"David L. Robbins - Endworld 04 - The Kalispell Run" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robbins David L)

give the bastards the satisfaction of seeing her buckle.

"Move your ass, woman!" Grant contemptuously bellowed.

"Yeah, Sherry!" the oldest added. "We're hungry! Give it to us."

Sherry's green eyes flashed. I'd love to give it to them, all right, she
mentally told herself. Right in the groin! She crossed to them and held out
the metal pot, taken from the ruined remains of a nearby building.

Grant lunged and grabbed the pot. He screeched as his fingers made
contact with the scorching metal and he inadvertently dropped the pot.
The steaming contents spewed over the ground.

"Damn your hide, female!" Grant surged upward and gripped her by
the flimsy fabric of her torn yellow blouse. "You made me drop the food! It
was hot!"

"What did you expect, you congenital idiot?" Sherry retorted, forgetting
herself. "It just came off the fire."

Grant savagely backhanded Sherry across the face, knocking her to the
grass at his feet. "Forget the food.

The fun comes first." He began to hitch his tunic up his legs.

"I hate to spoil your fun," a voice intruded, "but I don't think you want
to meet your Maker with your dingus flapping in the wind."

"Look!" the youngest of the trio blurted, pointing.
 The newcomer stood on the other side of the fire, directly across from
them. He was a blond man with a sweeping blond moustache, and he wore
buckskins and moccasins. Strapped around his slim waist were a pair of
pearl-handled revolvers.

Grant froze, momentarily stunned.

"Where are they?" the newcomer asked.

"Who?" Grant responded, perplexed, uncertain of his next move. He
didn't like the way the blond man's hands hovered near those revolvers. A
glint of light from the fire revealed the newcomer had a rifle hanging
across his back, suspended from a rawhide cord slanted crosswise over his
chest.

"I'm not in the mood for games, pard," the newcomer warned icily.
"Where are they?"

"Who?" Grant replied, genuinely confused. He let his tunic drop. The
Glenfield was in his left hand, and he toyed with the notion of shooting