroughfares
,
the
steady
,
low
-
pitched
growl
rising
continually
into
the
hot
,
still
air
.
Then
,
at
length
,
about
twelve
o
’
clock
,
the
movement
of
the
throng
assumed
definite
direction
.
It
set
towards
the
Opera
House
.
Presley
,
who
had
left
his
pony
at
the
City
livery
stable
,
found
himself
caught
in
the
current
and
carried
slowly
forward
in
its
direction
.
His
arms
were
pinioned
to
his
sides
by
the
press
,
the
crush
against
his
body
was
all
but
rib
-
cracking
,
he
could
hardly
draw
his
breath
.
All
around
him
rose
and
fell
wave
after
wave
of
faces
,
hundreds
upon
hundreds
,
thousands
upon
thousands
,
red
,
lowering
,
sullen
.
All
were
set
in
one
direction
and
slowly
,
slowly
they
advanced
,
crowding
closer
,
till
they
almost
touched
one
another
.
For
reasons
that
were
inexplicable
,
great
,
tumultuous
heavings
,
like
ground
-
swells
of
an
incoming
tide
,
surged
over
and
through
the
multitude
.
At
times
,
Presley
,
lifted
from
his
feet
,
was
swept
back
,
back
,
back
,
with
the
crowd
,
till
the
entrance
of
the
Opera
House
was
half
a
block
away
;
then
,
the
returning
billow
beat
back
again
and
swung
him
along
,
gasping
,
staggering
,
clutching
,
till
he
was
landed
once
more
in
the
vortex
of
frantic
action
in
front
of
the
foyer
.
Here
the
waves
were
shorter
,
quicker
,
the
crushing
pressure
on
all
sides
of
his
body
left
him
without
strength
to
utter
the
cry
that
rose
to
his
lips
;
then
,
suddenly
the
whole
mass
of
struggling
,
stamping
,
fighting
,
writhing
men
about
him
seemed
,
as
it
were
,
to
rise
,
to
lift
,
multitudinous
,
swelling
,
gigantic
.
A
mighty
rush
dashed
Presley
forward
in
its
leap
.
There
was
a
moment
’
s
whirl
of
confused
sights
,
congested
faces
,
opened
mouths
,
bloodshot
eyes
,
clutching
hands
;
a
moment
’
s
outburst
of
furious
sound
,
shouts
,
cheers
,
oaths
;
a
moment
’
s
jam
wherein
Presley
veritably
believed
his
ribs
must
snap
like
pipestems
and
he
was
carried
,
dazed
,
breathless
,
helpless
,
an
atom
on
the
crest
of
a
storm
-
driven
wave
,
up
the
steps
of
the
Opera
House
,
on
into
the
vestibule
,
through
the
doors
,
and
at
last
into
the
auditorium
of
the
house
itself
.
