Спрут: Калифорнийская история

           HeleftGuadalajara,sleepingandlifeless,onhisleft,andgoingacrosslots,overanangleofQuienSabe,cameoutupontheUpperRoad,amilebelowtheLongTrestle.Hewasingreatspirits,lookingabouthimoverthebrownfields,ruddywiththedawn.Almostdirectlyinfrontofhim,butfaroff,thegildeddomeofthecourt-houseatBonnevillewasglintingradiantinthefirstraysofthesun,whileafewmilesdistant,towardthenorth,thevenerablecampanileoftheMissionSanJuanstoodsilhouettedinpurplishblackagainsttheflamingeast.Asheproceeded,thegreatfarmhorsesjoggingforward,placid,deliberate,thecountrysidewakedtoanotherday.Crossingtheirrigatingditchfurtheron,hemetagangofPortuguese,withpicksandshovelsovertheirshoulders,justgoingtowork.Hooven,alreadyabroad,shoutedhima“Gootmornun”frombehindthefenceofLosMuertos.Faroff,towardthesouthwest,inthebareexpanseoftheopenfields,whereaclumpofeucalyptusandcypresstreessetadarkgreennote,athinstreamofsmokerosestraightintotheairfromthekitchenofDerrick’sranchhouses.

           ButamileorsobeyondtheLongTrestlehewassurprisedtoseeMagnusDerrick’sprotege,theone-timeshepherd,Vanamee,comingacrossQuienSabe,byatrailfromoneofAnnixter’sdivisionhouses.Withoutknowingexactlywhy,Dykereceivedtheimpressionthattheyoungmanhadnotbeeninbedallofthatnight.

           Asthetwoapproachedeachother,Dykeeyedtheyoungfellow.HewasdistrustfulofVanamee,havingthecountry-bredsuspicionofanypersonhecouldnotunderstand.