"Kenneth Robeson - Doc Savage 101 - The Green Eagle" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robeson Kenneth)

There was no more sign of tracks than of a dime.

"You might as well give it up, Donald," Panzer said.

"My name ain’t Donald," Ben Duck said.

He climbed on his horse.

The thing didn’t end there. Ben had half suspected it wouldn’t. He could not bring himself to believe that
he had fainted there on the trail, he decided after he got back to the ranch. Nor had it been something
they’d had for dinner. Nor the altitude.

Ben laid in his bunk and thought about it. The distant howling of coyotes made a lullaby that finally put
him to sleep. The Broken Circle Ranch might be a phony dude outfit, and the cowhands phony dude
wranglers, but at least this was the genuine West where the coyotes howled.
Ben awakened violently. Hands were around his throat, choking. There was weight across his legs.

It soaked into Ben’s head eventually that two men were trying to choke him. He was a sound sleeper. It
took some moments to get himself organized. Meanwhile, no air was entering his lungs.

He remembered that he’d hung his spurs on a nail over his bunk. He groped, found the spurs. They were
elaborate, silver-mounted things, and they had rowels like buzz saws.

With a spur in each hand, he proceeded to stab and strike. He found a face, concentrated on it. Judging
from the sound, he ripped the spur across some teeth. The man made a small sound of agony, like a hurt
pup.

"Sh-h-h-h!" his companion hissed.

The hurt man blew up. "He’s ruinin’ my face!" he squawked. "Help me!"

The second man let go Ben’s legs. That was a mistake. A cowboy rides all day and uses his legs to hang
onto the horse, so the legs become useful. Ben kicked twice, hit a target both times. One attacker landed
with a loud noise on the floor.

The other let go Ben’s throat, and tried to find Ben’s arms and hold them. He failed. Ben gouged him in
the face with the spur and drove him away.

"I hadda leggo ‘im!" the man gasped.

"Grab him again," said the man on the floor. "We got to take him out in the hills."

Ben had groped and found his belt with the six-gun. He drew and blasted away. The shells in the gun
were blanks, but they didn’t sound like it. They were deafening.

The pair of assailants fled. Ben glimpsed their silhouettes briefly against the open door, but they were too
convulsed by fleeing action for him to tell much about them.

Ben made a mistake. He did not wait to draw on his boots. He plunged outside, stabbed his feet on