"Andre Norton - Cat Fantastic" - читать интересную книгу автора (Norton Andre)

"Are you a hatathli?" I asked Mike, drawing on my book-learned wisdom.
His smile became tolerant. "Hatathli is Navajo. A medicine man who heals with sand paintings. I am a
healer of the Hopi tribe."
I felt vaguely embarrassed. The little reading I had done said no love was lost between the Hopi and
Navajo tribes. To mistake one for the other was a typical outsider's blunder. I took refuge in skepticism.
"Do you really take the cat on the high-wire act with you?"
"I would not go there without her. If you doubt, come visit us at the north inlet tower site." His smile
became a grin, covering his wide face. "I must go now, Mr. Curtis," he added, gathering up the knapsack
and Tonochpa.
I wasn't ready for his departure. We had some unfinished business, namely the state of my pants. He
read my face, then followed my gaze down to the rents the bobcat had made.
"You bring that pair of pants when you come up to the tower site." He winked. "I am good at mending
the holes Tonochpa makes."
I refrained from asking how many holes the wildcat had made and who she'd made them in. I watched
the two of them leave, scratching my incipient bald patch beneath the band of my hard hat. I decided to
pay a visit to the high-scalers on the north tower site even if it meant skipping some day's lunch. The
young Indian who called himself Mike and his guardian spirit disguised as a bobcat intrigued the hell out
of me. I had to know whether he was pulling my leg or not. I stashed a pair of field glasses in the
recorder shack and waited for a piece of slack time long enough for a trip up the canyon wall.
Several days later, i rode old truck-shuttle number 160 from the workers' tract city to the dam site early
enough to slip in a visit to the tower site before work. Because the foundations for the inlet tower were
being hacked from the canyon wall, the only way to reach it was the inclined tramway we dubbed the
Monkeyslide. I got on with the last group of first shift stragglers and clung to the welded pipe railing as
the Monkeyslide ratcheted its way up.
My fellow riders watched me from the corners of their eyes while they told tales of the previous night's
carousing in nearby Glitter Gulch. They spat from the tramcar and rolled cigarettes from pipe-tin tobacco.
Feeling as out of place as an oyster in the desert, I searched among the press of bodies, tormented by the
unreasonable fear that Mike had decided to skip work that day, had been taken ill, or had been fired.
With its gears clashing and groaning, the Monkeyslide lurched to a halt, the. guard chain fell aside, and
everyone piled out onto a plank catwalk overlooking the black basalt ledge forming the inlet gate tower
foundation. The "cherry-pickers" around me all seemed to become alpine spiders, for they disdained the
plankwalk to clamber away over the rocks and lower themselves on cables to their places below. Soon I
was alone on the catwalk except for the clinking of chisels and the tearing rattle of rock-drills.
I tiptoed as close to the edge of the unguarded plankwalk as I dared and peered over. I found it hard to
look down without breaking into a cold sweat. I don't have much trouble with heights; I've clambered
about on enough bridges and girders to know that part of myself. But knowing that a misstep meant a fall
through half a mile worth of nothing gave me a new respect for gravity. The planks underfoot seemed to
take delight in sagging in such a way as to tip me while the grit slithered my feet toward the treacherous
edge.
I finally found a secure perch and scanned for Mike with my field glasses. There he was, a tiny figure in
overalls, hard hat and knapsack, whaling away at the fissured rock from the end of a long line. He looked
too distant to see my wave. I decided it would be better not to distract him, so I just watched. I saw no
sign of Tonochpa.
He scaled away the rock loosened by previous blasting then drilled holes for new charges. After drilling a
square grid of holes, he paused, planted both boots against the cliff face and leaned out over empty air as
if he were relaxing on a sofa. As if that was a signal, I saw the packflap stir, then the bobcat emerged.
She climbed over his shoulder and onto his chest, nestling beneath his chin. He fed her bits of flattened
baloney sandwich from an overall pocket. I could see that she wore a makeshift safety harness and a
tether shackled to Mike's cable. Even so, I thought, a short fall would still have a nasty jolt at the end of
it. But my criticism was lost in fascination as I kept my glasses trained on the two. It was an amazing