"Gordon R. Dickson - The Right to Arm Bears" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dickson Gordon R)

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The Right to Arm Bears
Gordon R. Dickson
This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and
any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.
Spacial Delivery copyright (c) 1961 by Ace Books, Inc., Spacepaw copyright (c) 1969 by Gordon
Dickson, "The Law-Twister Shorty" copyright (c) 1971 by Ben Bova. First unitary edition.
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form.
A Baen Book
Baen Publishing Enterprises
P.O. Box 1403
Riverdale, NY 10471
www.baen.com
ISBN: 0-671-31959-0
Cover art by Richard Martin
First Baen printing, December 2000 Distributed by Simon & Schuster
1230 Avenue of the Americas
New York, NY 10020
Production by Windhaven Press, Auburn, NH
Printed in the United States of America

THE BEAR TRUTH
The Dilbian called The Hill Bluffer opened his large mouth again, and put a further aspect of the
matter out for John's consideration.
"You know," said the Bluffer, "you can't get Greasy Face back from the Terror without fighting
him?"
Greasy Face, John remembered, was the Dilbian's nickname for the human woman the Streamside Terror
had kidnapped. "Fighting him??" he echoed.
"Yep," said the Bluffer. "Man-to-man. No weapons. No holds barred."
John blinked. He looked past the Dilbian postman's head at the puffs of white clouds. They had not
moved. They were still there. So were the mountains. It must be something wrong with his ears.
"Fighting him?" said John again, feeling like a man in a fast elevator which has just begun to
descend. "A man's got his pride," said the Bluffer. "If you take Greasy Face back, his mug's spilt
all over again." He leaned a little toward John. "That is, unless you whip him in a fair fight.
Then there's no blood feud to it. You're just a better man than he is, that's all. But that's what
I haven't been able to figure in this. You aren't bad for a Shorty. You pulled a good trick with
that beer on those drunks last night. You got guts."
He looked searchingly at John. "But I meanтАФ Hell, you can't fight the Terror. Anybody'd know that.
I meanтАФ Hell!" said the Bluffer.
John was wishing he could express to the postman how much he agreed with him.
"So what," inquired the bluffer, "are you going to do when I deliver you to Streamside?"
John thought about it. . . .

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