"L'Amour, Louis - Last_of_the_Breed46" - читать интересную книгу автора (L'Amour Louis)

Where was he? They did not know.
Did it mean he was there? Or somewhere near? He threw another stone and heard it land.
No sound, and he expected none. Would they remain where they were until morning? Or would one or more of them try to slip away to some further spot? He believed they would think of going but would stay.
He waited, resting easily on the moss, ears tuned to the slightest sound. Then he threw another stone. This time there was a subdued gasp, not too far from where the stone landed. There was vague light, and something stirred in the shadows; something moved. He let go an arrow and heard the thud of its strike and then a rustling in the brush. He let go another arrow. It was a miss, he believed, but a close one.
Gently, ever so gently, he eased back, went down into the hollow behind, and crossed a stream. He climbed into the rocks to a place he had seen earlier. Then he settled down to rest.
When the dawn was yet an hour away, he prepared several traps, and when he went back he left several slight tracks. Not enough to make them suspicious, but several. Then he went down the mountain toward the shore.
Major Joseph Makatozi walked along the shore in the gray morning and looked at the gray seas rolling in to beat against the rocky shore. He looked at the piled roots of great trees and at the little cove where a man worked upon some nets. He walked down to him and stood for a moment, watching. "I have come far," he said at last, trying his English, "to see the place where once Olaf Swenson traded. He was an American, I think."
"And an honest man," replied the old Chukchi. "I knew him when I was a boy, but he traded with my father and my grandfather. "
"My grandfather was a Scot. Once long ago he sailed to these shores and traded here with Swenson."
"That was long ago. Nobody remembers Olaf Swenson anymore. They do not remember the good days of trade, nor do they remember that we Chukchis crossed the narrow seas to Alaska each year, sometimes more than once in the year."
"You caught salmon there?"
"No more. All that is gone. They will not let us go anymore, but sometimes--
"Sometimes I wish I could go again, but I am old, old."
"I would go," Joe Mack said, "if I had a kayak."
The old man looked up. His brown face was deeply lined under the mane of white hair. He looked at Joe Mack and at his braids. He looked at his face again.
"It would need a man who knew the kayak to do it. Such a trip is not easy."
"But with a kayak, they might not know he was going. It is a small thing, made of hide only."
"It might be done. I am an old man and have not tried."
"But I am a young man, and my home is over there. I want to go home. Grandfather. "
"I have a kayak, a very good one. For the grandson of a man who sailed with Olaf Swenson--I do not know. Perhaps."
"I have some rubles. A kayak is not a small thing. It is made with craft not many possess. I would pay."
"What are rubles to an old man? The sea gives me my living, and I give it my blessing."
"Once long ago. Grandfather, it is said my people came this way, crossing when there was no water here. I follow in their footsteps."
"I have heard of this, and I have found arrowheads and bones. Yes, I believe it is true." The old man looked up from the net. "Those who watch have eyes to look where we cannot see. They have wings to fly over."
"I shall go at night. Grandfather."
"Ah? It has been done by day, and long, long ago. One must understand the kayak."
"We are not strangers. I have used them at sea, and upon rough rivers."
"When?"
"Tonight, if I live."
The old man looked at him again. "I have heard some shots fired upon the mountain."
"Yes, and today I shall go back to find one who looks for me. I do not wish him disappointed."
"There will be shooting?"
"I hope not. I wish to do it with these." Joe Mack held up his hands. "My people were warriors once. Am I to be less than they?"
"If you come in the evening when the sun is low, the kayak will be lying by those roots. What you do is your affair. "
"Speak to the spirits of the sea. Grandfather. My voice is lonely in the night."