"01 - Princess of Mars, A" - читать интересную книгу автора (Burroughs Edgar Rice)

after Powell with only a brief stop at the hole for water;
and always at the same rate of speed as his.

I was positive now that the trailers were Apaches and that
they wished to capture Powell alive for the fiendish pleasure
of the torture, so I urged my horse onward at a most
dangerous pace, hoping against hope that I would catch up
with the red rascals before they attacked him.

Further speculation was suddenly cut short by the faint
report of two shots far ahead of me. I knew that Powell
would need me now if ever, and I instantly urged my
horse to his topmost speed up the narrow and difficult
mountain trail.

I had forged ahead for perhaps a mile or more without
hearing further sounds, when the trail suddenly debouched
onto a small, open plateau near the summit of the pass. I
had passed through a narrow, overhanging gorge just before
entering suddenly upon this table land, and the sight which
met my eyes filled me with consternation and dismay.

The little stretch of level land was white with Indian
tepees, and there were probably half a thousand red warriors
clustered around some object near the center of the camp.
Their attention was so wholly riveted to this point of interest
that they did not notice me, and I easily could have
turned back into the dark recesses of the gorge and made
my escape with perfect safety. The fact, however, that this
thought did not occur to me until the following day removes
any possible right to a claim to heroism to which the narration
of this episode might possibly otherwise entitle me.

I do not believe that I am made of the stuff which
constitutes heroes, because, in all of the hundreds of instances
that my voluntary acts have placed me face to face with
death, I cannot recall a single one where any alternative
step to that I took occurred to me until many hours later.
My mind is evidently so constituted that I am subconsciously
forced into the path of duty without recourse to tiresome
mental processes. However that may be, I have never regretted
that cowardice is not optional with me.

In this instance I was, of course, positive that Powell was
the center of attraction, but whether I thought or acted first
I do not know, but within an instant from the moment the
scene broke upon my view I had whipped out my revolvers
and was charging down upon the entire army of warriors,
shooting rapidly, and whooping at the top of my lungs.
Singlehanded, I could not have pursued better tactics, for