All the rest are dead or in prison. Except maybe some lady friends.” In a night too dark to see dirt, Sam Fortune stooped at the waist and tried to catch his breath. The prairie dirt radiated a stifling heat and masked the normal aroma of scattered sage. A lineup of past acquaintances paraded across his mind. T-Bow: gunned down in a Chinese chophouse in Wichita. Grant: ambushed by a posse while trying to cross the Red River. Elmer Red: knifed in the Signal Mountains along Wildhorse Creek. Whitey and Harmon: hung by Judge Parker. And the rest . . . rotting in some jail, someplace. Sam stood up straight. He couldn’t see the man’s straight, black hair that hung well past his shoulder, or his ragged duckings, or his dirty, black felt, wide-brimmed hat, but he could hear him gasp for breath. “I can’t for the life of me figure out how you lasted so long, Kiowa,” Sam panted. “Devilishly good looks and a superior brain,”
What do You think about The Long Trail Home (2001)?
