He rode a mule. He was middling tall, middling
spare, middling young. He wore a soft dark curly beard. His bedroll was one thready
army blanket, wound round a coffee can, tin cup, plate, razor, camp ax, Bible,
copy of the Rubaiyat, a mouth harp, some other few treasures of like necessity
in the wilderness.
This is one odd tale. On one hand, our stranger is an unusually competent
and confident greenhorn whose adventures and calm cool nature in the face of opposition
are a delight.
On the other, well, I don’t want to spoil this one for those who plan
on reading. Allow me to say the resolution of this stranger’s identity is like
nothing I’ve encountered in the genre before.
I’m not sure I’m fully on board for the “reveal” but I’d be a liar if
I said I didn’t enjoy the journey to that point.
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