"Eric Flint - TOG 02 - 1824, The Arkansas War" - читать интересную книгу автора (Flint Eric)

precisely on the trigger, and his thumb wasnтАЩt precisely on the hammer, neither digit was more than half
an inch away from turning the gun into a deadly thing.

He was holding the weapon as if he knew exactly how to use it, too. Most slaves didnтАЩt.

тАЬYou got enemies, Mr. Sam. Remember? Turrible enemies, people say.тАЭ

Houston shook his head and waved the steak around the room. тАЬNot here, surely! Chester, you ought to
be ashamed of yourself. Even thinking such a thing!тАЭ

тАЬYes, sir, Mr. Sam. Sorry тАЩbout that.тАЭ He didnтАЩt seem any more abashed by that rebuke than heтАЩd been
by the first one.

тАЬAs you should be! Why, I oughta have you apologize personally to every man in this room. Would, too,
тАЩceptтАЭтАФhe paused for a moment while he sawed off another piece of steak and swallowed.

тАЬExcept that wouldnтАЩt be proper,тАЭ he continued. тАЬYou being a black slave and them being free white
men. Apology presumes equality, you know. All the philosophers say so.тАЭ

He turned and scowled at his slave. тАЬYou got no excuse, neither, since you read the same philosophers.
I know, тАЩcause I taught you how to read.тАЭ

Teaching slaves to read wasnтАЩt illegal except in VirginiaтАФyet, anyway. Calhoun and his followers were
pressing for that, now, along with freedmen exclusion. Still, it certainly wasnтАЩt the custom in slave states
like Kentucky.

But that, too, was part of Houston legend. He might as well have hadCustom Be Damned for a crest on
a formal coat of arms.

тАЬYes, Mr. Sam. No, sir, I mean, it wouldnтАЩt be proper.тАЭ

Houston chewed the last piece of steak more slowly than he had any of the others. With a thoughtful
expression on his face, now.

When he was finished, he rose from the table. Then, suddenly and abruptly, shoved the table aside.
Baxter, whoтАЩd been frozen in place for the past few minutes, started to jump from his chair, but
HoustonтАЩs big left hand jammed him back in his seat.

The young colonel held the knife in front of his face. BaxterтАЩs eyes were round, and his complexion was
ashen.

тАЬYouтАЩll have to excuse me, sir,тАЭ Houston said politely. тАЬI need to clean my knife, and thereтАЩs nothing else
handy. I darenтАЩt soil my blanket, of course. ItтАЩs a personal gift from none other than Major Ridge himself.
HeтАЩd be most offended if I showed up in the Confederacy with stains on it.тАЭ

Quickly and efficiently, he wiped the blade clean on the shoulder of BaxterтАЩs coat. Then, moved the
blanket aside and slid the knife into a scabbard.

тАЬMy thanks, sir.тАЭ He bestowed the beaming smile on him. тАЬAnd now, I must be off.тАЭ