Blood Money and Other Stories
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Before he brilliantly traversed the gritty landscapes of underworld Detroit and Miami, the incomparable Elmore Leonard wrote breathtaking adventures set in America's nineteenth-century western frontier—elevating a popular genre with his now-trademark twisting plots, rich characterizations, and scalpel-sharp dialogue.
For every story of inspiring moral courage in America's untamed West, there's one of greed and duplicity, of corrupted souls willingly sacrificed to a merciless deity of ill-gotten gold. The New York Times-bestselling Grand Master brings us seven unforgettable western tales of noble stands and cowardly compromises—and battles of will more devastating than a blazing gunfight.
on, bringing a Sharps to his shoulder when Towner raised his handgun and fired. The face disappeared in a crimson flash, and for a split second a picture of Sinsonte passed through his mind. He stared between the rocks where the painted face had been. He saw it still. Gordon Towner had killed his first man…and sometimes it will do something to you. Cline called over, “Good shootin’, mister.” But Towner didn’t hear. He was squeezing off on another creeping shadow. He had been baptized. They were
“I’ll tip him something,” Tobin grinned. He looked at Lefton again. “One hand’s as good as two for rubbing down a horse, ain’t it?” Lefton hesitated. Before he could answer Tobin’s quirt came down cracking against the bar edge and Lefton went back half a step. “You’re not much for answering questions, are you?” Lefton’s eyes raised momentarily. “I’ll tend to your horse.” Tobin grinned. “I want to ask you something else.” He waited to make Lefton speak. “All right,” Lefton said. “Where did
squinting into the darkness. Then one of the outlaws made a noise like a deep sigh. It was a moan and an exclamation. Somebody said, “Oh, God!” and another man cursed, but it sounded like a prayer, for there was a plea in it. On the outer rim they saw the hazy shapes of the wickiups and on four sides of them they looked down into the faces of Mescalero Apaches. Kleecan had led them into the middle of Pondichay’s rancheria. The scout still sat his mare, but he was beyond the circle of Apaches.
little war with the Mexicans and have to keep their supplies up. Everybody’d just as soon they never come back. They got some good leaders…Chatto, Nachez, old Nana and Loco. And now I hear about an upstart medicine man who’s gainin’ influence. Name’s Geronimo. I’d bet the bucks over in that canyon are part of that band.” An hour after sundown, Lieutenant Towner was still sitting at the edge of the pines, repeatedly shifting from one position to another on the sandy ground. Pine-tree shadows
hours before. From the ledge where they stood, a narrow defile slashed into the mountainside, its rock-wall sides rising over a hundred feet. The trail twisted from view thirty-odd yards ahead. Cline said, “You never see the end of this one until you’re there. She bends around so much.” Towner studied the approach. “You followed it before?” “A few years back, but I don’t look forward to walkin’ down that aisle not knowin’ who I’m goin’ to meet.” He looked around restlessly. “It beats me where