Спрут: Калифорнийская история
Chapter V
HowisthatgreaserofyoursuponOsterman’sstockrange?”
“Ah,thepoorfellow—thepoorfellow,”returnedtheother,thetearscomingtohiseyes.“Hediedthismorning—asyoumightsay,inmyarms,painfully,butinthefaith,inthefaith.Agoodfellow.”
“Alazy,cattle-stealing,knife-in-his-bootDago.”
“Youmisjudgehim.Areallygoodfellowonbetteracquaintance.”
Annixtergruntedscornfully.Sarria’skindnessandgood-willtowardthemostoutrageousreprobatesoftherancheswasproverbial.Hepracticallysupportedsomehalf-dozenfamiliesthatlivedinforgottencabins,lostandallbutinaccessible,inthefarcornersofstockrangeandcanyon.Thisparticulargreaserwasthelaziest,thedirtiest,themostworthlessofthelot.ButinSarria’smind,theloutwasanobjectofaffection,sincere,unquestioning.Thriceaweekthepriest,withabasketofprovisions—coldham,abottleofwine,olives,loavesofbread,evenachickenortwo—toiledovertheinterminablestretchofcountrybetweentheMissionandhiscabin.Oflate,duringtherascal’ssickness,thesevisitshadbeenalmostdaily.Hardlyoncedidthepriestleavethebedsidethathedidnotslipahalf-dollarintothepalmofhiswifeoroldestdaughter.Andthiswasbutonecaseoutofmany.
Hiskindlinesstowardanimalswasthesame.Ahordeofmange-corrodedcurslivedoffhisbounty,wolfish,ungrateful,oftenmarkinghimwiththeirteeth,yetneverknowingthemeaningofaharshword.
