Mesilla, Robert James Russell Release Date: September 2015
1863, New Mexico Territory. Shot full of holes and on the run from the relentless pursuit of his one-time friend now intent on retribution, Confederate deserter Everett Root finds himself navigating the brutal desert headed to the town of Mesilla, where he believes salvation lies. But when Everett stumbles on a cache of silver, and a young girl who’s lost everything, he is forced to take stock of his past and his future. Full of sprawling landscapes and wild gunmen, Mesilla is a story of one man’s resolve to rectify the wrongs he has committed and make peace with his place in the world.
“In a mounting gush of sumptuous prose, Robert James Russell’s Mesilla scrubs bare the elements of the classic Western—the wounded, questing hero, the damsel in distress, the phantasmal villain in hot pursuit—and reinvents them as existential meditation.”—Matthew Gavin Frank
“Robert James Russel’s MESILLA reads like young James Lee Burke–action so sharp readers might as well pull their fingers from the page looking for blood. A fine story of revenge in the old west, salvation hoped for, but not easily achieved.” —Urban Waite, author of The Terror of Living and Sometimes the Wolf
“If Albert Camus had written westerns, they might have sounded something like Robert James Russel’s MESILLA. Tough as rawhide, coiled like a diamond back, and spare as the New Mexico desert, this taut novel is as loaded as the Dance revolver its wounded hero wields. Russell is a writer on the rise, with a voice and vision sure to entrance every reader who lays eyes on this book. I’m already pinning away for his next one.” —Peter Geye, author of The Lighthouse Road
“A shotgun marriage between classic and revisionist Western, Mesilla sings a hard-bitten practicality and brutal authenticity.” —Emily Schultz, author of The Blondes
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Robert James Russell New Mexico Territory, 1863
A Discovery Made Deep in the coyote hole Everett Root stood alert with the dented Dance revolver in his blistered hand and breathed heavy as he studied the body hunched over at the end of the tunnel. He waited, candles nearly extinguished and casting long shadows on the rock, and sniffed: no sulfur hanging in the air. No shots fired recently. Everett rolled the revolver around his index finger and holstered it as if he were some dashing and wily roughrider that had been wrangled into a Wild West Show. He coughed a bit then set his eyes on the heaped body again, scratching his chin. The ache in his leg gathered up again like a fist and he snorted out a dollop of snot from his nostrils. He walked toward the body slow, dragging his hurt leg along the twin timber planks that bridged across the mud and wet recessed puddles in the rock. He braced himself along
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Mesilla release date of September 2015