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

on. He had just stepped off his spaceship a few hours ago; and Joshua had yet to give him five
minutes opportunity to formulate questions.
At the same time, thought John, there was something awfully screwy about the way things were going
on. As soon as this business of the saddle had been settled, he was going to haul Joshua aside, if
need be by main force, and insist on some answers before he went any further. A citizen had some
rights, too . . .
"Arright, arright, arright!" snarled the Hill Bluffer barely six inches behind John's ear. "Buckle
me up in the obscenity thing, then!"
John turned to see Joshua pushing the system of straps up on the back of the Hill Bluffer, who was
squatting down. Instinctively, he moved to give the little diplomat a hand.
"That's better!" growled Shaking Knees. "Don't blame you too much. But, you listen to me, pup! I
happen to be your mother's uncle's first cousin, one generation up on you. And when I speak for a
relative of mine of the second generation, he stays spoken for!"
"I'm doing it, ain't I?" flared the Bluffer. He wiggled his shoulder experimentally. "Don't feel
too bad at that.тАЭ
тАЬYou'll find it," grunted Joshua, buckling a final strap, "easier to carry than your regular
pouch."
"Not the point!" growled the Bluffer. "A postman's got dignity. He just don't wearтАФ" a snicker
from the scar-nosed Dilbian cut through his speech. "Listen, youтАФSplit Nose!"
"I'll take care of him." Shaking Knees rolled forward a couple of paces. "What's wrong with you,
Split Nose?"
"Just passing by," rumbled Split Nose, hastily backing into the crowd as the Humrog village chief
took a hand in the conversation.
"Well, then just pass on, friend. Pass on!" boomed Shaking Knees; and Split Nose trundled hastily
off down the street with every indication that his hairy ears were burning.
While this was going on, John, at Joshua's urging had seated himself in the saddle to see how it
would bear his weight. The straps creaked, but held comfortably. The Hill Bluffer looked back over
his shoulder.
"You're light enough," he said. "How is it? All right up there?"
"Fine," said John.
"Then, so long everybody!" boomed the Hill Bluffer. He rose to his feet in one easy movement. And
before John had time to do more than grab at the straps of the harness to keep from falling off,
and catch his breath, they were barrelling off down the main street at the swift pace of the
Bluffer's ground-eating stride, on their way to the forest trail, the mountains beyond which rose
that distant peak John had just been watching, and the elusive and inimical Streamside Terror.

CHAPTER 3
If it had not been for the hypno training John had undergone, sitting with a large, bell-shaped
helmet completely covering his head in the cramped little government scoutship, while on overdrive
from the Belt Stars to Dilbia, he might instinctively have protested the Hill Bluffer's sudden
departure. As it was, his pseudomemories of Dilbian life stood him in unexpectedly good stead. As
it was, he had barely opened his mouth to yell, "Hey, wait a minute" when he suddenly `remembered'
what consequences this might have and shut his lips firmly on the first syllable. As it was, the
startled sound in his throat was enough to make the Hill Bluffer check his stride momentarily.


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"Whazzat?" growled the Dilbian postman.