"Gene Wolfe - The Ziggurat" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wolfe Gene)

Emery knelt, lifting the snow-burdened limbs that blocked his view of the cabin.
Two small, dark figures were emerging from the cabin door onto the porch, scarcely
visible through the falling snow. The first carried his ax, the second his rifle.
He stood, waving the flashlight. "Hey! You there!"
The one holding his rifle raised it, not putting it to his shoulder properly but acting
much too quickly for Emery to duck. The flat crack of the shot sounded clearly, snow
or no snow.
He tried to dodge, slipped, and fell to the soft snow.
"Too late," he told himself. And then, "Going to do it for me." And last, "Better
stay down in case he shoots again." The cold air was like chilled wine, the snow he
lay in lovely beyond imagining. Drawing back his coat sleeve, he consulted his
watch, resolving to wait ten minutes -- to risk nothing.
They were robbing his cabin, obviously. Had robbed it, in fact, while he had been
climbing through the pines. Had fired, in all probability, merely to keep him away
long enough for them to leave. Mentally, he inventoried the cabin. Besides the rifle,
there had not been a lot worth stealing -- his food and a few tools; they might take his
Jeep if they could figure out how to hot-wire the ignition, and that was pretty easy on
those old Jeeps.
His money was in his wallet, his wallet in the hip pocket of his hunting trousers.
His watch -- a plastic sports watch hardly worth stealing -- was on his wrist. His
checkbook had been in the table drawer; they might steal that and forge his checks,
possibly. They might even be caught when they tried to cash them.
Retrieving his flashlight; he lifted the limbs as he had before. The intruders were
not in sight, the door of the cabin half open, his Jeep still parked next to the north
wall, its red paint showing faintly through snow.
He glanced at his watch. One minute had passed, perhaps a minute and a half.
They would have to have a vehicle of some kind, one with four-wheel drive if they
didn't want to be stranded with their loot on a back road. Since he had not heard it
start up, they had probably left the engine running. Even so, he decided, he should
have heard it pull away.
Had they parked some distance off and approached his cabin on foot? Now that he
came to think of it, it seemed possible they had no vehicle after all. Two boys
camping in the snow, confident that he would be unable to follow them to their tent,
or whatever it was. Wasn't there a Boy Scout badge for winter camping? He had never
been a Scout, but thought he remembered hearing about one, and found it plausible.
Still no one visible. He let the branches droop again.
The rifle was not really much of a loss, though its theft had better be reported to
the sheriff. He had not planned on shooting anyway -- had been worried, as a matter
of fact, that the twins might get it down and do something foolish, although both had
shot at tin cans and steel silhouettes with it before he and Jan had agreed to separate.
Now, with his rifle gone, he could not...
Neither had been particularly attracted to it; and their having handled and fired it
already should have satisfied the natural curiosity that resulted in so many accidents
each year. They had learned to shoot to please him, and stopped as soon as he had
stopped urging them to learn.
Four minutes, possibly five. He raised the pine boughs once more, hearing the
muted growl of an engine; for a second or two he held his breath. The Jeep or Bronco
or whatever it was, was coming closer, not leaving. Was it possible that the thieves
were coming back? Returning with a truck to empty his cabin?
Jan's big black Lincoln hove into view, roared down the gentle foothill slope on