"Robert A. Heinlein - Starman Jones" - читать интересную книгу автора (Heinlein Robert A)

that he would not be able to talk coherently. His eyes filled with tears of
rage so that he could hardly see. "You . . . you _thief!_"
Nellie let out a squawk. "Max!"
Montgomery's face became coldly malignant. "Now you've gone too far. I'm
afraid you've earned a taste of the strap." His fingers started unbuckling his
heavy belt.
Max took a step backward. Montgomery got the belt loose and took a step
forward. Nellie squealed, "Monty! _Please!_"
"Keep out of this, Nellie." To Max he said, "We might as well get it
settled once and for all who is boss around here. Apologize!"
Max did not answer. Montgomery repeated, "Apologize, and we'll say no
more about it." He twitched the belt like a cat lashing its tail. Max took
another step back; Montgomery stepped forward and grabbed at him.
Max ducked and ran out the open door into darkness. He did not stop
until he was sure that Montgomery was not following. Then he caught his
breath, still raging. He was almost sorry that Montgomery had not chased him;
he didn't think that anyone could match him on his home grounds in the dark.
He knew where the wood pile was; Montgomery didn't. He knew where the hog
wallow was. Yes, he knew where the well was--even _that_.
It was a long time before he quieted down enough to think rationally.
When he did, he was glad it had ended so easily, Montgomery outweighed him a
lot and was reputed to be a mean one in a fight.
If it _had_ ended, he corrected. He wondered if Montgomery would decide
to forget it by morning. The light was still on in the living room; he took
shelter in the barn and waited, sitting down on the dirt floor and leaning
against the planks. After a while he felt terribly tired. He considered
sleeping in the barn but there was no fit place to lie down, even though the
old mule was dead. Instead he got up and looked at the house.
The light was out in the living room, but he could see a light in the
bedroom; they were still awake, surely. Someone had closed the outer door
after his flight; it did not lock so there was no difficulty getting in, but
he was afraid that Montgomery might hear him. His own room was a shed added at
the kitchen end of the main room, opposite the bedroom, but it had no outside
door.
No matter--he had solved that problem when he had first grown old enough
to wish to get in and out at night without consulting his elders. He crept
around the house, found the saw horse, placed it under his window, got on and
wiggled loose the nail that held the window. A moment later he stepped
silently down into his own room. The door to the main part of the house was
closed but he decided not to risk switching on the light; Montgomery might
take it into his head to come out into the living room and see a crack of
light under his door. He slipped quietly out of his clothes and crawled into
his cot.
Sleep wouldn't come. Once he began to feel that warm drowsiness, then
some tiny noise had brought him wide, stiff awake. Probably just a mouse--but
for an instant he had thought that Montgomery was standing over his bed. With
his heart pounding, he sat up on the edge of his cot, still in his skin.
Presently he faced up to the problem of what he was to do--not just for
the next hour, not just tomorrow morning, but the following morning and all
the mornings after that. Montgomery alone presented no problem; he would not