"Louis L'amour - sackett05 - Ride The River" - читать интересную книгу автора (L'Amour Louis)

First off, I taken a good look about, but saw nobody watching me.
At the coach house there was a goodly crowd, but it was not until I was seated
that I saw that man with the hard gray hat and the houndstooth coat a-settin' in
the corner of the mail coach across from me, but in the farthest corner. There
were twelve passengers, and the rest seemed what a body would expect. Five were
women, aside from me, but only one who was youngish. She was a pert, pretty girl
with big eyes and a friendly smile.
Seated close beside me was a little old lady with gray hair and quick blue eyes.
We started at a brisk pace, but the road was rough and we bounced around a good
deal, which would have been worse but for the bulky sacks of mail crowded in
with us. That little old lady was crowded right up to me, and once, glancing
down, I noticed that her carpetbag, a new one, was just like mine.
Several times I sneaked a look at the man in the gray hat and houndstooth coat,
but he was looking out the window and paying me no mind. It could be he was on
business of his own and I was just too suspicious. Nevertheless, I decided to
stay suspicious.
We passed several wagons with families bound to the westward, the men walking,
the women and children inside. Mostly they were Conestoga wagons, big, strongly
built, and built to float if need be. Mostly these folks, according to one of
the men on the coach, were heading for Illinois or Missouri. A man named
Birkbeck had been settling folks on land he had in Illinois.
We stopped to let off a couple of people in Lancaster, and pick up one more.
Regal was forever talking about the fine rifles made at this place by the
Pennsylvania Dutch. At least, that's what he called them.
My thoughts kept straying back to that young man in the dining room that night.
Dorian Chantry. It was a nice name. I minded what Regal said, "Don't be in no
hurry. You'll meet a hundred men, maybe one or two of them worthwhile and of the
right age."
"What's the right age?" I had asked him.
"You'll know when you see him," he said, grinning at me.
It was late, so I didn't see much of Lancaster, but we stopped for more than an
hour in Elizabeth Town and I carried my bag with me to the place where we could
get coffee, bread, and some slices of beef. The little old lady had come from
the stage too, and she sat near me, smiling very pleasantly but keeping to
herself and showing no mood for talk.
We passed through several towns, none of them far apart, and it was not until
Chambersburg that we stopped for the night. By that time we were dead beat. I
was so tired of being jounced around that I scarcely could move. I saw the man
in the houndstooth coat help that little old lady down from the carriage, taking
her bag from her in kindly fashion. Maybe I was mistaken about him.
Picking up my bag, I started for the door to step down, but the bag felt funny.
I looked down, and in the dim light it looked all right. Somebody helped me down
and I picked up the bag again.
It was too light. Opening it, I taken one look. It wasn't my bag!
Horrified, I looked up just in time to see the man in the houndstooth coat and
that little old lady vanishing around a corner! He was carrying my bag.
7
Finian Chantry looked up from his desk as the door opened. Slowly he jostled the
papers together until the ends squared, then placed them to one side.
Dorian Chantry was a tall, athletic young man, not unlike he himself at that