"Ken Rand - Calamity Djinn" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rand Ken)

a woman stepped inside. She stood there, firm as an old cottonwood. She wore buckskins, knee-high
moccasins spread in a shooter's stance. Besides the old-fashioned garb, like the old-time trappers used
to wear before the beaver trade petered out thirty years gone and more, the woman toted an ancient
Sharps, as long as she was tall.

The doors swung shut behind her, squeaking. It was an hour before noon, and the saloon was empty,
except for Mick, the Irish bartender, and Casper, the one-eyed ex-gunfighter, who wasn't very drunk
yet, and Banky, but he was passed out under a table. Jack Thatcher hadn't arrived yet.
The woman peered around, squinty-eyed, adjusting to the dim interior.

"Lord a'mighty,” Mick whispered, awe cracking his deep bass voice. His eyes bugged, and his big hands
trembled. It took a lot to rile Mick, who seldom neither smiled nor frowned, even in a fight.

"What?” Casper said. He didn't turn around to see who'd come in. Couldn't see worth diddly anyway.

Mick nodded toward the door. “Know who that is?” Sweat speckled his broad forehead.

Casper turned at last. He squinted. “Reckon I don't."

"Daughter of Butch Parker and Calamity Djinn."

Casper turned back to Mick, his thin brows raised in inquiry. “What?” he said, a touch
worried-sounding.

"You know the story, don't you?” Mick whispered.

The woman stalked toward them across the sawdust floor.

"Aw, that's just a fairy tale,” Casper said, voice wavering, “made up to scare children and—"

"Pardon me, barkeep.” The woman propped the Sharps, muzzle up, against the bar.

"Yes'm?” Mick's voice cracked again.

"I just got into town,” she said, “and I'm looking for me a husband."
end



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