Tiger, Tiger. Philip Caveney

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ from within a flimsy wooden stockade, where several skinny cows had been herded for the night. They were quite settled at the moment, but occasionally one would stamp a foot or rub an irritating itch against the stockade, and at such times Haji would freeze, hugging the ground and gazing all around to ensure that no Upright had come out of his home to investigate.

      The moon was full and he could see quite plainly every detail of the village before him. Somewhere, hidden from his view, a dog yapped briefly and Haji licked his lips, for he had eaten dogs on several occasions and knew what tender morsels they were. But tonight he had fixed his sights on one of the occupants of the stockade, and nothing would dissuade him from his choice at this late stage. He crept nearer, placing his feet with delicate precision. His wounded forepaw had passed the point of pain and had lapsed into a semi-numbness, which he found even more irritating because it might cause him to act clumsily at a critical moment. Earlier that same day, it had caused him to stumble as he began to run at an unsuspecting wild pig. Haji had recovered quickly, but the mistake cost him precious moments and the pig had escaped by a hair’s breadth, plunging into the jungle with nothing more than a few claw marks across its rump.

      It was necessary now to cross a stretch of open ground flanked by houses, and he moved over it as fleet and silent as a shadow, until he was no more than a few yards from the stockade. Abruptly, the cows became aware that something was wrong. They snorted, began to mill around uncertainly in the centre of the small pen. There was little room for them to move and certainly nowhere for them to run to. Haji closed the final distance and took the five-foot fence in a single bound, coming over the top of it like a terrible striped shadow. He came down in the midst of the cattle and then all hell broke loose. Their eyes bulging in fear and lowing at the tops of their voices, the cows reeled away from him, their combined weight connecting with the flimsy fencing and shattering the roughly nailed wood. In the same instant, Haji selected his kill, a large leggy calf that was bawling frantically for its mother, and with one, well-aimed spring he had dragged the luckless infant into the dirt and was tearing at its throat. In a confusion of dust and legs and noise, the calf was slaughtered and then Haji was dragging it to the breach in the wall that the other cows were now spilling out of. In the kampong, oil lamps were being lit and the voices of nearby Uprights were shouting out in anger and surprise. For some reason, the cows’ panicked senses made them whirl around and come thundering back at Haji, whereupon he relinquished his hold on the calf’s throat and let out a blood-chilling roar that halted them in their tracks. They milled about again and lit out in another direction. Haji grabbed the still-quivering calf, jerked it around the edge of the stockade, but its legs became entangled in some lengths of fallen wood and wire and he was stuck for the moment. He became aware of Uprights emerging into the night, jabbering excitedly. With a snarl of rage, he took a firmer grip on the calf and heaved it with all his strength, tearing the carcass away and leaving one of its rear legs behind, neatly torn off at the knee. Then with a prodigious effort, he hefted the creature just clear of the ground and raced across the clearing.

      The kampong was now in pandemonium, shouts and curses spilling from every house. But to the bleary eyes of people stumbling from their beds, Haji was little more than a shadow, disappearing into the secondary jungle that bordered the village. The man who owned the calf quickly discovered his loss and began to exhort his friends into forming a rescue party. Hardly surprisingly, nobody seemed very keen on the idea of following the tiger into the jungle and anyway, they were more concerned with rounding up the other cattle and repairing the stockade. By the time anybody was organized enough to think of doing anything, Haji was half a mile away in the deepest jungle, enjoying a late but very satisfactory supper.

Chapter 9

      On Wednesdays, it was Harry’s custom to meet up with Dennis at the Officers’ Mess for a lunchtime drink. The ever-faithful trishaw driver would turn up at Harry’s doorstep around twelve o’clock and whisk him over to the barracks. No spoken agreement had ever been made about this. Harry was just grateful that he was saved the inconvenience of arranging transport on a weekly basis and he was careful to ensure that the old man was kept in a steady supply of cigars, which he evidently prized much more than extra money.

      On this particular morning, however, the trishaw was uncharacteristically late. It was twelve-thirty, and Harry was just beginning to think about walking out in search of a cab when he saw the old man pedalling wearily up to the garden gate. Harry hurried out of the house and was concerned to see that the driver looked rather ill. His thin face was more haggard than ever, his eyes were ringed with redness, and there was an overall weariness about him that suggested he was far from healthy.

      ‘Sorry for lateness, Tuan,’ he croaked.

      ‘Sorry nothing! You look terrible. Are you ill?’

      The old man shrugged. ‘It is nothing, Tuan … come, climb in. You are late …’

      Harry shook his head.

      ‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ he retorted. ‘You can’t drive me anywhere in that condition.’ He stepped forward and put his hand on the old man’s forehead. ‘Good lord, you’ve got a fever. You should be in bed.’

      ‘No, Tuan, I must work. Please, we go now, yes?’

      Harry frowned, thought for a moment. Then a solution occurred to him.

      ‘Here, come along, off the bike.’ He grasped the driver by the elbow and helped him down. ‘Now, you climb in,’ he insisted.

      ‘But Tuan … what …? Surely, you cannot …?’ Harry pushed him firmly but gently into the passenger seat and then climbed astride the bicycle.

      ‘Let me see now,’ he murmured. ‘There can’t be all that much to it …’

      ‘Tuan, you cannot do this! It is not proper,’ protested the driver, but Harry waved him to silence.

      Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

      Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

      Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

      Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.

/9j/4AAQSkZJRgABAgEBLAEsAAD/4QqpRXhpZgAASUkqAAgAAAAHABIBAwABAAAAAQAAABoBBQAB AAAAYgAAABsBBQABAAAAagAAACgBAwABAAAAAgAAADEBAgAcAAAAcgAAADIBAgAUAAAAjgAAAGmH BAABAAAApAAAANAAAADAxi0AECcAAMDGLQAQJwAAQWRvYmUgUGhvdG9zaG9wIENTMyBXaW5kb3dz ADIwMTU6MDQ6MTUgMDc6MDk6NDcAAAADAAGgAwABAAAA//8AAAKgBAABAAAADQIAAAOgBAABAAAA GwMAAAAAAAAAAAYAAwEDAAEAAAAGAAAAGgEFAAEAAAAeAQAAGwEFAAEAAAAmAQAAKAEDAAEAAAAC AAAAAQIEAAEAAAAuAQAAAgIEAAEAAABzCQAAAAAAAEgAAAABAAAASAAAAAEAAAD/2P/gABBKRklG AAECAABIAEgAAP/tAAxBZG9iZV9DTQAC/+4ADkFkb2JlAGSAAAAAAf/bAIQADAgICAkIDAkJDBEL CgsRFQ8MDA8VGBMTFRMTGBEMDAwMDAwRDAwMDAwMDAwMDAwMDAwMDAwMDAwMDAwMDAwMDAENCwsN Dg0QDg4QFA4ODhQUDg4ODhQRDAwMDAwREQwMDAwMDBEMDAwMDAwMDAwMDAwMDAwMDAwMDAwMDAwM DAwM/8AAEQgAoABqAwEiAAIRAQMRAf/dAAQAB//EAT8AAAEFAQEBAQEBAAAAAAAAAAMAAQIEBQYH CA СКАЧАТЬ