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- Фрэнк Норрис
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- Спрут: Калифорнийская история
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- Стр. 407/416
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He
turned
aside
from
the
road
,
and
crossing
the
northwest
corner
of
Los
Muertos
and
the
line
of
the
railroad
,
turned
back
along
the
Upper
Road
till
he
came
to
the
Long
Trestle
and
Annixter
’
s
,
—
Silence
,
desolation
,
abandonment
.
A
vast
stillness
,
profound
,
unbroken
,
brooded
low
over
all
the
place
.
No
living
thing
stirred
.
The
rusted
wind
-
mill
on
the
skeleton
-
like
tower
of
the
artesian
well
was
motionless
;
the
great
barn
empty
;
the
windows
of
the
ranch
house
,
cook
house
,
and
dairy
boarded
up
.
Nailed
upon
a
tree
near
the
broken
gateway
was
a
board
,
white
painted
,
with
stencilled
letters
,
bearing
the
inscription
:
“
Warning
.
ALL
PERSONS
FOUND
TRESPASSING
ON
THESE
PREMISES
WILL
BE
PROSECUTED
TO
THE
FULLEST
EXTENT
OF
THE
LAW
.
By
order
P
.
and
S
.
W
.
R
.
R
.
”
As
he
had
planned
,
Presley
reached
the
hills
by
the
head
waters
of
Broderson
’
s
Creek
late
in
the
afternoon
.
Toilfully
he
climbed
them
,
reached
the
highest
crest
,
and
turning
about
,
looked
long
and
for
the
last
time
at
all
the
reach
of
the
valley
unrolled
beneath
him
.
The
land
of
the
ranches
opened
out
forever
and
forever
under
the
stimulus
of
that
measureless
range
of
vision
.
The
whole
gigantic
sweep
of
the
San
Joaquin
expanded
Titanic
before
the
eye
of
the
mind
,
flagellated
with
heat
,
quivering
and
shimmering
under
the
sun
’
s
red
eye
.
It
was
the
season
after
the
harvest
,
and
the
great
earth
,
the
mother
,
after
its
period
of
reproduction
,
its
pains
of
labour
,
delivered
of
the
fruit
of
its
loins
,
slept
the
sleep
of
exhaustion
in
the
infinite
repose
of
the
colossus
,
benignant
,
eternal
,
strong
,
the
nourisher
of
nations
,
the
feeder
of
an
entire
world
.
And
as
Presley
looked
there
came
to
him
strong
and
true
the
sense
and
the
significance
of
all
the
enigma
of
growth
.
He
seemed
for
one
instant
to
touch
the
explanation
of
existence
.
Men
were
nothings
,
mere
animalculae
,
mere
ephemerides
that
fluttered
and
fell
and
were
forgotten
between
dawn
and
dusk
.
Vanamee
had
said
there
was
no
death
.
But
for
one
second
Presley
could
go
one
step
further
.
Men
were
naught
,
death
was
naught
,
life
was
naught
;
FORCE
only
existed
—
FORCE
that
brought
men
into
the
world
,
FORCE
that
crowded
them
out
of
it
to
make
way
for
the
succeeding
generation
,
FORCE
that
made
the
wheat
grow
,
FORCE
that
garnered
it
from
the
soil
to
give
place
to
the
succeeding
crop
.
It
was
the
mystery
of
creation
,
the
stupendous
miracle
of
recreation
;
the
vast
rhythm
of
the
seasons
,
measured
,
alternative
,
the
sun
and
the
stars
keeping
time
as
the
eternal
symphony
of
reproduction
swung
in
its
tremendous
cadences
like
the
colossal
pendulum
of
an
almighty
machine
—
primordial
energy
flung
out
from
the
hand
of
the
Lord
God
himself
,
immortal
,
calm
,
infinitely
strong
.
But
as
he
stood
thus
looking
down
upon
the
great
valley
he
was
aware
of
the
figure
of
a
man
,
far
in
the
distance
,
moving
steadily
towards
the
Mission
of
San
Juan
.
The
man
was
hardly
more
than
a
dot
,
but
there
was
something
unmistakably
familiar
in
his
gait
;
and
besides
this
,
Presley
could
fancy
that
he
was
hatless
.
He
touched
his
pony
with
his
spur
.
The
man
was
Vanamee
beyond
all
doubt
,
and
a
little
later
Presley
,
descending
the
maze
of
cow
-
paths
and
cattle
-
trails
that
led
down
towards
the
Broderson
Creek
,
overtook
his
friend
.
Instantly
Presley
was
aware
of
an
immense
change
.
Vanamee
’
s
face
was
still
that
of
an
ascetic
,
still
glowed
with
the
rarefied
intelligence
of
a
young
seer
,
a
half
-
inspired
shepherd
-
prophet
of
Hebraic
legends
;
but
the
shadow
of
that
great
sadness
which
for
so
long
had
brooded
over
him
was
gone
;
the
grief
that
once
he
had
fancied
deathless
was
,
indeed
,
dead
,
or
rather
swallowed
up
in
a
victorious
joy
that
radiated
like
sunlight
at
dawn
from
the
deep
-
set
eyes
,
and
the
hollow
,
swarthy
cheeks
.
They
talked
together
till
nearly
sundown
,
but
to
Presley
’
s
questions
as
to
the
reasons
for
Vanamee
’
s
happiness
,
the
other
would
say
nothing
.
Once
only
he
allowed
himself
to
touch
upon
the
subject
.
“
Death
and
grief
are
little
things
,
”
he
said
.
“
They
are
transient
.
Life
must
be
before
death
,
and
joy
before
grief
.
Else
there
are
no
such
things
as
death
or
grief
.
These
are
only
negatives
.
Life
is
positive
.
Death
is
only
the
absence
of
life
,
just
as
night
is
only
the
absence
of
day
,
and
if
this
is
so
,
there
is
no
such
thing
as
death
.
There
is
only
life
,
and
the
suppression
of
life
,
that
we
,
foolishly
,
say
is
death
.
’
Suppression
,
’
I
say
,
not
extinction
.
I
do
not
say
that
life
returns
.
Life
never
departs
.
Life
simply
IS
.
For
certain
seasons
,
it
is
hidden
in
the
dark
,
but
is
that
death
,
extinction
,
annihilation
?
I
take
it
,
thank
God
,
that
it
is
not
.
Does
the
grain
of
wheat
,
hidden
for
certain
seasons
in
the
dark
,
die
?
The
grain
we
think
is
dead
RESUMES
AGAIN
;
but
how
?
Not
as
one
grain
,
but
as
twenty
.
So
all
life
.
Death
is
only
real
for
all
the
detritus
of
the
world
,
for
all
the
sorrow
,
for
all
the
injustice
,
for
all
the
grief
.
Presley
,
the
good
never
dies
;
evil
dies
,
cruelty
,
oppression
,
selfishness
,
greed
—
these
die
;
but
nobility
,
but
love
,
but
sacrifice
,
but
generosity
,
but
truth
,
thank
God
for
it
,
small
as
they
are
,
difficult
as
it
is
to
discover
them
—
these
live
forever
,
these
are
eternal
.
You
are
all
broken
,
all
cast
down
by
what
you
have
seen
in
this
valley
,
this
hopeless
struggle
,
this
apparently
hopeless
despair
.
Well
,
the
end
is
not
yet
.
What
is
it
that
remains
after
all
is
over
,
after
the
dead
are
buried
and
the
hearts
are
broken
?
Look
at
it
all
from
the
vast
height
of
humanity
—
’
the
greatest
good
to
the
greatest
numbers
.
’
What
remains
?
Men
perish
,
men
are
corrupted
,
hearts
are
rent
asunder
,
but
what
remains
untouched
,
unassailable
,
undefiled
?
Try
to
find
that
,
not
only
in
this
,
but
in
every
crisis
of
the
world
’
s
life
,
and
you
will
find
,
if
your
view
be
large
enough
,
that
it
is
not
evil
,
but
good
,
that
in
the
end
remains
.
”
