"Frank Herbert - The Featherbedders" - читать интересную книгу автора (Herbert Brian & Frank)

to give. Jim, he stood right up to the sheriff, said he jes' went to the widow's to give. So -'
Painter shrugged.
'The sheriff's open to persuasion, then?'
'Some folks seems to think so.'
'You don't?'
'He made Jim stop smoking and drinking.'
Smeg shook his head sharply, wondering if he'd heard correctly. The conversation kept
darting around into seeming irrelevancies. He adjusted his hat brim, looked at his hand. It was
a good hand, couldn't be told from the human original. 'Smoking and drinking?' he asked.
'Yep.'
'But why?'
'Said if Jim was taking on new ree-sponsibilities like the widow he couldn't commit suicide -
not even slow like.'
Smeg stared at Painter who appeared engrossed with a nonexistent point in the sky.
Presently. Smeg managed: 'That's the weirdest interpretation of the law I ever heard.'
'Don't let the sheriff hear you say that.'
'Quick to anger, eh?'
'Wouldn't say that.'
'What would you say?'
'Like I told Jim: Sheriff get his eye on you, that is it. You going to toe the line. Ain't so bad
till the sheriff get his eye on you. When he see you - that is the end.'
'Does the sheriff have his eye on you, Mr Painter?'
Painter made a fist, shook it at the air. His mouth drew back in a fierce, scowling grimace.
The expression faded. Presently, he relaxed, sighed. 'Pretty bad, eh?' Smeg asked.
'Dang conspiracy,' Painter muttered. 'Gov'ment got its nose in things don't concern it.'
'Oh?' Smeg watched Painter closely, sensing they were on productive ground. 'What does -
'
'Dang near a thousand gallons a year!' Painter exploded.
'Uhhh -' Smeg said. He wet his lips with his tongue, a gesture he'd found to denote human
uncertainty.
'Don't care if you are part of the conspiracy,' Painter said. 'Can't do nothing to me now.'
'Believe me, Mr Painter, I have no designs on ... '
'I made some 'shine when folks wanted,' Painter said. 'Less'n a thousand gallons a year ...
almost. Ain't much considering the size of some of them stills t'other side of Anderson. But
them's across the line! 'Nother county! All I made was enough fer the folks 'round here.'
'Sheriff put a stop to it?'
'Made me bust up my still.'
'Made you bust up your still?'
'Yep. That's when he got my Barton.'
'Your ... ahhh ... barton?' Smeg ventured.
'Right from under Lilly's nose,' Painter muttered. His nostrils dilated, eyes glared. Rage lay
close to the surface.
Smeg looked around him, searching the blank windows, the empty doorways. What in the
name of all the Slorin furies was a barton?
'Your sheriff seems to hold pretty close to the law,' Smeg ventured.
'Hah!'
'No liquor,' Smeg said. 'No smoking. He rough on speeders?'
'Speeders?' Painter turned his glare on Smeg. 'Now, you tell me what we'd speed in, Mr
Smeg.'
'Don't you have any cars here?'