"Jack London. The Call of the Wild (Сборник из 7 рассказов на англ.)" - читать интересную книгу автора

out of his mouth and his great chest panting futilely. Never in
all his life had he been so vilely treated, and never in all his
life had he been so angry. But his strength ebbed, his eyes
glazed, and he knew nothing when the train was flagged and the two
men threw him into the baggage car.


The next he knew, he was dimly aware that his tongue was hurting
and that he was being jolted along in some kind of a conveyance.
The hoarse shriek of a locomotive whistling a crossing told him
where he was. He had travelled too often with the Judge not to
know the sensation of riding in a baggage car. He opened his
eyes, and into them came the unbridled anger of a kidnapped king.
The man sprang for his throat, but Buck was too quick for him.
His jaws closed on the hand, nor did they relax till his senses
were choked out of him once more.


"Yep, has fits," the man said, hiding his mangled hand from the
baggageman, who had been attracted by the sounds of struggle.
"I'm takin' 'm up for the boss to 'Frisco. A crack dog-doctor
there thinks that he can cure 'm."


Concerning that night's ride, the man spoke most eloquently for
himself, in a little shed back of a saloon on the San Francisco
water front.


"All I get is fifty for it," he grumbled; "an' I wouldn't do it
over for a thousand, cold cash."


His hand was wrapped in a bloody handkerchief, and the right
trouser leg was ripped from knee to ankle.


"How much did the other mug get?" the saloon-keeper demanded.


"A hundred," was the reply. "Wouldn't take a sou less, so help
me."


"That makes a hundred and fifty," the saloon-keeper calculated;
"and he's worth it, or I'm a squarehead."


The kidnapper undid the bloody wrappings and looked at his
lacerated hand. "If I don't get the hydrophoby-"