"Michael F. Flynn -- The Forest of Time" - читать интересную книгу автора (Flynn Michael)

That had been at Delaware Gap, during the Piney War. Knecht sighed. The Piney War
seemed such a long time ago. A different worldтАФmore in-nocent, somehow. Or perhaps he
had only been younger. He remem-bered how he had marched away, his uniform new and
sharply creased. Adventure was ahead of him, and his father's anger behind. / am too old
for such games, he told himself. I should be sitting by the fire, smoking my pipe, telling
stories to my grandchildren.

He chewed again on his moustache hairs and spit them out. There had never been any
children; and now, there never would be. He felt suddenly alone.
Just as well, he thought. The stories I have to tell are not for the ears of youngsters. What
were the stories, really? A crowd of men charged from the trench. Later, some of them came
back. What more was there to say? Once, a long time ago, war had been glamorous, with
pageantry and uni-forms to shame a peacock. Now it was only necessary, and the uniforms
were the color of mud.



There was a sudden noise in the forest to his right. Snapping limbs and a muffled grunt.
Knecht started, and chastised himself. A surprised scout is often a dead scout as well. He
pulled a large bore pistol from his holster and dismounted. The horse, well trained, held still.
Knecht stepped into the forest and crouched behind a tall birch tree. He listened.

The noise continued. Too much noise, he decided. Perhaps an animal?

Then he saw the silhouette of a man thrashing through the underbrush, making no
attempt at silence. Knecht watched over his gunsight as the man blundered into a
stickerbush. Cursing, the other stopped and pulled the burrs from his trousers.

The complete lack of caution puzzled Knecht. The no-man's-land be-tween
Pennsylvania and the Wyoming was no place for carelessness. The other was either very
foolish or very confident.
The fear ran through hint like the rush of an icy mountain stream. Per-haps the bait in a
trap, something to hold his attention? He jerked round suddenly, looking behind him,
straining,for the slightest sign.
But there was nothing save the startled birds and the evening wind.

Knecht blew his breath out in a gust. His heart was pounding. I am get-ting too old for
this. He felt foolish, and his cheeks burned, even though there was no one to see.

The stranger had reached the trail and stood there brushing himself off. He was short
and dark-complexioned. On his back he wore a rucksack, con-nected by wires to a device
on his belt. Knecht estimated his age at thirty, but the unkempt hair and beard made him
look older.
He watched the man pull a paper from his baggy canvas jacket. Even from where he
crouched, Knecht could see it was a map, handsomely done in many colors. A stranger with
a map on the trail below Fox Gap. Knecht made a decision and stepped forth, cocking his
pistol.
 The stranger spun and saw Knecht. Closer up, Knecht could see the eyes bloodshot
with fatigue. After a nervous glance at the scout's pistol, the stranger smiled and pointed to
the map. "Would you believe it?" he asked in English. "I think I'm lost."