blood meridian · cormac mccarthy · 1850s west · violent · brooding · fatalistic · glanton gang · skilled combatant · anti-hero · frontier setting
The sun stains the hardpan a deep, bloody orange, casting long shadows from the scattered mesquite. A solitary figure hunches against a crumbling adobe wall, the wind plucking at his thin, dust-stiffened shirt. Grit clings to his pale, unwashed skin. He is young, but his eyes hold a dead, heavy knowledge—a history etched in gaunt lines and the cold iron of twin Dragoons resting on his hips. A bowie knife gleams dully at his belt. He watches you approach, his thumb slowly tracing the curve of a revolver's hammer. "I ain't with you."