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

in Quebec, but peace returned me to the English. A
woman sent me to a house of learning to become a
missionary, but the smoky longhouses of Boston
inflamed my coughing sickness, so Paul invited me
here to build ships. I rescued him from books, he
jests." A final shrug. "It is no different to live among
white men than red."

"Wagh! As different as Mikowa the squirrel lives
from Tummock Quauog the beaver! So you have no
real home."

Joseph stumbled. "That is what I try to say."
"Neither have I a place to hang my bow. My tribe,
the Nipmucks, were driven from Massachusetts. We
joined my wife's people, the Pigwackets, at the head
of the Piscataqua to winter. But my wife died giving
birth when last the leaves turned."

"I am sorry," said Joseph. "So you too are a lone
wolf, like him we chased. And like me." Opechee
nodded.

"You two gabble like dogs over a bone," rumbled
Paul. "Makes a fellow lonely. And hungry."

Joseph chuckled and translated. Opechee laughed
deep in his belly. "Tell Young Bear we three mighty
hunters might together kill a porcupine."

After translation, Paul replied, "Pour maple syrup on
it and I'll eat it. Can't stick any worse than my
sister's cooking." The three laughed again.

The party struck the road, just a widened game trail
that skirted trees and humped over granite ledge.
Hull didn't need a proper wagon road because
supplies came by sea from Portsmouth. And Hull
was now frontier, the northernmost English
settlement, because more distant villages had been
abandoned in the renewal of war. The spring of
1703 had already brought raids on isolated
homesteads; men butchered, women and children
captured by "French Indians" and coureurs de bois,
savage Canadian trappers. So today's wolf hunt
doubled as a militia training day.

Yet in this lull before the storm, Opechee had been
welcome peddling venison and turkeys, for white
men were notoriously bad hunters and now shunned