Books with title Gunman's Reckoning Illustrated

For the first moment Donnegan was not sure; it was not until there was a slight faltering in the deal--an infinitely small hesitation which only a practiced eye like that of Donnegan's could have noticed--that he was sure. The winner was crooked. Yet the hand was interesting for all that. He had done the master trick, not only giving himself the winning hand but also giving each of the others a fine set of cards.

1 The fifty empty freights danced and rolled and rattled on the rough road bed and filled Jericho Pass with thunder; the big engine was laboring and grunting at the grade, but five cars back the noise of the locomotive was lost. Yet there is a way to talk above the noise of a freight train just as there is a way to whistle into the teeth of a stiff wind. This freight-car talk is pitched just above the ordinary tone—it is an overtone of conversation, one might say—and it is distinctly nasal. The brakie could talk above the racket, and so, of course, could Lefty Joe. They sat about in the center of the train, on the forward end of one of the cars. No matter how the train lurched and staggered over that fearful road bed, these two swayed in their places as easily and as safely as birds on swinging perches. The brakie had touched Lefty Joe for two dollars; he had secured fifty cents; and since the vigor of Lefty's oaths had convinced him that this was all the money the tramp had, the two now sat elbow to elbow and killed the distance with their talk. "It's like old times to have you here," said the brakie. "You used to play this line when you jumped from coast to coast." "Sure," said Lefty Joe, and he scowled at the mountains on either side of the pass. The train was gathering speed, and the peaks lurched eastward in a confused, ragged procession. "And a durned hard ride it's been many a time." "Kind of queer to see you," continued the brakie. "Heard you was rising in the world." He caught the face of the other with a rapid side glance, but Lefty Joe was sufficiently concealed by the dark. "Heard you were the main guy with a whole crowd behind you," went on the brakie. "Yeh?" "Sure. Heard you was riding the cushions, and all that." "Yeh?" "But I guess it was all bunk; here you are back again, anyway."

"It was time then for action, and Lefty Joe prepared for the descent into the home of the enemy. Let it not be thought that he approached this moment with a fallen heart, and with a cringing, snaky feeling as a man might be expected to feel when he approached to murder a sleeping foeman. For that was not Lefty's emotion at all. Rather he was overcome by a tremendous happiness. He could have sung with joy at the thought that he was about to rid himself of this pest."

The fifty empty freights danced and rolled and rattled on the rough road bed and filled Jericho Pass with thunder; the big engine was laboring and grunting at the grade, but five cars back the noise of the locomotive was lost. Yet there is a way to talk above the noise of a freight train just as there is a way to whistle into the teeth of a stiff wind. This freight-car talk is pitched just above the ordinary tone—it is an overtone of conversation, one might say—and it is distinctly nasal. The brakie could talk above the racket, and so, of course, could Lefty Joe. They sat about in the center of the train, on the forward end of one of the cars. No matter how the train lurched and staggered over that fearful road bed, these two swayed in their places as easily and as safely as birds on swinging perches. The brakie had touched Lefty Joe for two dollars; he had secured fifty cents; and since the vigor of Lefty's oaths had convinced him that this was all the money the tramp had, the two now sat elbow to elbow and killed the distance with their talk. "It's like old times to have you here," said the brakie. "You used to play this line when you jumped from coast to coast." "Sure," said Lefty Joe, and he scowled at the mountains on either side of the pass. The train was gathering speed, and the peaks lurched eastward in a confused, ragged procession. "And a durned hard ride it's been many a time."

The fifty empty freights danced and rolled and rattled on the rough road bed and filled Jericho Pass with thunder; the big engine was laboring and grunting at the grade, but five cars back the noise of the locomotive was lost. Yet there is a way to talk above the noise of a freight train just as there is a way to whistle into the teeth of a stiff wind. This freight-car talk is pitched just above the ordinary tone—it is an overtone of conversation, one might say—and it is distinctly nasal. The brakie could talk above the racket, and so, of course, could Lefty Joe. They sat about in the center of the train, on the forward end of one of the cars. No matter how the train lurched and staggered over that fearful road bed, these two swayed in their places as easily and as safely as birds on swinging perches. The brakie had touched Lefty Joe for two dollars; he had secured fifty cents; and since the vigor of Lefty's oaths had convinced him that this was all the money the tramp had, the two now sat elbow to elbow and killed the distance with their talk.

For the first moment Donnegan was not sure; it was not until there was a slight faltering in the deal--an infinitely small hesitation which only a practiced eye like that of Donnegan's could have noticed--that he was sure. The winner was crooked. Yet the hand was interesting for all that. He had done the master trick, not only giving himself the winning hand but also giving each of the others a fine set of cards.

Why buy our paperbacks? Printed in USA on High Quality Paper Standard Font size of 10 for all books Fulfilled by Amazon Expedited shipping 30 Days Money Back Guarantee Unabridged (100% Original content) BEWARE OF LOW-QUALITY SELLERS Don't buy cheap paperbacks just to save a few dollars. Most of them use low-quality papers & binding. Their pages fall off easily. Some of them even use very small font size of 6 or less to increase their profit margin. It makes their books completely unreadable. About Gunman's Reckoning: By Max Brand A gunman agrees to do a rich man’s dirty work in this classic Western from one of the genre’s early masters. Donnegan is not proud of his past. But when words ran dry and matters could only be settled with a gun, he never hesitated to make things right. Now fate has led him to The Corner, a wide-open gold-mining town in the valley where two rivers join. An invalid by the name of Colonel Macon wants Donnegan to settle a long-standing land claim that’s been taken over by outlaws. Charmed by the colonel’s beautiful daughter, the gunman agrees. But nothing is as it seems in The Corner, where the line separating good from evil is so badly blurred it might not be there at all. A contemporary of Zane Grey and a major influence on Louis L’Amour, Max Brand was a true master of the Western. Gunman’s Reckoning is a fine example of the moral complexity, fluid prose, and nonstop action that defines the best of his work.

Solitary, mysterious figure Donnegan is on the run from his past. The last thing he has time for is love. But like all matters of the heart, sometimes emotions bloom when they are least convenient -- as they do the first time Donnegan encounters the kind, free-spirited Lou Macon. Do they have a shot at a happy life somewhere -- or are Donnegan's misdeeds bound to catch up with them?

For the first moment Donnegan was not sure; it was not until there was a slight faltering in the deal--an infinitely small hesitation which only a practiced eye like that of Donnegan's could have noticed--that he was sure. The winner was crooked. Yet the hand was interesting for all that. He had done the master trick, not only giving himself the winning hand but also giving each of the others a fine set of cards.

How is this book unique?Unabridged (100% Original content)Formatted for e-readerFont adjustments & biography includedIllustratedA gunman agrees to do a rich man’s dirty work in this classic Western from one of the genre’s early masters. Donnegan is not proud of his past. But when words ran dry and matters could only be settled with a gun, he never hesitated to make things right. Now fate has led him to The Corner, a wide-open gold-mining town in the valley where two rivers join. An invalid by the name of Colonel Macon wants Donnegan to settle a long-standing land claim that’s been taken over by outlaws. Charmed by the colonel’s beautiful daughter, the gunman agrees. But nothing is as it seems in The Corner, where the line separating good from evil is so badly blurred it might not be there at all. A contemporary of Zane Grey and a major influence on Louis L’Amour, Max Brand was a true master of the Western. Gunman’s Reckoning is a fine example of the moral complexity, fluid prose, and nonstop action that defines the best of his work.

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