"Zane Grey - Betty Zane" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grey Zane)

"Heavens! What a little beauty," said Alfred to himself, as he watched the
graceful rider disappear. "What spirit! Now, I wonder who she can be. She had
on moccasins and buckskin gloves and her hair tumbled like a tomboy's, but she
is no backwoods girl, I'll bet on that. I'm afraid I was a little rude, but
after taking such a stand I could not weaken, especially before such a haughty
and disdainful little vixen. It was too great a temptation. What eyes she had!
Contrary to what I expected, this little frontier settlement bids fair to
become interesting."

The afternoon wore slowly away, and until late in the day nothing further
happened to disturb Alfred's meditations, which consisted chiefly of different
mental views and pictures of red lips and black eyes. Just as he decided to
return to the fort for his supper he heard the barking of a dog that he had
seen running along the road some moments before. The sound came from some
distance down the river bank and nearer the fort. Walking a few paces up the
bluff Alfred caught sight of a large black dog running along the edge of the
water. He would run into the water a few paces and then come out and dash
along the shore. He barked furiously all the while. Alfred concluded that he
must have been excited by a fox or perhaps a wolf; so he climbed down the
steep bank and spoke to the dog. Thereupon the dog barked louder and more
fiercely than ever, ran to the water, looked out into the river and then up at
the man with almost human intelligence.

Alfred understood. He glanced out over the muddy water, at first making out
nothing but driftwood. Then suddenly he saw a log with an object clinging to
it which he took to be a man, and an Indian at that. Alfred raised his rifle
to his shoulder and was in the act of pressing the trigger when he thought he
heard a faint halloo. Looking closer, he found he was not covering the smooth
polished head adorned with the small tuft of hair, peculiar to a redskin on
the warpath, but a head from which streamed long black hair.

Alfred lowered his rifle and studied intently the log with its human burden.
Drifting with the current it gradually approached the bank, and as it came
nearer he saw that it bore a white man, who was holding to the log with one
hand and with the other was making feeble strokes. He concluded the man was
either wounded or nearly drowned, for his movements were becoming slower and
weaker every moment. His white face lay against the log and barely above
water. Alfred shouted encouraging words to him.

At the bend of the river a little rocky point jutted out a few yards into the
water. As the current carried the log toward this point, Alfred, after
divesting himself of some of his clothing, plunged in and pulled it to the
shore. The pallid face of the man clinging to the log showed that he was
nearly exhausted, and that he had been rescued in the nick of time. When
Alfred reached shoal water he slipped his arm around the man, who was unable
to stand, and carried him ashore.

The rescued man wore a buckskin hunting shirt and leggins and moccasins of the
same material, all very much the worse for wear. The leggins were torn into
tatters and the moccasins worn through. His face was pinched with suffering