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

lock is German, probably from Solingen. The bore is
.62 or .65 caliber. This brass snake the merchants
of Albany install especially for the Iroquois: it can be
Manitou Kinnebec or At-o-sis, Mother of Serpents
who birthed the Mohawk race. The Nipmuck must
have traded for it or else captured it in a raid."
Joseph refrained from naming the dead Indian lest
he disturb his ghost. "Ready?"

A mile later the land folded up at granite ledge. Pines
gave way to scabby oaks and mountain laurel.
Macintosh had lost the trail. Joseph tracked from
side to side, found where the wolf leapt from ledge
into the barricade of laurel. Circling the impassible
thicket, he spotted a tuft of white belly hair on a
twig. Men grunted and followed.

Ahead, a granite outcrop like a small castle was
crowned with cedars, pin oaks, and birches misted
with spring greenery. Joseph hunkered to study a
sheer wall, signalled silence.

Paul gasped up. "What're we gawking at?"

"Look there." The student pointed low.

"Where?"

"At the bottom."

Paul squinted in the gathering gloom. Joseph stifled
a sigh. "Under the ledge. The dark streak. It's a
cave."

"That ain't no cave! A cave's -- oh!"
Then they saw. A shadow under a lip was actually a
crack perhaps a foot high and nine long. Joseph
paced across lichens and teaberries to the slit.

Paul whispered, "How do you know he's in there?"

Squatting, Joseph wafted a hand towards his face,
sniffed wet-dog must in the ground. A dry oak leaf
showed triangular punctures: claw marks. "He went
in but has yet to come out. He's full of -- food -- so
will sleep."

Men started as overhead a warbler trilled jerkily.
Paul scratched his forehead. "Some things they
don't teach at Harvard, eh? What now? Blast hell