Атлант расправил плечи

           Stripsofshadowwerelengtheninginthevalleysbelow.Thesunwasdescendingtothepeaksinthewest.Theyweregoingwestandup,towardthesun.

           Theskyhaddeepenedtothegreenish-blueoftherails,whentheysawsmokestacksinadistantvalley.ItwasoneofColorado’snewtowns,thetownsthathadgrownlikearadiationfromtheWyattoilfields.Shesawtheangularlinesofmodernhouses,flatroofs,greatsheetsofwindows.Itwastoofartodistinguishpeople.Inthemomentwhenshethoughtthattheywouldnotbewatchingthetrainatthatdistance,arocketshotoutfromamongthebuildings,rosehighabovethetownandbrokeasafountainofgoldstarsagainstthedarkeningsky.Menwhomshecouldnotsee,wereseeingthestreakofthetrainonthesideofthemountain,andweresendingasalute,alonelyplumeoffireinthedusk,thesymbolofcelebrationorofacallforhelp.

           Beyondthenextturn,inasuddenviewofdistance,shesawtwodotsofelectriclight,whiteandred,lowinthesky.Theywerenotairplanes—shesawtheconesofmetalgirderssupportingthem—andinthemomentwhensheknewthattheywerethederricksofWyattOil,shesawthatthetrackwassweepingdownward,thattheearthflaredopen,asifthemountainswereflungapart—andatthebottom,atthefootoftheWyatthill,acrossthedarkcrackofacanyon,shesawthebridgeofReardenMetal.