"Kenneth Robeson - Doc Savage 076 - The Flaming Falcons" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robeson Kenneth)

"Whew!" said Hobo Jones, and dropped the wrist.

It was his first contact with a dead man, and he suddenly had the almighty hope that it would be his last.
He went hot and cold. Sweat broke out.

"Gee!" he said.

He wanted to take another look at the dead man to see what could possibly have killed him, but he
couldnтАЩt bear to do it, and anyway, he knew that there was no mark on the corpse that would indicate a
demise as a result of external violence.

"Gosh!" said Hobo Jones, and felt the need of the clean desert air.

He had started for the door when he saw the skull-colored bird.



Chapter II. A GIRL HUNTING MOONDOGS
THE skull-colored bird was such a ghastly looking thing that Hobo Jones emitted a bleat of horror. It
was that bad. It wasтАФwell, the most hideous apparition it had ever been JonesтАЩ ill fortune to see.

The thing was about the size of a small goat. It was almost the same color as a goat, for that matter, and
for a moment, Hobo Jones thought it might be a goat. But a goat wouldnтАЩt be sitting perched on the back
of a chair in a corner. This thing was a bird. It was foul-looking.

Hobo Jones had seen buzzards, and hitherto considered them the vilest-looking things on earthтАФbut a
buzzard was as attractive as a love bird along this hobgoblin.

"Shoo!" Hobo Jones gulped involuntarily. "Shoo! Go away!"

The thing batted its eyes at him. It had eyes that were like little blisters full of blood, but the rest of it was
all one colorтАФthe hue of the skulls in doctorsтАЩ offices.

To top everything off, the bird smelled. It had an odor of indescribable vileness.

Longing for the open places seized Jones. He made a dash for the door, got it open, and piled outside. It
was dark, so dark that he stopped as if he had run up against a solid.

Turning around, he slammed the door. He didnтАЩt want that bird, whatever it was, following him.

The first impulse of Hobo Jones was to get out of the vicinity without delay, but then he decided to stick
around. He hooked more sweat off his forehead with a finger. There was a dead man inside the shack
camouflaged as a strawstack, and a hell hag of a bird, and Hobo JonesтАЩ stomach had a feeling as if it had
been given a dead cat by accident.

Why not telephone a sheriff? Good idea. Hobo Jones went looking for a telephone. There had plainly not
been one inside the strawstack shack. The electrified fence should have a gate, and there might be a
telephone at that point, so he searched for a gate.

It did not seem quite so dark, now that his eyes had accustomed themselves to the darkness. About a