"Steven Gould - Wildside" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gould Stephen Jay)

We were standing on the side of a small hill in knee-high golden grass. Before us, the grass
stretched level for a while, then dropped away into a valley where huge cottonwoods lined an unseen
river. The wind blew gently and the grass shifted like the surface of water. A large flock of birds flew
to the south in a sky so cloud free that it seemed as if someone had dropped a giant porcelain bowl
over this place, a bowl so big that its edges were hidden behind the hills and the trees.

I pushed the door shut behind us and used the wire to raise the bar so it dropped back into its
brackets.

Marie was the first to speak. "Where's the airstrip? There's the Brazos, but I don't remember
those trees. And where are those cotton fields that we line up on to land at your strip?"

Rick said, "There aren't any telephone poles. You have a major power line south of your place. I
don't see the towers. I don't see any cattle. The place to the east of you runs cattle, right?"

Joey pointed. "Look, those black spots on that hill over there. Those are cattle."

I took the binoculars out of the bag and handed them to Joey. "Look again."

While he held the field glasses to his face, I scanned our perimeter again.

"I don't believe it!"

"What, Joey?" Marie said.

He handed the binoculars to her. "Tell me I'm seeing things," he said.

Marie looked through the binoculars at the opposite hill. "Buffalo?"

"Let me see that!" Clara said. Marie reluctantly gave up the binoculars.

Clara stared. "They are buffalo. Big buffalo." She swung the glasses slowly across the herd. "Uh,
they're upset about something—they're starting to move."

We could all see the dust that rose up from the moving black dots. Rick took his turn with the
binoculars. "They're coming this way."

The edge of the herd grew closer, the forerunners dropping out of sight for a moment in the
shallow valley before us. We could hear them now, a surprising sound, low and deep, hundreds of
hooves pounding the ground. On the far hill, more dark dots kept coming over the ridge, and dust
rose above them like smoke. We'd seen only a part of the herd before.

I said, "Technically, they're bison. Back up. We'll watch from the doorway."

They moved back with me, without question, because the sound was now a pounding that we
could feel with our feet. I kept my eyes on our rear, especially the hillside above the door. It could be
I was overcautious, but I didn't care.

Uncle Max hadn't been cautious enough.