Staring Down the Devil (A Lou Prophet Western #5)
“The Cossack looked part gambler, part mountain man in his dark cotton shirt, black denims, and boot moccasins. He wore a broad-brimmed Western hat he’d bought in Denver. Characteristically ostentatious, he’d knotted a black kerchief around his neck and secured it with a gold ring.
He had rented a tall buckskin in whose eyes he claimed he saw “hellfire,”
adding that every good Cossack warrior rode a mount with the fires of hell in its eyes.
Prophet glanced over at the horse’s eyes. “That might just be gas.”
Following Henry’s directions, they followed the pale ribbon of road through the quiet, purple desert, threading their way through a deep valley between jagged, rocky peaks. A coyote yammered from a nearby scarp. The bald, toothy ridges loomed blackly to their right and left, capped by brilliant starlight. Occasional explosions, dynamite detonated by the miners, echoed in the north.
They drifted off the trail when they heard an ore wagon approach from the north, groaning and creaking..., the driver cursing and popping a bullwhip over the backs of the four-mule team.MoreLess
He had rented a tall buckskin in whose eyes he claimed he saw “hellfire,”
adding that every good Cossack warrior rode a mount with the fires of hell in its eyes.
Prophet glanced over at the horse’s eyes. “That might just be gas.”
Following Henry’s directions, they followed the pale ribbon of road through the quiet, purple desert, threading their way through a deep valley between jagged, rocky peaks. A coyote yammered from a nearby scarp. The bald, toothy ridges loomed blackly to their right and left, capped by brilliant starlight. Occasional explosions, dynamite detonated by the miners, echoed in the north.
They drifted off the trail when they heard an ore wagon approach from the north, groaning and creaking..., the driver cursing and popping a bullwhip over the backs of the four-mule team.MoreLess
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