Отрывок из книги
FROM WHERE RANGER WALT SLADE, whom the Mexican peones of the Rio Grande river villages named El Halcón—The Hawk—sat his tall black horse, the vista was as of some raw planet in its earliest and wildest state, rather than of the homely earth.
Behind him were the silver mines of Shafter, and hidden trails frequented by smugglers and raiding bandit gangs. To the left, the rugged Cienaga Mountains. Mesquite, creosote, sagebrush, and bunch grass grew on the floor of the narrow valley of Cibolo Creek which he had traversed, with, higher up on the slopes, the eternal green of the piñon and juniper blending into the soft haze of thickets and oaks. Here the trail skirted the foothills of the Chinati Mountains to the west to drop over the cap rock.
.....
“Maybe old Jaggers Dunn, who runs the blasted C. & P. Railroad, brought him in,” Blount suggested. “He’s sure got the look of a professional gun-slinger.”
“Maybe, but I doubt it,” said Clate. “Dunn is a salty old cuss, but he never struck me as the sort that’d hire a paid gun to do his fighting for him.”
.....
