Спрут: Каліфорнійська історія

           Thefallwasalongoneandhestruckthesurfaceofthewheatwiththesoddenimpactofabundleofdampclothes.Forthemomenthewasstunned.Allthebreathwasdrivenfromhisbody.Hecouldneithermovenorcryout.But,bydegrees,hiswitssteadiedthemselvesandhisbreathreturnedtohim.Helookedaboutandabovehim.Thedaylightintheholdwasdimmedandcloudedbythethick,chaff-dustthrownoffbythepourofgrain,andeventhisdimnessdwindledtotwilightatashortdistancefromtheopeningofthehatch,whiletheremotestquarterswerelostinimpenetrableblackness.Hegotuponhisfeetonlytofindthathesunkankledeepintheloosepackedmassunderfoot.

           “Hell,”hemuttered,“here’safix.”

           Directlyunderneaththechute,thewheat,asitpouredin,raiseditselfinaconicalmound,butfromthesidesofthismounditshuntedawayincessantlyinthicklayers,flowinginalldirectionswiththenimblenessofwater.EvenasS.Behrmanspoke,awaveofgrainpouredaroundhislegsandroserapidlytothelevelofhisknees.Hesteppedquicklyback.Tostaynearthechutewouldsoonburyhimtothewaist.

           Nodoubt,therewassomeotherexitfromthehold,somecompanionladderthatleduptothedeck.Hescuffledandwadedacrossthewheat,gropinginthedarkwithoutstretchedhands.Witheveryinhalationhechoked,fillinghismouthandnostrilsmorewithdustthanwithair.Attimeshecouldnotbreatheatall,butgaggedandgasped,hislipsdistended.Butsearchashewouldhecouldfindnooutlettothehold,nostairway,nocompanionladder.