Читать книгу Nameless River онлайн

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Nance Allison was a brave woman, but she was scared then.

She stood rooted to the spot and could not tear her eyes from the dog’s pale flaming orbs to look at the little creature which she knew was running with a flurry of rags and naked arms up along the cañon wall.

For a long moment they eyed each other, then, without other warning than a flicker of those flaming eyes, the Collie sprang.

He came high, sailing up and forward, his forepaws spread, his head thrust out and downward, his jaws gaping.

In the second that followed instinct acted in Nance, not reason. Instead of recoiling, she surged forward to meet the onslaught, her right arm raised before her like a horizontal bar.

The faded denim sleeve was down and buttoned at the wrist, where the gauntlet of her cheap leather glove made a cuff.

Into that gaping mouth went the arm, jamming hard, while she flung her left arm around the ruffed white throat like a clamp.

If she was surprised at her own instinctive and prompt action, the Collie was more so. Down on the sand went girl and dog, a rolling, tumbling bundle. In the half second which served to make the dog the victim instead of the attacking force, his outlook on the situation was completely changed. He had charged in a fury of rage. Now he fought frantically, but it was to free his mouth from the choking bar that filled it, to get his head out of the vice which held it. But Nance found herself in a dilemma, too. She was afraid to let go. As she rolled over in the struggle she cast desperate eyes up along the wall where she had seen the eerie small figure running in its rags. True enough, it was there, stopped, facing her, bent forward, its little hands clasped in a curiously old fashion of distress.