Поклик предків
Into the Primitive
"AllIgetisfiftyforit,"hegrumbled;"an’Iwouldn’tdoitoverforathousand,coldcash."
Hishandwaswrappedinabloodyhandkerchief,andtherighttrouserlegwasrippedfromkneetoankle.
"Howmuchdidtheothermugget?"thesaloon-keeperdemanded.
"Ahundred,"wasthereply."Wouldn’ttakeasouless,sohelpme."
"Thatmakesahundredandfifty,"thesaloon-keepercalculated;"andhe’sworthit,orI’masquarehead."
Thekidnapperundidthebloodywrappingsandlookedathislaceratedhand. "IfIdon’tgetthehydrophoby—"
"It’llbebecauseyouwasborntohang,"laughedthesaloon-keeper. "Here,lendmeahandbeforeyoupullyourfreight,"headded.
Dazed,sufferingintolerablepainfromthroatandtongue,withthelifehalfthrottledoutofhim,Buckattemptedtofacehistormentors. Buthewasthrowndownandchokedrepeatedly,tilltheysucceededinfilingtheheavybrasscollarfromoffhisneck. Thentheropewasremoved,andhewasflungintoacagelikecrate.
Therehelayfortheremainderofthewearynight,nursinghiswrathandwoundedpride. Hecouldnotunderstandwhatitallmeant. Whatdidtheywantwithhim,thesestrangemen? Whyweretheykeepinghimpentupinthisnarrowcrate? Hedidnotknowwhy,buthefeltoppressedbythevaguesenseofimpendingcalamity.
