"Clayton Emery - Joseph Fisher - Inwardly Ravening Wolves" - читать интересную книгу автора (Emery Clayton)

ambivalent about the English settlers; pests like
black flies, but a source of lead, gunpowder, copper
kettles, rum. And unless poisoned against the
English by Jesuits, Indians harbored their hatred for
centuries-old feuds. A Nipmuck would hate Pequots
and Mohegans; an Abenaki hate Tarrantines and
Mohawks. But of personal grievances he could know
nothing, and he'd only met Opechee yesterday...
Nudged, Joseph sighed, "I don't know. Indians are
as unpredictable as white men."

Paul Hopkins growled, "So it's Rob's word against a
dead Indian's."

Macintosh snorted. He found his hunting knife,
straddled Opechee's corpse, incised the scalp and
yanked it free with a pop. Stuffing the grisly trophy
in his belt, he picked up his rusty firelock, snatched
up Elias's musket and tackle. In the brittle silence,
villagers turned to go home.

Joseph's delicate cough arrested them. "We should
continue our pursuit. The wolf's belly is full, so he
won't go far. Together we can run him to ground. As
Mister Macintosh stated, a wolf tail fetches twenty
pounds."

"But --" Paul was nonplussed by his strange friend.
"You never cared for money, Joe! You didn't even
want to come wolf huntin'!"

"I can buy books in Portsmouth," Joseph reproved.
"Whoever goes splits the bounty. Mister Macintosh,
will you accompany us? It's your friend's been
stripped of his dignity."

Wary as a fox at a deadfall, Macintosh sniffed. "I
s'pose. I need the money for victuals."
"Rum is a vittle!" Paul sneered. "And hunting wolves
beats working, don't it?"

The men puffed up like gamecocks until Mister
Hopkins threatened to clout both. "Let it go, ladies.
Get after the wolf if you've a mind. We'll tote Elias
and his gear back to Hull. But beware'a Indians out
here as well as wolves. Live ones."

Paul pointed to the scalped Opechee. "We're just
gonna leave him here?"