"Milo Talon" - читать интересную книгу автора (L'Amour Louis)

"Three doors down. Maggie's Place. She won't be in this time of night but the cook's
one of the best."
Whether it was the fact that I paid fifty cents for a room or his conversation about
the cook that warmed him up, I didn't know, but the clerk was suddenly talkative.
He glanced at the register. "Talon? Ain't that some kind of a claw?"
"It is. An ancestor of mine taken it for a name because he had a claw where his right
hand should have been. Scratched a lot of folks here and there. Or so I've heard."
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He thought I was joking but I was not. Every Talon knew the story of that hard, bitter
old man who started the family. It was a long time back and to most of us a few stories
were all that remained, although there was rumor of property still in Talon hands
and treasure buried here and there.
"Be around long?" he asked.
"Day or two." I paused. It was always better to provide a reason so they wouldn't
worry about it. "I've been workin' all summer. Figured it was time to rest up a bit."
They might, of course, have seen me leave the private car, so I added, "Not that
I'd turn down a good job if it showed itself. I've been askin' around. Like to get
me a job guidin' hunters or suchlike. Seemed like the folks in that car yonder might
want a guide but they don't. They don't want nothing. Even visitors."
The clerk shook his head. "Been settin' there two, three days. Interested in land,
or so I hear. They've their own guide or whatever. Sleeps here."
The room was a good one as such rooms went, a double bed, a washstand with a white
bowl and pitcher, two chairs, one of which was a rocker, and a knit rug on the floor.
On another small stand beside the bed was a kerosene lamp which I made no move to
light. My eyes were already accustomed to the dim light but I'd no wish to advertise
which room I was in. Glancing down into the street without disturbing the curtain,
I seemed to see that same figure lurking in the doorway.
Of course, it could be some cowhand with nowhere to go or money to spend, or some
lad waiting for his girl, but a man lived longer by being cautious.
He would see me when I left the hotel unless-at the bottom of the stairs I turned
abruptly and went down the hall to the back of the hotel and out the back door.
Outside the door I side-stepped quickly into the shadows and paused, staring around
into the half-dark and remaining in deep shadow. A light showed from a back door
and window three buildings down which I guessed was the restaurant. Following a dim
path along the backs of the buildings, I almost stepped into the path of a pan of
water a man was about to throw from the back door.
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"Howdy," I spoke softly. "All right to come in through the kitchen?"
"If you're of a mind to." The man in the white apron held the door wide. "Somebody
out front you ain't wishful to see?"
The cook's face was browned by sun and wind and seamed with time. A cow-camp cook,
I'd bet a month's wages.
My smile was friendly. "Why, I don't rightly know. I've nobody huntin' my scalp right
now that I recall, but on the other hand there's a gent across the street in that
empty building who seems to have nothing to do but stand there. Are you the cook?"
"Chief cook an' bottle-washer. Graduated from some of the best chuck wagons ever
went up the trail, an' never an unhappy rider. I cook an' I bake." He was a square-shouldered