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- Фрэнк Норрис
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- Спрут: Калифорнийская история
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- Стр. 394/416
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“
You
LOOK
knocked
up
,
”
asserted
the
other
.
“
By
the
way
,
”
he
added
,
“
I
suppose
you
’
ve
heard
the
news
?
”
Presley
shrank
a
little
.
Of
late
the
reports
of
disasters
had
followed
so
swiftly
upon
one
another
that
he
had
begun
to
tremble
and
to
quail
at
every
unexpected
bit
of
information
.
“
What
news
do
you
mean
?
”
he
asked
.
“
About
Dyke
.
He
has
been
convicted
.
The
judge
sentenced
him
for
life
.
”
For
life
!
Riding
on
by
the
side
of
this
man
through
the
ranches
by
the
County
Road
,
Presley
repeated
these
words
to
himself
till
the
full
effect
of
them
burst
at
last
upon
him
.
Jailed
for
life
!
No
outlook
.
No
hope
for
the
future
.
Day
after
day
,
year
after
year
,
to
tread
the
rounds
of
the
same
gloomy
monotony
.
He
saw
the
grey
stone
walls
,
the
iron
doors
;
the
flagging
of
the
“
yard
”
bare
of
grass
or
trees
—
the
cell
,
narrow
,
bald
,
cheerless
;
the
prison
garb
,
the
prison
fare
,
and
round
all
the
grim
granite
of
insuperable
barriers
,
shutting
out
the
world
,
shutting
in
the
man
with
outcasts
,
with
the
pariah
dogs
of
society
,
thieves
,
murderers
,
men
below
the
beasts
,
lost
to
all
decency
,
drugged
with
opium
,
utter
reprobates
.
To
this
,
Dyke
had
been
brought
,
Dyke
,
than
whom
no
man
had
been
more
honest
,
more
courageous
,
more
jovial
.
This
was
the
end
of
him
,
a
prison
;
this
was
his
final
estate
,
a
criminal
.
Presley
found
an
excuse
for
riding
on
,
leaving
S
.
Behrman
behind
him
.
He
did
not
stop
at
Caraher
’
s
saloon
,
for
the
heat
of
his
rage
had
long
since
begun
to
cool
,
and
dispassionately
,
he
saw
things
in
their
true
light
.
For
all
the
tragedy
of
his
wife
’
s
death
,
Caraher
was
none
the
less
an
evil
influence
among
the
ranchers
,
an
influence
that
worked
only
to
the
inciting
of
crime
.
Unwilling
to
venture
himself
,
to
risk
his
own
life
,
the
anarchist
saloon
-
keeper
had
goaded
Dyke
and
Presley
both
to
murder
;
a
bad
man
,
a
plague
spot
in
the
world
of
the
ranchers
,
poisoning
the
farmers
’
bodies
with
alcohol
and
their
minds
with
discontent
.
At
last
,
Presley
arrived
at
the
ranch
house
of
Los
Muertos
.
The
place
was
silent
;
the
grass
on
the
lawn
was
half
dead
and
over
a
foot
high
;
the
beginnings
of
weeds
showed
here
and
there
in
the
driveway
.
He
tied
his
horse
to
a
ring
in
the
trunk
of
one
of
the
larger
eucalyptus
trees
and
entered
the
house
.
Mrs
.
Derrick
met
him
in
the
dining
-
room
.
The
old
look
of
uneasiness
,
almost
of
terror
,
had
gone
from
her
wide
-
open
brown
eyes
.
There
was
in
them
instead
,
the
expression
of
one
to
whom
a
contingency
,
long
dreaded
,
has
arrived
and
passed
.
The
stolidity
of
a
settled
grief
,
of
an
irreparable
calamity
,
of
a
despair
from
which
there
was
no
escape
was
in
her
look
,
her
manner
,
her
voice
.
She
was
listless
,
apathetic
,
calm
with
the
calmness
of
a
woman
who
knows
she
can
suffer
no
further
.
“
We
are
going
away
,
”
she
told
Presley
,
as
the
two
sat
down
at
opposite
ends
of
the
dining
table
.
“
Just
Magnus
and
myself
—
all
there
is
left
of
us
.
