"Aleksandr Abramov, Sergei Abramov. Horsemen from Nowhere ("ВСАДНИКИ НИОТКУДА", англ.)" - читать интересную книгу автора

would definitely have got into a fight. That one started to, but Vano, sober
now, grabbed his jacket and ran out of the tent, realizing at once that it
was better to stay as far away as possible from such visitors. But Vano did
not stop to think that his very appearance contradicted all the familiar
laws of nature. What he needed was an open space to manoeuvre in the
impending battle. His double had already whipped out the famous hunting
knife Vano always carried with him to the envy of all drivers in Mirny. The
original knife was in Vano's pocket, but he did not give any thought to that
bit of strangeness either, he simply whipped it out when the drunken phantom
struck the first blow. Vano barely escaped a wound-the knife went through
the jacket. Vano threw it at his pursuer and got as far as the wall, where
it turned to the north. The second blow reached him, but luckily it was a
glancing stroke that his sweater softened. The third one Vano was able to
repulse by knocking the man down. What followed he did not remember. A
bloody blackness fell over him and some kind of force, like a shock wave,
threw him to the side. When he woke up he was in the tent on a cot bed
wrapped up in furs and absolutely sound in body. But the miracles continued.
This time it was Dyachuk who had a duplicate.
Vano did not succeed in finishing the sentence -Tolya threw the
briquette (he was stoking the stove) and jumped up with a hysterical cry:
"Stop this craziness! Do you hear?"
"You're nuts," Vano said.
"Well, damn it, I'm not alone in this. You're crazy too. You're all
mad. There wasn't anybody here except me. And nobody was split up either.
You people are out of your minds!"
"That's enough, Dyachuk," Zernov cut him short. "Behave yourself. You
are a scientist and not a circus performer. If you can't control your
nerves, you shouldn't have come here in the first place."
"So I'll leave," Tolya growled, in a much lower tone this time:
Zernov's words had sobered him up a bit. "I'm not Scott or Amundsen. I've
had enough of these white dreams, and I'm not heading for any nut house
either."
"What's the trouble with him?" Martin whispered.
I explained:
"If it weren't for the fuel, I'd quit too," he said. "Too many miracles
happening around here."


Chapter VII. THE ICE SYMPHONY




We never found out what happened to Tolya, but it was most likely
comical. Vano brushed the matter aside with:
"If he doesn't want to speak, leave him alone. Both of us were
frightened out of our wits. I don't go in for gossip." He did not make fun
of Tolya, though the latter was ready for a quarrel any time.
Martin and I, under Vano's supervision, replaced the dented plastic of
the window. He couldn't do it himself because of the wound on his hand. It