'Horses,' was the answer. 'First time I ever seen 'em on the beach. It's the mountain lions getting thicker and thicker and driving 'em down.'
The low sun shot red shafts of light, fan-shaped, up from a cloud-tumbled horizon. And close at hand, in the white waste of shore-lashed waters, the sea-lions, bellowing their old primeval chant, hauled up out of the sea on the black rocks and fought and loved.
'Come on, Granser,' Edwin prompted. And old man and boy, skin-clad and barbaric, turned and went along the right of way into the forest in the wake of the goats.
THE END
Вы читаете The Scarlet Plague
