"L'Amour, Louis - Last_of_the_Breed07" - читать интересную книгу автора (L'Amour Louis)

Last of the Breed
Chapter 7

The man's cheeks were chubby and he looked fat, but Joe Mack was not deceived. He had seen such men before and knew that what looked like fat was the natural muscle of an extremely powerful man, one naturally strong, born to the strength he had.
For a moment each measured the other, and then the man spoke in what Joe Mack knew was Russian, although he knew no more than a few words of the language.
"I do not speak your language," he replied.
To his surprise the man's face lit up with humor. "Engless!" he said, astonished. "Spik Engless!"
The AK-47 did not waver. "Who you are?"
I am an American"--he spoke slowly--"traveling in your country."
The man's eyes made a point of looking him over. "This clothes? It is tourist fashion?"
Joe Mack grinned suddenly, and the man's face lit up again. "Tourist the hard way," he said.
For a moment the man puzzled over that, and then he smiled again. "Why you here? This is far-off place."
Joe Mack was puzzled. The man was no soldier, yet he carried an AK-47 and gave every evidence of being ready to use it. His clothes were nondescript, his manner as guarded as his own. Was this man also a fugitive?
"It is better I travel in far-off places," he spoke slowly again. "I eat what the land provides."
The man's eyes searched his. "I am Yakov," he said.
"I am Joe Mack," he replied.
"Where you live?"
"In America. Until I return there I live as I can, where I can. Soon winter comes. I have no home for winter."
"Ah?"
Yakov was ten feet away, and the AK-47 did not waver. There was no way he was going to cover that ten feet and lay a hand on that gun without catching four or five slugs, and the man was no fool.
"Why you not go down there?" Yakov waved toward the distant village.
Joe Mack took a chance. After all, what was Yakov doing up in the mountains with an AK-47? "They would put me in a house with bars."
"Ah! An American? A prisoner? In Siberia? Russia is not at war with America!"
"No?" Joe Mack lifted an eyebrow. "Tell that to Colonel Zamatev. "
Instantly, the man's manner changed, "Zamatev? You spik Zamatev?"
For the first time the muzzle of the gun lowered. "Where you spik Zamatev?"
"West of here, many miles. I was his prisoner."
"You escape? He look for you?"
"He looks."
Yakov was silent, obviously thinking. He pointed to the crude sheepskin vest. "You make?"
"I did."
Yakov indicated the bow staff. "What that?"
"A bow. I am making a bow. Then I shall make arrows. I need to hunt." Joe Mack lifted the sling, and the AK-47 covered him again. "The bow will be better than this."
"How you kill sheep?"
Joe Mack indicated the sling. He took from his pack a piece of the smoked and dried mutton. He extended it to Yakov. "You like? It is sheep."
Yakov accepted it, and Joe Mack went to the pack for another piece. They chewed in silence.
"You no look American."
"I am an Indian, a Red Indian."
"Ah! I see Indian in film. Cinema."
"I'm no cinema Indian," Joe Mack replied irritably.
Yakov looked around at him. "Soon cold, very cold." He hesitated. "I am escape also. I escape three years past."
"Three years?" Joe Mack studied him with quickened interest. "How do you live?"
"I live.
He hesitated, as if thinking. "My father," he said, "was Lithuanian. He is exile to Siberia. My mother is Tungus woman." Yakov looked at him. "Tungus are reindeer people."
He got up. "I think better we go."
Joe Mack got up. "I travel alone."
Yakov spoke over his shoulder. "Cold come, you die. It needs much food to last the cold. Better you come with me."
Reluctantly, warily, Joe Mack followed. Yakov led off at a fast pace, turning back along the path he had come. After a moment he broke into a trot, glancing back once to see if Joe Mack followed.
For an hour they ran, and then Yakov slowed and began to walk, "The Kalar," he pointed.
The river crossed in front of them, about a quarter of a mile away. Now Yakov moved with a caution that equaled his own as they worked their way through the trees to the riverbank. There, artfully concealed, Yakov had a canoe.