"Kenneth Robeson - Doc Savage 011 - Brand of the Werewolf" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robeson Kenneth)

mystery only an Indian could fathom. His beady black eyes refused sullenly to meet Patricia's gaze.

Patricia started to speak - then held back her words.

The eerie, banshee cries once more babbled from the gloomy brush outside the cabin. They were
unmistakably human now, appealing for succor.

Boat Face's ink-black eyes wavered. He took a. firmer grasp on a rifle which lay across his knees.

"I no go out," he muttered. "Rifle broke."

Patricia Savage suddenly seized Boat Face's rifle. She examined the mechanism, threw it to her shoulder,
and snapped it.

"You're lying!" she cried. "There's nothing wrong with this gun!"

"He heap big piker," grunted Tiny.

Boat Face's eyes rolled nervously.

"That noise - him werewolf," he mumbled.

"Nonsense!" Patricia said sharply. "There is no such animal!"

Boat Face did not seem convinced. "Your pa - if him alive, him no ask me go and see what make that
noise."

The words seemed to wash Patricia's rage away. She paled visibly. Even the fingers which held the rifle
tensed to whiteness.

"These sounds have something to do with the murder of my father!" she said shrilly

"Me no go outdoors," Boat Face mumbled. "You tie can on me, if you like. Me no go, anyway."

"I won't discharge you," Patricia told him in a weary voice. "after all, I won't ask you to do anything I
wouldn't do myself. You can stay here. I'll go out and investigate."

Tiny waddled over to a corner. She came back with a double-barrel shotgun and said stoically: "Me go,
too!"

"Thanks, Tiny," Patricia said gratefully. "But you and Boat Face stay here on guard."

Tiny nodded reluctantly. Boat Face looked much relieved.

PATRICIA moved into the cabin's large living room, and drew the shades carefully. Then she indicated
one of the uprights which formed a rustic support for the ceiling. This was a log over a foot thick, still
covered with natural bark,

"Guard that, especially," she said meaningly.