"Mike Resnick - Hunting The Snark" - читать интересную книгу автора (Resnick Mike)

"Brown cat," said Chajinka, indicating the dead animal, "made a kill this
morning. His stomach is still full. He was looking for a place to lie up, out
of the sun. Something killed him."

"_What_ killed him?"

He pointed to some oblong tracks, not much larger than a human's. "This one is
the killer."

"Where did he go after he killed the brown cat?"

He examined the ground once more, then pointed to the northeast. "That way."

"Can we find him before dark?"

Chajinka shook his head. "He left a long time ago. Four, five, six hours."

"Let's go back to the water hole," I said. "I want you to see if he left any
tracks there."

Our presence frightened yet another herd of herbivores away, and Chajinka
examined the ground.

Finally he straightened up. "Too many animals have come and gone."

"Make a big circle around the water hole," I said. "Maybe a quarter mile. See
if there are any tracks there."

He did as I ordered, and I fell into step behind him. We'd walked perhaps half
the circumference when he stopped.

"Interesting," he said.

"What is?"

"There were brown cats here early this morning," he said, pointing to the
ground. "Then the killer of the brown cat came along -- you see, here, his
print overlays that of a cat -- and they fled." He paused. "An entire family of
brown cats -- at least four, perhaps five -- fled from a single animal that
hunts alone."

"You're sure he's a solitary hunter?"

He studied the ground again. "Yes. He walks alone. Very interesting."

It was more than interesting.
There was a lone animal out there that was higher on the food chain than the
300-pound brown cats. It had frightened away an entire pod of large predators,
and -- this was the part I didn't like -- it didn't kill just for food.