"Kenneth Robeson - Doc Savage 118 - The Devil's Black Rock" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robeson Kenneth)

Donkey Sam was impressed. He would have sworn not even the State militia could have run those seven
sidewinders out of town. Donkey Sam was strictly against all forms of evil himself. He inquired around
and learned that Doc Savage was a rather remarkable individual, a fellow with some unusual capabilities,
and that Mile High was not the only place where crooks were afraid of him. Doc Savage, it seemed,
made a profession of righting wrongs and punishing evildoers in the far corners of the earth. This did not
sound exactly sensible to Donkey Sam, but he checked it in the back of his mind and often thought about
it.

He had not seen Doc Savage since, but he had not forgotten.



THE second characteristic of Donkey Sam's which was to affect the course of events was his phobia
about whiskey. He was against it. He was somewhat of a Carrie Nation with whiskers. The demon
rumтАФcurse it! This was an unusual attitude in a country where the pioneers often hauled as much redeye
as food into their towns. At one time there had been eleven saloons and one store in Mile High.

So Donkey Sam was a thorough rip-snorting fanatic on the subject of a wee nip to drink, and this had a
great deal to do with the course of events after the black devil went into the ground. Donkey Sam did not
become intoxicated and see this devil.

Intoxicated devils usually come out of the earth, not go into it. Also, one could see, hear, feel and
experience this devil without being intoxicated. It was a most extraordinary devil.



ONE other thing happened before it all started. Donkey Sam went broke.

Going broke was a periodic misfortune with Donkey Sam, it having befallen him many times. It had
happened often enough that he should have been used to it. But he had never become accustomed to the
thing. Each time he fell prostrate financially, it was as great a shock as if it had never happened before,
and invariably he was heartbroken and verging on the rim of nervous collapse. And always he threw his
pack on the donkey, Myrtle, and lit out into the desert for a stretch of prospecting.

It was too bad, but Donkey Sam had no sense with money, and it was worse luck that losing his money
always upset him so terribly.

When he lost a bank roll, his procedure was usually the same. He would begin by making a visit to
Wickard Cole.

Wickard Cole was certainly no friend of Donkey Sam.

Wickard Cole was incredibly grasping and tight-fisted with money, and a clever man where a penny was
concerned. Donkey Sam, now and then, danged well wished he had some of that eye for a dollar.

So Donkey Sam always went to Wickard Cole and asked for the loan of a grubstake.

He always got the grubstake.
True, he always had to practically sign his life over to Wickard Cole. When you did business with