Спрут: Калифорнийская история
Chapter I
But,”headded,anideaoccurringtohim,“thatdon’tshutyououtfromwork.ThereareotherrailroadsintheStatethatarenotcontrolledbytheP.andS.W.”
Dykesmotehiskneewithhisclenchedfist.
“NAMEONE.”
Presleywassilent.Dyke’schallengewasunanswerable.Therewasalapseintheirtalk,Presleydrummingonthearmoftheseat,meditatingonthisinjustice;Dykelookingoffoverthefieldsbeyondthetown,hisfrownlowering,histeethraspinguponhispipestem.Thestationagentcametothedoorofthedepot,stretchingandyawning.Onaheadoftheengine,theemptyrailsofthetrack,reachingouttowardthehorizon,threwoffvisiblelayersofheat.Thetelegraphkeyclickedincessantly.
“SoI’mgoingtoquit,”Dykeremarkedafterawhile,hisangersomewhatsubsided.“MybrotherandIwilltakeupthishopranch.I’vesavedagooddealinthelasttenyears,andthereoughttobemoneyinhops.”
Presleywenton,remountinghisbicycle,wheelingsilentlythroughthedesertedstreetsofthedecayedanddyingMexicantown.Itwasthehourofthesiesta.Nobodywasabout.Therewasnobusinessinthetown.ItwastooclosetoBonnevilleforthat.Beforetherailroadcame,andinthedayswhentheraisingofcattlewasthegreatindustryofthecountry,ithadenjoyedafierceandbrilliantlife.Nowitwasmoribund.Thedrugstore,thetwobar-rooms,thehotelatthecorneroftheoldPlaza,andtheshopswhereMexican“curios”weresoldtothoseoccasionalEasterntouristswhocametovisittheMissionofSanJuan,sufficedforthetown’sactivity.
