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- Фрэнк Норрис
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- Спрут: Калифорнийская история
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- Стр. 68/416
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“
What
’
s
the
use
of
making
a
fool
of
yourself
,
Annixter
?
”
remonstrated
Presley
,
as
Annixter
backed
the
horse
from
the
stall
.
“
You
act
just
like
a
ten
-
year
-
old
boy
.
If
Osterman
wants
to
play
the
goat
,
why
should
you
help
him
out
?
”
“
He
’
s
a
PIP
,
”
vociferated
Annixter
.
“
You
don
’
t
understand
,
Presley
.
It
runs
in
my
family
to
hate
anything
sticky
.
It
’
s
—
it
’
s
—
it
’
s
heredity
.
How
would
you
like
to
get
into
bed
at
two
in
the
morning
and
jam
your
feet
down
into
a
slimy
mess
like
that
?
Oh
,
no
.
It
’
s
not
so
funny
then
.
And
you
mark
my
words
,
Mr
.
Harran
Derrick
,
”
he
continued
,
as
he
climbed
into
the
buggy
,
shaking
the
whip
toward
Harran
,
“
this
business
we
talked
over
to
-
night
—
I
’
m
OUT
of
it
.
It
’
s
yellow
.
It
’
s
too
CURSED
dishonest
.
”
He
cut
the
horse
across
the
back
with
the
whip
and
drove
out
into
the
pelting
rain
In
a
few
seconds
the
sound
of
his
buggy
wheels
was
lost
in
the
muffled
roar
of
the
downpour
.
Harran
and
Presley
closed
the
barn
and
returned
to
the
house
,
sheltering
themselves
under
a
tarpaulin
carriage
cover
.
Once
inside
,
Harran
went
to
remonstrate
with
Osterman
,
who
was
still
up
.
Magnus
had
again
retired
.
The
house
had
fallen
quiet
again
.
As
Presley
crossed
the
dining
-
room
on
the
way
to
his
own
apartment
in
the
second
story
of
the
house
,
he
paused
for
a
moment
,
looking
about
him
.
In
the
dull
light
of
the
lowered
lamps
,
the
redwood
panelling
of
the
room
showed
a
dark
crimson
as
though
stained
with
blood
.
On
the
massive
slab
of
the
dining
table
the
half
-
emptied
glasses
and
bottles
stood
about
in
the
confusion
in
which
they
had
been
left
,
reflecting
themselves
deep
into
the
polished
wood
;
the
glass
doors
of
the
case
of
stuffed
birds
was
a
subdued
shimmer
;
the
many
-
coloured
Navajo
blanket
over
the
couch
seemed
a
mere
patch
of
brown
.
Around
the
table
the
chairs
in
which
the
men
had
sat
throughout
the
evening
still
ranged
themselves
in
a
semi
-
circle
,
vaguely
suggestive
of
the
conference
of
the
past
few
hours
,
with
all
its
possibilities
of
good
and
evil
,
its
significance
of
a
future
big
with
portent
.
The
room
was
still
.
Only
on
the
cushions
of
the
chair
that
Annixter
had
occupied
,
the
cat
,
Princess
Nathalie
,
at
last
comfortably
settled
in
her
accustomed
place
,
dozed
complacently
,
her
paws
tucked
under
her
breast
,
filling
the
deserted
room
with
the
subdued
murmur
of
her
contented
purr
.
On
the
Quien
Sabe
ranch
,
in
one
of
its
western
divisions
,
near
the
line
fence
that
divided
it
from
the
Osterman
holding
,
Vanamee
was
harnessing
the
horses
to
the
plough
to
which
he
had
been
assigned
two
days
before
,
a
stable
-
boy
from
the
division
barn
helping
him
.
Promptly
discharged
from
the
employ
of
the
sheep
-
raisers
after
the
lamentable
accident
near
the
Long
Trestle
,
Vanamee
had
presented
himself
to
Harran
,
asking
for
employment
.
The
season
was
beginning
;
on
all
the
ranches
work
was
being
resumed
.
The
rain
had
put
the
ground
into
admirable
condition
for
ploughing
,
and
Annixter
,
Broderson
,
and
Osterman
all
had
their
gangs
at
work
.
Thus
,
Vanamee
was
vastly
surprised
to
find
Los
Muertos
idle
,
the
horses
still
in
the
barns
,
the
men
gathering
in
the
shade
of
the
bunk
-
house
and
eating
-
house
,
smoking
,
dozing
,
or
going
aimlessly
about
,
their
arms
dangling
.
The
ploughs
for
which
Magnus
and
Harran
were
waiting
in
a
fury
of
impatience
had
not
yet
arrived
,
and
since
the
management
of
Los
Muertos
had
counted
upon
having
these
in
hand
long
before
this
time
,
no
provision
had
been
made
for
keeping
the
old
stock
in
repair
;
many
of
these
old
ploughs
were
useless
,
broken
,
and
out
of
order
;
some
had
been
sold
.
It
could
not
be
said
definitely
when
the
new
ploughs
would
arrive
.
Harran
had
decided
to
wait
one
week
longer
,
and
then
,
in
case
of
their
non
-
appearance
,
to
buy
a
consignment
of
the
old
style
of
plough
from
the
dealers
in
Bonneville
.
He
could
afford
to
lose
the
money
better
than
he
could
afford
to
lose
the
season
.
Failing
of
work
on
Los
Muertos
,
Vanamee
had
gone
to
Quien
Sabe
.
