"GREY, Zane - Light Of The Western Stars" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grey Zane)

could be the drunken fool's intention? This must be, this surely
was a cowboy trick. She had a vague, swiftly flashing
recollection of Alfred's first letters descriptive of the
extravagant fun of cowboys. Then she vividly remembered a moving
picture she had seen--cowboys playing a monstrous joke on a lone
school-teacher. Madeline no sooner thought of it than she made
certain her brother was introducing her to a little wild West
amusement. She could scarcely believe it, yet it must be true.
Alfred's old love of teasing her might have extended even to this
outrage. Probably he stood just outside the door or window
laughing at her embarrassment.

Anger checked her panic. She straightened up with what composure
this surprise had left her and started for the door. But the
cowboy barred her passage--grasped her arms. Then Madeline
divined that her brother could not have any knowledge of this
indignity. It was no trick. It was something that was
happening, that was real, that threatened she knew not what. She
tried to wrench free, feeling hot all over at being handled by
this drunken brute. Poise, dignity, culture--all the acquired
habits of character--fled before the instinct to fight. She was
athletic. She fought. She struggled desperately. But he forced
her back with hands of iron. She had never known a man could be
so strong. And then it was the man's coolly smiling face, the
paralyzing strangeness of his manner, more than his strength,
that weakened Madeline until she sank trembling against the
bench.

"What--do you--mean?" she panted.

"Dearie, ease up a little on the bridle," he replied, gaily.

Madeline thought she must be dreaming. She could not think
clearly. It had all been too swift, too terrible for her to
grasp. Yet she not only saw this man, but also felt his powerful
presence. And the shaking priest, the haze of blue smoke, the
smell of powder-these were not unreal.

Then close before her eyes burst another blinding red flash, and
close at her ears bellowed another report. Unable to stand,
Madeline slipped down onto the bench. Her drifting faculties
refused clearly to record what transpired during the next few
moments; presently, however, as her mind steadied somewhat, she
heard, though as in a dream, the voice of the padre hurrying over
strange words. It ceased, and then the cowboy's voice stirred
her.

"Lady, say Si--Si. Say it--quick! Say it--Si!"

From sheer suggestion, a force irresistible at this moment when