"Kenneth Robeson - Doc Savage 144 - Strange Fish" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robeson Kenneth)

Johnny Toms was tops as an Indian when he was emotionally moved—when he was very pleased, very
sad, or very angry. In his most aroused moments, he practically stopped speaking English.

“How are things on the ranch?” Paris asked.

“So-so.” His dark face was carefully wooden. “Cows got blackleg. Horse crop no good. Cowboys lazy.
Losing money.”

Which meant that the ranch would show a good profit this year.

Paris followed Johnny Toms and her bags out of the station.

Johnny had come for her in his personal car, a mark of honor. It was an awful-looking car. It was painted
red, green and yellow, with Indian designs. It looked like a Navajo blanket with wheels.

Johnny heaved her bags carelessly in the back. He got behind the wheel by stepping over the door. He
didn't bother to open the car door for Paris. He never did. He treated all females as if they were squaws.
“How things in big, dirty city of New York?” he asked.

“So-so,” Paris said.

She remembered the fat man, and shivered. She hadn't been able to put the fellow fully out of her mind.

Johnny Toms tramped on the starter. The engine gave out a series of explosions reminiscent of a 75-mm.
cannon. There was no muffler.

Looking pleased, showing off, Johnny Toms drove up Main Street, over to Boulder, back to Main, back
to Boulder again, deliberately turned around in the middle of the busiest street. Finally he drove, his car
sounding like a battlefield, out of town via the most quiet and dignified residential boulevard.

Johnny Toms looked disappointed. “You sick?”

“Why?”

“You no raise hell,” Johnny Toms said. “You must be puny.”



JOHNNY TOMS, his behavior to the contrary, was not dumb. He had a college degree. Harvard, of all
places. He had presented this as part of his references when he applied for his job four or five years ago.
He had never referred to it again. Whenever he could, he gave the impression that he had never been to
school at all.

But he was sharp, honest and loyal. He had to be sharp to manage the S-slash-S, which was the Stevens
ranch. The ranch produced more than livestock. There was oil. The wells were operated under lease by
different companies. It was Johnny Toms' job to keep an eye on the oil men and see they didn't get away
with anything. It was no job for a baby. Nor for a naive redskin.

But he was certainly an unorthodox fellow.