"034 (B014) - The Fantastic Island (1935-12) - Ryerson Johnson" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robeson Kenneth)

Side by side, they advanced into a rain of clubs -- Monk's pummeling fists working like locomotive driving rods, Ham's sword cane darting in and out like an aroused snake. Pat, pressing forward behind them, scooped up rocks from the beach and threw them as fast as she could. Even Habeas Corpus did his part, squealing and grunting and gouging his sharp tusks into every foot and ankle that came within reach of his wood-rasp snout.



The varied strategy was too much for the attackers. They thought Ham's sword cane was dealing out death, and they broke suddenly, with hideous yells, to go crashing away and disappear in the black recesses of the mangrove sink.



Monk picked up Habeas Corpus and swung him lustily by the long ears, much to the pig's squealing delight. Monk grinned, and the action lighted up his unbelievably homely face, making it very pleasant to look at.



There was a little light now from the stars. Ham was making a quick examination of the anesthetized victims of his sword cane.



They were of different races and colors -- and all wore loin cloths. Their necks were encircled with copper-studded collars made, seemingly, out of lizard hide.



A great blast of noise riveted Ham's attention. It was only Monk laughing.



"What's the matter, you hairy ape?" Ham demanded, suspiciously.



"I was thinkin' how you'd look in the costume of the country -- a loin cloth and a dog collar."



Ham bristled and gripped his sword cane tighter. "You wide-mouthed macaw -- " he began.



Pat silenced him with tight-lipped words. "If you want more fighting, save your strength," she said. "They're coming back."





A LOUD "plud" sounded in the wet sand near Ham's feet. In a second the air was filled with heavy missiles. Habeas Corpus squealed.



"They're heaving rocks!" Ham shouted.