Page 40 - nostromo-a-tale-of-the-seaboard

while the negro brakesmen sat carelessly on the brakes,
looking straight forward, with the rims of their big hats
flapping in the wind. In return Giorgio would give a slight
sideways jerk of the head, without unfolding his arms.
On this memorable day of the riot his arms were not
folded on his chest. His hand grasped the barrel of the gun
grounded on the threshold; he did not look up once at the
white dome of Higuerota, whose cool purity seemed to hold
itself aloof from a hot earth. His eyes examined the plain
curiously. Tall trails of dust subsided here and there. In a
speckless sky the sun hung clear and blinding. Knots of men
ran headlong; others made a stand; and the irregular rattle
of firearms came rippling to his ears in the fiery, still air.
Single figures on foot raced desperately. Horsemen galloped
towards each other, wheeled round together, separated at
speed. Giorgio saw one fall, rider and horse disappearing
as if they had galloped into a chasm, and the movements of
the animated scene were like the passages of a violent game
played upon the plain by dwarfs mounted and on foot, yell-
ing with tiny throats, under the mountain that seemed a
colossal embodiment of silence. Never before had Giorgio
seen this bit of plain so full of active life; his gaze could not
take in all its details at once; he shaded his eyes with his
hand, till suddenly the thundering of many hoofs near by
startled him.
A troop of horses had broken out of the fenced paddock
of the Railway Company. They came on like a whirlwind,
and dashed over the line snorting, kicking, squealing in a
compact, piebald, tossing mob of bay, brown, grey backs,