Спрут: Калифорнийская история

           “Idon’tsee,”hemuttered,“justwhatIamgoingtodo.”

           Caraherappearedatthedoorofhisplace,hisredface,redbeard,andflamingcravatstandingsharplyoutfromtheshadowofthedoorway.HecalledawelcometoDyke.

           “Hello,Captain.”

           Dykelookedup,noddinghisheadlistlessly.

           “Hello,Caraher,”heanswered.

           “Well,”continuedthesaloonkeeper,comingforwardastep,“what’sthenewsintown?”

           Dyketoldhim.Caraher’sredfacesuddenlytookonadarkercolour.Theredglintinhiseyesshotfromunderhiseyebrows.Furious,heventedarollingexplosionofoaths.

           “Andnowit’syourturn,”hevociferated.“Theyain’tafteronlythebigwheat-growers,therichmen.ByGod,they’llevenpickthepoorman’spocket.Oh,they’llgettheirbelliesfullsomeday.Itcan’tlastforever.They’llwakeupthewrongkindofmansomemorning,themanthat’sgotgutsinhim,thatwillhitbackwhenhe’skickedandthatwilltalkto’emwithatorchinonehandandastickofdynamiteintheother.”Heraisedhisclenchedfistsintheair.“Sohelpme,God,”hecried,“whenIthinkitalloverIgocrazy,Iseered.Oh,ifthepeopleonlyknewtheirstrength.Oh,ifIcouldwake’emup.There’snotonlyShelgrim,butthere’sothers.Allthemagnates,allthebutchers,alltheblood-suckers,bythethousands.Theirdaywillcome,byGod,itwill.”

           Bynow,theex-engineerandthebar-keeperhadretiredtothesaloonbackofthegrocerytotalkoverthedetailsofthisnewoutrage.