Спрут: Каліфорнійська історія
Chapter I
Atlasthewastograsphissonginallitsentity.Butsuddenlytherewasaninterruption.PresleyhadclimbedthefenceatthelimitoftheQuienSaberanch.BeyondwasLosMuertos,butbetweenthetworantherailroad.Hehadonlytimetojumpbackupontheembankmentwhen,withaquiveringofalltheearth,alocomotive,single,unattached,shotbyhimwitharoar,fillingtheairwiththereekofhotoil,vomitingsmokeandsparks;itsenormouseye,cyclopean,red,throwingaglarefarinadvance,shootingbyinasuddencrashofconfusedthunder;fillingthenightwiththeterrificclamourofitsironhoofs.
AbruptlyPresleyremembered.ThismustbethecrackpassengerengineofwhichDykehadtoldhim,theonedelayedbytheaccidentontheBakersfielddivisionandforwhosepassagethetrackhadbeenopenedallthewaytoFresno.
BeforePresleycouldrecoverfromtheshockoftheirruption,whiletheearthwasstillvibrating,therailsstillhumming,theenginewasfaraway,flingingtheechoofitsfranticgallopoverallthevalley.ForabriefinstantitroaredwithahollowdiapasonontheLongTrestleoverBrodersonCreek,thenplungedintoacuttingfartheron,thequiveringglareofitsfireslosingitselfinthenight,itsthunderabruptlydiminishingtoasubduedanddistanthumming.Allatoncethisceased.Theenginewasgone.
Butthemomentthenoiseoftheenginelapsed,Presley—abouttostartforwardagain—wasconsciousofaconfusionoflamentablesoundsthatroseintothenightfromouttheengine’swake.Prolongedcriesofagony,sobbingwailsofinfinitepain,heart-rending,pitiful.
