"Alan Dean Foster - Jed the Dead" - читать интересную книгу автора (Foster Alan Dean)

nonstop.

Ross quite liked rugrats, but in their place. These quiet mountains weren't it. With his size he could easily
have intimidated the family into leaving, but it was a public picnic area and besides, that wasn't Ross Ed
Hager's nature. Grimacing in resignation, he turned and started up a gentle slope that led deeper into the
woods.

Before long the sounds of children contesting inconsequenti-alities faded, sponged up by stone and tree
and distance. He kept moving, searching for just the right place to park himself, wanting to ensure' that he
was far enough away so that his prospective midday idyll would not be disturbed.

Finding himself facing a steep granite outcropping, he scruti-nized the gradient before starting up. With
his long legs the slope was not an obstacle for him, but it would be sufficient to discourage any inquisitive
children who happened to come bounding in his direction.

An overhang near the top kept part of the mound in perpetual shade, allowing winter snow to linger. He
considered climbing farther, but the slight chill didn't bother him and there was a natural seat formed by
the junction of two slabs of stone where he could dine in comfort. Set into the flank of the modest cliff, it
offered a pleasant prospect across the gently undulating treetops.

Might as well soak up some cool before heading down into the desert, he told himself as he laid down
his burden.

Just past his chosen bower a narrow cleft in the rocks beckoned inward. It wasn't a very big cave, but
he decided he'd better check it out. He'd never seen a bear outside a zoo and didn't want his first wild
encounter to occur while he was seated on a bare hillside above a fifty-foot drop.

Bending, he peered cautiously into the opening and sniffed. No animal smell emanated from within.
Would a bear still be hibernating this late in the spring, with most of the snow hereabouts already melted?
He doubted it.

Satisfied that he was safe from marauding bruins and screech-ing kids (or screeching bruins and
marauding kids), he settled back to enjoy his lunch. Cracking the cooler, he popped the cap on a Lone
Star and excavated an unidentifiable section of chicken from the cardboard bucket. Having cooled to the
consistency of a used tire, the drumstick was just right. Blissfully attuned to his surroundings and at peace
with the world, he washed down huge bites of greasy fowl with long drafts of ice-cold suds.

A second beer soon followed the first, with a third for dessert. Sitting the empty bucket aside, he
snugged down between the rocks and let the brooding sun warm his legs. Three beers wouldn't affect his
driving, Ross Ed's capacity for Lone Star being proportionate to the rest of him.

Always something of a loner, he luxuriated in the solitude. It was a characteristic which had driven more
than one lady friend to distractionтАж or to other men. Not that he was in any hurry to get married. In fact,
Ross Ed had never been in much of a hurry to do anything, unless it was watch a Cowboys' game. There
was no sign of the invading suburbanites and the only sound was the occasional querulous squawk of a
scrub jay.

After an hour or so of enthusiastically doing nothing he thought it might be fun to have a last look at the
little cave. The sun now illuminated part of the interior, but to see all the way in he'd need the flashlight
from the car. The possibility of encoun-tering a bear no longer concerned him, but rattlers did. Still, it was