The Sons of Grady Rourke
“Their steak dinner and their steak breakfast did not keep them warm during the short ride to town. Scarves of coarse wool held their sweat-stained hats down over their ears. Riding with their heads down against the wind, the Rourkes had to squint their eyes within the shadows cast by the hats’ wide felt brims. An all-night feast of clean hay and rolled oats found in the barn put the light back into the black eyes of each rider's horse. Oats burn slowly inside a horse, and each animal carried hi...s feet high as their warm bellies and thick winter coats kept the mounts comfortable under the bright midmorning sun. The men felt the confidence of their heavy Colt Peacemakers rubbing against their hips beneath their fur trail dusters. The sun glinted off the riders’ spurs.
Riding slowly eastward, the brothers followed Lincoln's only dirt road. The hamlet was nothing more than a single row of wind-burned and sun-bleached adobe structures on each side of the street, 5750 feet above sea level.MoreLess
Riding slowly eastward, the brothers followed Lincoln's only dirt road. The hamlet was nothing more than a single row of wind-burned and sun-bleached adobe structures on each side of the street, 5750 feet above sea level.MoreLess
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