"David Gemmel - Sipstrassi Tales 03 - Bloodstone" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gemmel David)

Pilgrim's Valley at the end of the month. Come and listen.'
'I will, sir. What will you do about Mrs McAdam?'
'She's under a lot of strain, what with the Preacher gone, and the burning. I think I'll just stop by and talk
with her.'
'Samuel says he thinks the devil has got into her,' said Nestor. 'He told me she threw him out of the house
and called him an abomination.'
'He's a weak man. Often happens to youngsters who have strong parents. But I hope he isn't right. Time
will tell.'
'Is it true that Laton Duke and his men are near by?' asked Nestor.
'His gang were shot to pieces down near Pernum. So I doubt it,' said the Crusader. They tried to rob a
Barta coach, heading for the mines.'
'Is he dead then?'
Evans laughed. 'Don't sound disappointed, boy. He's a brigand.'
Nestor reddened. 'Oh, I'm not disappointed, sir,' he lied. 'It's just that he's . . . you know . . . famous.
And kind of romantic.'
Evans shook his head. 'I never found anything romantic about a thief. He's a man who hasn't the heart or
the strength for work, and steals from other, better men. Set your sights on heroes a little bigger than
Laton Duke, Nestor.' 'Yes, sir,' promised the youngster.
 CHAPTER TWO
It is often asked, How can the rights of the individual be balanced evenly with the needs of a society?
Consider.the farmer, my brothers. When he plants the seeds for his harvest of grain he knows that the
crows will descend and eat of them. Too many birds and there will be no harvest. So the farmer will reach
for his gun. This does not mean that he hates the crows, nor that the crows are evil.
The Wisdom of the Deacon Chapter iv
***
Beth swung the axe. It was an ungainly stroke, but the power of her swing hammered the nine-pound
blade deep into the wood, splitting it cleanly. Woodlice crawled from the bark and she brushed them
away before lifting the severed chunks of firewood and adding them to the winter store.
Sweat ran freely on her face. Wiping it away with her sleeve, she rested the axe against the wood-store
wall, then hefted her long rifle and walked to the well. Looking back at the axe and the tree round she
used as a base, Beth pictured the Preacher standing there and the fluid poetry of his movements. She
sighed.
The Preacher . . .
Even she had come to regard Shannow as the man of God in Pilgrim's Valley, almost forgetting the man's
lethal past. But then he had changed. By God he had changed! The lion to the lamb. And it shamed Beth
that she had found the change not to her liking.
Her back was aching and she longed for a rest. 'Never leave a job half done,' she chided herself. Lifting
the copper ladle from the bucket she drank the cool water, then returned to the axe. The sound of a
horse moving across the dry-baked ground made her curse. She had left the rifle by the well! Dropping
the axe she turned and walked swiftly back across the open ground, not even looking at the horseman.
Reaching the rifle, she leaned down. 'You won't need that, Beth, darlinY said a familiar voice.
Clem Steiner lifted his leg over the saddle pommel and jumped to the ground. A wide grin showed on
Beth's face and she stepped forward with arms outstretched. 'You're looking good, Clem,' she said,
drawing him into a hug. Taking hold of his broad shoulders, she gently pushed him back from her and
stared into his craggy features.
The eyes were a sparkling blue and the grin still made him look boyish, despite the grey at his temples
and the weather-beaten lines around his eyes and mouth. His coat of black cloth seemed to have picked
up little dust from his ride, and he wore a brocaded waistcoat of shining red above a polished black
gunbelt.
Beth hugged him again. 'You're a welcome sight for old eyes,' she said, feeling an unaccustomed swelling