Read Online Spacepaw by Gordon R. Dickson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Gordon R. Dickson
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after talking to—ah—Dirty Teeth, we decided—that is, I decided—to get back to the village tonight.”
“And why not?” trumpeted the Bluffer, in something very like a challenging tone of voice.
“No reason at all,” said Bone Breaker mildly. “Take all the time you want. Come on, the two of you, arid I’ll see the gate opened and both of you let out.”
The outlaw chief headed off toward the end of the valley where the wall and the gates were. The Hill Bluffer absently started after him, and Bill was forced to run in an undignified fashion after the Dilbian postman and jerked at the belt of his harness in order to alert the Bluffer to the fact that Bill could not keep up with his strides.
“Oh?—sorry, Pick-and-Shovel,” chuckled the Bluffer, as if his attention had wandered. He paused to scoop up Bill in his two big paws and plump him down in the saddle on his back. “You kind of slipped my mind for the moment … are you all set, up there?”
Bill replied in the affirmative and the Hill Bluffer once more started off after the Bone Breaker.
For the first time, Bill began to realize what kind of favor the Bone Breaker was doing by letting him out after hours. Opening the gate was far from a simple procedure. First the guards had to find torches of resinous wood and light them. Then with the help of Bone Breaker and the Hill Bluffer they removed two heavy cross-beams from the inner side of the gates. Finally, with a great deal of heaving, puffing, and shoving, the gates were forced to rumble open, squeaking and roaring as they each traversed on a sort of millstone arrangement, with one round wooden wheel rotating upon the flat surface of another. At last, however, the gates stood open.
“Well, good night and good traveling, Bluffer. You too, Pick-and-Shovel,” said Bone Breaker.
Bill and the Bluffer returned the good night, and the Bluffer headed out into the patch of outer darkness beyond the gates and the reach of the flickering torches. As that darkness swallowed them up, Bill could hear the gates once more rumbling shut on the millwheel-like arrangement behind them, and over this rode a powerful shout, which could only have come from the lungs of Bone Breaker.
“Remember, Pick-and-Shovel!” he heard. “In the daylight!”
“What’s the matter, Pick-and-Shovel,” growled the Bluffer underneath Bill. “Aren’t you going to promise him?”
“Oh—” said Bill, startled. He raised up in his stirrups, turned his head, and shouted back as loudly as he could. “I promise—by daylight, Bone Breaker!”
The Bluffer chuckled. Behind them, Bill could see the outlaw chief nodding in satisfaction. Bill turned his head back toward the front, and sank down into his saddle, adjusting himself to the sway and plunge of the big body of the Hill Bluffer, striding beneath him. The lanky Dilbian postman said nothing except to chuckle once or twice to himself. Since Bill was too tired to inquire what the joke was, neither one of them said anything further, until they were once more treading the main street of Muddy Nose Village and the Residency loomed before them in the moonlight.
“All right, light down here,” said the Bluffer, stopping abruptly before the Residency’s front door. Bill complied.
“Are you staying here—” Bill began, but the Bluffer was ahead of him.
“I’m off down to the Village Inn, myself,” the Dilbian replied. “If you want me, that’s where you’ll find me—from now until dawn, that is,” grumbled the Hill Bluffer.
“Well—ah—I’ll probably have lots of things to keep me busy early in the morning here—”
“You can say that, all right!” interrupted the Bluffer. “They say this blacksmith called Flat Fingers, here in the village, is a pretty good workman, but it’s my guess you’re going to have to stand over him all the time he’s at it. Well, I’ll stand there right beside you. We’ll mosey up to his forge tomorrow morning and see what kind
“And why not?” trumpeted the Bluffer, in something very like a challenging tone of voice.
“No reason at all,” said Bone Breaker mildly. “Take all the time you want. Come on, the two of you, arid I’ll see the gate opened and both of you let out.”
The outlaw chief headed off toward the end of the valley where the wall and the gates were. The Hill Bluffer absently started after him, and Bill was forced to run in an undignified fashion after the Dilbian postman and jerked at the belt of his harness in order to alert the Bluffer to the fact that Bill could not keep up with his strides.
“Oh?—sorry, Pick-and-Shovel,” chuckled the Bluffer, as if his attention had wandered. He paused to scoop up Bill in his two big paws and plump him down in the saddle on his back. “You kind of slipped my mind for the moment … are you all set, up there?”
Bill replied in the affirmative and the Hill Bluffer once more started off after the Bone Breaker.
For the first time, Bill began to realize what kind of favor the Bone Breaker was doing by letting him out after hours. Opening the gate was far from a simple procedure. First the guards had to find torches of resinous wood and light them. Then with the help of Bone Breaker and the Hill Bluffer they removed two heavy cross-beams from the inner side of the gates. Finally, with a great deal of heaving, puffing, and shoving, the gates were forced to rumble open, squeaking and roaring as they each traversed on a sort of millstone arrangement, with one round wooden wheel rotating upon the flat surface of another. At last, however, the gates stood open.
“Well, good night and good traveling, Bluffer. You too, Pick-and-Shovel,” said Bone Breaker.
Bill and the Bluffer returned the good night, and the Bluffer headed out into the patch of outer darkness beyond the gates and the reach of the flickering torches. As that darkness swallowed them up, Bill could hear the gates once more rumbling shut on the millwheel-like arrangement behind them, and over this rode a powerful shout, which could only have come from the lungs of Bone Breaker.
“Remember, Pick-and-Shovel!” he heard. “In the daylight!”
“What’s the matter, Pick-and-Shovel,” growled the Bluffer underneath Bill. “Aren’t you going to promise him?”
“Oh—” said Bill, startled. He raised up in his stirrups, turned his head, and shouted back as loudly as he could. “I promise—by daylight, Bone Breaker!”
The Bluffer chuckled. Behind them, Bill could see the outlaw chief nodding in satisfaction. Bill turned his head back toward the front, and sank down into his saddle, adjusting himself to the sway and plunge of the big body of the Hill Bluffer, striding beneath him. The lanky Dilbian postman said nothing except to chuckle once or twice to himself. Since Bill was too tired to inquire what the joke was, neither one of them said anything further, until they were once more treading the main street of Muddy Nose Village and the Residency loomed before them in the moonlight.
“All right, light down here,” said the Bluffer, stopping abruptly before the Residency’s front door. Bill complied.
“Are you staying here—” Bill began, but the Bluffer was ahead of him.
“I’m off down to the Village Inn, myself,” the Dilbian replied. “If you want me, that’s where you’ll find me—from now until dawn, that is,” grumbled the Hill Bluffer.
“Well—ah—I’ll probably have lots of things to keep me busy early in the morning here—”
“You can say that, all right!” interrupted the Bluffer. “They say this blacksmith called Flat Fingers, here in the village, is a pretty good workman, but it’s my guess you’re going to have to stand over him all the time he’s at it. Well, I’ll stand there right beside you. We’ll mosey up to his forge tomorrow morning and see what kind
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