Спрут: Калифорнийская история

           Thetrailaffordedhimashortcutthitherward.Ashepassedthehouse,Mrs.Hoovencametothedoor,herlittledaughterHilda,dressedinaboy’soverallsandclumsyboots,atherskirts.Minna,heroldestdaughter,averyprettygirl,whoseloveaffairswerecontinuallythetalkofallLosMuertos,wasvisiblethroughawindowofthehouse,busyattheweek’swashing.Mrs.Hoovenwasafaded,colourlesswoman,middle-agedandcommonplace,andofferingnottheleastcharacteristicthatwoulddistinguishherfromathousandotherwomenofherclassandkind.ShenoddedtoPresley,watchinghimwithastolidgazefromunderherarm,whichsheheldacrossherforeheadtoshadehereyes.

           ButnowPresleyexertedhimselfingoodearnest.Hisbicycleflew.HeresolvedthatafterallhewouldgotoGuadalajara.Hecrossedthebridgeovertheirrigatingditchwithabrusquespurtofhollowsound,andshotforwarddownthelaststretchoftheLowerRoadthatyetintervenedbetweenHooven’sandthetown.Hewasonthefourthdivisionoftheranchnow,theonlyonewhereonthewheathadbeensuccessful,nodoubtbecauseoftheLittleMissionCreekthatranthroughit.Buthenolongeroccupiedhimselfwiththelandscape.Hisonlyconcernwastogetonasfastaspossible.HehadlookedforwardtospendingnearlythewholedayonthecrestofthewoodedhillsinthenortherncorneroftheQuienSaberanch,reading,idling,smokinghispipe.Butnowhewoulddowellifhearrivedtherebythemiddleoftheafternoon.Inafewmomentshehadreachedthelinefencethatmarkedthelimitsoftheranch.