"Call Of The Wild, The" - читать интересную книгу автора (London Jack)

sure, it was an unwonted performance but he had learned to
trust in men he knew, and to give them credit for a wisdom
that outreached his own. But when the ends of the rope were
placed in the stranger's hands, he growled menacingly. He had
merely intimated his displeasure, in his pride believing that
to intimate was to command. But to his surprise the rope
tightened around his neck, shutting off his breath. In a
quick rage he sprang at the man, who met him halfway,
grappled him close by the throat, and with a deft twist
threw him over on his back. Then the rope tightened
mercilessly, while Buck struggled in a fury, his tongue lolling
out of his mouth and his great chest panting futilely. Never
in all his life had he been so vilely treated, and never in
all his life had he been so angry. But his strength ebbed,
his eyes glazed, and he knew nothing when the train was
flagged and the two men threw him into the baggage car.
The next he knew, he was dimly aware that his tongue was
hurting and that \he was being jolted along in some kind of a
conveyance.\ The hoarse shriek of a locomotive whistling a
crossing told him where he was. He had traveled too often
with the Judge not to know the sensation of riding in a
baggage car. He opened his eyes, and into them came the
unbridled anger of a kidnaped king. The man sprang for his
throat, but Buck was too quick for him. His jaws closed on
the hand, nor did they relax till his senses were choked
out of him once more.
"Yep, has fits," the man said, hiding his mangled hand
from the baggage man, who had been attracted by the sounds of
struggle. "I'm taking him up for the boss to 'Frisco. A
crack dog doctor there thinks that he can cure him."
Concerning that night's ride, the man spoke most
eloquently for himself, in a little shed back of a saloon on
the San Francisco water front.
"All I get is fifty for it," he grumbled, "and I
wouldn't do it over for a thousand, cold cash."
His hand was wrapped in a bloody handkerchief, and the
right trouser leg was ripped from knee to ankle.
"How much did the other mug get?" the saloon-keeper
demanded.
"A hundred," was the reply. "Wouldn't take a sou less,
so help me."
"That makes a hundred and fifty," the saloon-keeper
calculated, "and he's worth it, or I'm a squarehead."
The kidnaper undid the bloody wrappings and looked at
his lacerated hand. "If I don't get hydrophobia--"
"It'll be because you was born to hang," laughed the
saloon-keeper. "Here, lend me a hand before you pull your
freight," he added.
Dazed, suffering intolerable pain from throat and
tongue, with the life half throttled out of him, Buck