Спрут: Калифорнийская история
Chapter VII
Anxioustoknowwhathadbecomeofhim,hehurriedupandjoinedthepartyofsearchers.
“Webetterlookout,”saidoneoftheyoungmen,“howwegofoolingaroundinhere.Ifhe’saliveyethe’sjustasliableasnottothinkwe’reafterhimandtakeashotatus.”
“Iguessthereain’tmuchfightleftinhim,”anotheranswered.“Lookatthewheathere.”
“Lord!He’sbledlikeastuckpig.”
“Here’shishat,”abruptlyexclaimedtheleaderoftheparty.“Hecan’tbefaroff.Let’scallhim.”
Theycalledrepeatedlywithoutgettinganyanswer,thenproceededcautiously.Allatoncethemeninadvancestoppedsosuddenlythatthosefollowingcarromedagainstthem.Therewasanoutburstofexclamation.
“Hereheis!”
“GoodLord!Sure,that’shim.”
“Poorfellow,poorfellow.”
Thecow-puncherlayonhisback,deepinthewheat,hiskneesdrawnup,hiseyeswideopen,hislipsbrown.Rigidlygrippedinonehandwashisemptyrevolver.
Themen,farmhandsfromtheneighbouringranches,youngfellowsfromGuadalajara,drewbackininstinctiverepulsion.Oneatlengthventurednear,peeringdownintotheface.
“Ishedead?”inquiredthoseintherear.
“Idon’tknow.”
“Well,putyourhandonhisheart.”“No!I—Idon’twantto.”
“Whatyouafraidof?”
“Well,Ijustdon’twanttotouchhim,that’sall.It’sbadluck.YOUfeelhisheart.”
“Youcan’talwaystellbythat.”
“Howcanyoutell,then?Pshaw,youfellowsmakemesick.Here,letmegetthere.I’lldoit.
