"Jacquelyn Hooper - Home On The Range" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hooper Jacquelyn)

Chris stood when it hit the ground. There had always been a cold, hard feeling
in his gut when he wounded natives. Everything for him went numb, and bitter in
his mouth. He had never actually killed one, not the way Paladin did, though he
tried.

A maddening desire overcame him to save it. Score the wound. Heal it.

A pair of gold eyes appeared from the grain in the midst of Chris's view. The
smaller native was staring at him. It still held its hand to its ear, but now it
was calm, its perfect mouth open in a small "o."

Chris heard the wind, the sound of flapping wings above him. The remaining
natives were circling the field, watching like vultures.

Sweat ran down his neck and back. Something bit him. Another itch he could not
scratch.

The native took its hand from its head. Blood stained the white feathers on its
hand. It chirped once, a question.

Get down, he told himself. It was a trap. He did not see the other one, could
not hear it. It was dead. Maybe.

"Stay put," Paladin said.

"The other one will get me!"

Paladin did not reply. The native beat its wings, stirring the grain around it.
It touched its hand to its head, then held it out for Chris to see again.

What do you want me to do about it? he thought, his hands clenched tightly on
the rifle.

There was movement in the grass to his right. Chris stepped back, watching the
grain bend as something pushed it, ripped it from the ground. It moved toward
Chris on a wave as loud as a real one.

The other native chirped.
There was still no answer from Paladin.

Chris raised the rifle, aimed, fired at the movement in the grass. The native
quickened its speed, barreling toward Chris, its one wing making a break through
the grain like a "v."

Then it swerved, hard right. It leaped from the grain, shrieking.

It leaped at Paladin. Chris saw his shotgun barrel go up and fire before the
native landed on him.