"Zenna Henderson - No different flesh" - читать интересную книгу автора (Henderson Zenna)

this man. Out of nowhere! Right in the road! And we hit him! And knocked him
clear off the road. And they weren't even going to stop, but I gabbed the key
and made them! I made them back up and I got out to look for the man. I found
him. All bloody. Lying in the bushes. I tried to find out where he was
bleeding-they-they went off and left me there with him!" His voice was
outraged. "They didn't give a darn about that poor guy! They went off and left
him lying there and me with not even a flashlight!"
Mark had been dressing rapidly. "He may not be dead," he said, reaching for
his cap. "How far is he?"
"The other side of the creek bridge," said Tad. "We came the Rim way. Do you
think he might-"
"We'll see," said Mark. "Meris, give me one of those army blankets and get
Lala off the cot. We'll use that for a stretcher. Build the fire up and check
the first aid kit." He got the Coleman lantern from the storeroom, then he and
Tad gathered up the canvas cot and went out into the chilly darkness.
Lala fretted a little, then, curled in the warmth Mark had left, she slept
again through all the bustling about as Meris prepared for Mark's return.
Meris ran to the door when she heard their feet in the yard. She flung the
outer door wide and held the screen as they edged the laden cot through the
door. "Is he-?"
"Don't think so." Mark grunted as they lowered the cot to the floor. "Still
bleeding from the cut on his head and I don't think dead men bleed. Not this
long, anyway. Get a gauze pad, Meris, and put pressure on the cut. Tad, get
his boots off while I get his shirt "
Meris glanced up from her bandage as Mark's voice broke off abruptly. He was
staring at the shirt. His eyes caught Meris's and he ran a finger down the
front of the shirt. No buttons. Meris's mouth opened, but Mark shook his head
warningly. Then, taking hold of the muddied shirt, he gently tuned both sides
back away from the chest that was visibly laboring now.
Meris's hands followed the roll of the man's head, keeping the bandage in
place, but her eyes were on the bed where Lala had turned away from the light
and was burrowed nearly out of sight under the edge of Mark's pillow.
Tad spoke from where he was struggling with the man's boots. "I thought it
was you, Mr. Edwards," he said. "I nearly passed out when you answered the
door. Who else could it have been? No one else lives way out here and I
couldn't see his face. I knew he was bleeding because my hands-" He broke off
as one boot thumped to the floor.
"And we knocked him so far! So high! And I thought it was you!" He shuddered
and huddled over the other boot. "I'm cured, honest, Mr. Edwards. I'm cured.
Only don't let him die. Don't let him die!" He was crying now, unashamed.
"I'm no doctor," said Mark, "but I don't think he's badly hurt. Lots of
scratches, but that cut on his head seems to he the worst."
"The bleeding's nearly stopped," said Meris. "And his eyes are fluttering."
Even as she spoke, the eyes opened, dark and dazed, the head turning
restlessly. Mark leaned over the man. "Hello," he said, trying to get the eyes
to focus on him. "You're okay. You're okay. Only a cut-"
The man's head stilled. He blinked and spoke, his eyes closing before his
words were finished.
"What did he say?" asked Tad. "What did he say?"
"I don't know," said Mark. "And he's gone again. To sleep, this time, I hope.