Читать книгу The Mysteries of the Shaman Stone - Иван Рассказов - Страница 6

At night I dreamed of wolves running next to me. Growling and grinning, we ran through the forest, and I was horrified to see wolf legs instead of my legs and arms, with which I deftly jumped over fallen trees and shrubs. This dream made me jump up and, apparently not fully awake, I took several steps through the winter hut until I ran into a table that was in the middle. Returning to my senses and eagerly drinking some water from the mug on the table, I could not get rid of the thought of what was a reality and what was merely a dream. At this moment, my eyes fell on my hands and my legs that were all covered in small scratches from the branches, while the palms were full of marks left by needles. What I saw almost made me faint. I need to ask Herman about all this, I thought and went to the river to wash myself. After that, there was breakfast and we left for taiga, right to the place where the bait was. As I walked, with each pass I took, my nightmare seemed more and more absurd to me, and in no time I forgot about everything. After three kilometers and having detected the smell of spoilt meat, Herman led us on a detour around the leeward side, so that the bear would not smell us. Having found the place from which the bait was clearly visible with binoculars and the rifle scope, we lay down, watching all the approaches to it, and began to wait. The bait hung on a very long branch of a huge tree, tied on a rope about three meters from the ground. Everything was done so that the predator could not get to the bait even in a jump and would walk around it until found by a hunter's bullet. Herman, giving Nikita a carbine, taking a knife and a walkie-talkie, decided to go to the bait to see if there are bear tracks. Watching him through the binoculars, I suddenly saw some movement on the side in the taiga. Peering into the bush, I felt that someone was watching us. Telling Herman about it over the walkie-talkie, again I began to observe the place where it seemed to me that: someone is there! “Well, there’s heaps of bear tracks here,” Herman replied over the walkie-talkie “I am coming back, keep your eyes open.” As soon as he began to move in our direction, some kind of animal, which was not clearly visible yet, but, judging by the outlines, it was very large, began to hurdle across from the side. The hunter felt the danger as well and asked Nikita over the walkie-talkie: as soon as the beast attacks, shoot to kill. “Why didn’t he take the rifle with him?” I only had time to think and a jarring shot form a carbine and then another one rang out next to me. I turned my head toward the place where I just saw the movement and saw a huge, supposedly five-year bear lying on its side, which was knocked down by two shots shot by Nikita right in the jump. The predator missed just a couple of meters to reach Herman, who had already begun to work with a knife, getting the very valuable and healing bile from the bear. So, while dressing the carcass, Herman discovered in its stomach the wire on which he hung the fish he had caught before to sundry it. The bear slurped it the day before, while Herman was on a fishing trip, having wreaked havoc in the cabin. “If I had some doubts before as to whether it is this bandit that paid me a visit, now I have no doubts,” he said aloud. Judging by the tracks, there is one more bear circling around in this area, a smaller one, and we still have time: we can sit in ambush for a few hours. Having made some fifty shots with the bear killed by Nikita and having made ourselves comfortable in the old place, we began eating the thick slices of lard with pickled cucumbers, drink strong tea with herbs from a vacuum flask and discuss the sudden appearance of the killed bear. For my Moscow friend Nikita, it was the first-ever trophy, and it was a bear, of all things. It was clearly visible how his eyes shone and how his chest was being filled with happiness and the opportunity to brag about it to his fellow journalists in Moscow. As for my own trophy – the skin of an enormous wolf – it was already the second day that I flaunted it, extending it and fixing it with nails over my headboard in the cabin. Suddenly, the dogs, that remained silent until that moment, began growling. The wool on the scruff of the hounds stood on end, and literally a minute later a flock of wolves jumped out and occupied the area where the killed bear lay. They began to sniff the lying animal, and one of them, lighter in color, jumped right on it and began to sniff the air around it, standing on its hind legs, apparently fearing those who killed such a formidable predator. Us, that is. When the wolves appeared, I was seized by a strange feeling of some kind of unity with them, and only with a great effort of will, restraining my inner desire to rush towards them, I resisted this act. What is going on with me? – and, without expecting it, I hit the barrel of Nikita’s rifle that was about to shoot. “No, don’t shoot,” I said and stood up right, brushing off the needles that stuck to my clothes during the long time I spent on the ground, watching the wolves run away into the taiga. Forty minutes later, loaded with bear meat, we returned to our hut. This is how another day in my life passed, away from all the benefits of civilization.