"Pat Murphy - Menagerie" - читать интересную книгу автора (Murphy Pat)

George stood frozen by the fence, not knowing what to do, when he heard a low
wail in the distance. The wail rose to an eerie shriek -- the howling of a
hound. Then the hyenas began a hideous cacophony, of barks and yelps and yapping
wails that sounded for all the world like lunatic laughter. Over the hyenas'
noise, he heard a man's voice calling desperately for help.

The path toward the downs was shaded from the moonlight by trees, a dark and
lonely way that led to open pasture land. A group of Gypsies had encamped not
far off t George remembered Sir Radford had mentioned them. Perhaps the hound
was theirs.

Again, the distant howling, barely audible above the eerie wailing of the
hyenas. No Gypsy cur could make a sound like that. The howling was that of a
wild beast on the hunt.

George ran down the dark path, heedless of his own welfare, seeking only to find
the danger -- whether it took the form of man or beast -- and protect Selina
from it. In the darkness, he could not see his way. A patch of mud, slippery
from the late afternoon showers, caught him unaware. His feet went out from
under him. He slipped, he tumbled, he fell headlong into the ditch beside the
lane. His head came down on a rock, a stout piece of English stone. And then he
lay very still, unconscious and rescuing no one.

The morning found him in the ditch still, eyes blinking as he slowly came to
consciousness. His clothes were muddy and torn and wet with dew. His mind was
not quite his own, still muddled from the blow to his head. When he lifted a
hand to his forehead, it came away sticky with blood.

He lifted his head and gazed about him. A shady country lane. The song of birds
in the hedge. An ordinary scene, with nothing to frighten a man. His alarm of
the night before -- surely it had been a dream. Selina's clothes on the fence.
The sounds of a savage beast. Surely he had imagined these things.

With an effort, he climbed from the ditch and stood for a moment in the lane,
staring at the treacherous patch of mud that had caused his precipitous plunge
into the ditch. Beside the marks left by his own skidding feet were three other
sets of prints. Two sets of prints headed out toward the open pasture -- the
marks left by a man's boots and the paw prints of a large dog. By the length of
the stride, George guessed that the man was running -- running for his life. In
more than one place, the paw prints overlay the boot prints, an indication that
the beast followed the man -- close at his heels, perhaps.

Heading back in the opposite direction, toward the manor house, was a set of
human footprints, left by someone walking without shoes. A delicate foot -- that
of a child or a woman, George thought. He shook his head, attempting to clear
away the fog that prevented him from thinking.

"Mr. Paxton! Whatever happened to you?" George turned toward the house and saw
Selina hurrying down the lane, her arms stretched toward him.