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

out'a him, or smoke him out?"

"Neither. I'll crawl in."

"What?"

"Mister Macintosh." Joseph was unperturbed. "May I
beg a musket ball?""

"Joe! You can't go in there!" Paul was done
whispering. "That critter'll tear you apart!"

"No, he's too sated to move." Joseph kept his hand
out. "And a wolf won't attack a man unless it's
starving or cornered."

"It's cornered in there, you damned fool!"
Wary, wondering, Macintosh fished in his warbag,
handed Joseph a fat musket ball.

Paul interjected, "And you've left your brains behind
the door again! You're already loaded with buckshot!
And an English ball won't go down that barrel!"

Placid, Joseph compared Macintosh's ball to the bore
of Opechee's trade gun, found it too large by an
eighth of an inch. "Oh, yes, I forgot." Shrugging,
Macintosh dropped the ball back in his warbag. Paul
frowned at his friend's dense display.

The student checked his weapon. The priming was
dry, the gray flint sharp enough to cut his thumb.
Satisfied, Joseph skinned a curl of birch bark,
stuffed it with cedar needles, struck flint and steel
for a watery flame.

"I shall crawl in and shoot. If I get stuck I'll holler.
Pull me out by my feet."

"Stuck?" Paul chirped. "Stuck in a black hole while a
wolf chews your face off? Joe, you don't have to do
this! You're mad!"

"`The first step towards madness is to think oneself
wise.'" With a gallows grin, Joseph shucked coat
and waistcoat, dropped to his knees. Juggling the
burning birch candle and dragging the Indian
musket by the barrel, he slid into the slot like a
snake.
It was black. Joseph paused to shake the birch