There’s lots of things I don’t understand about the white man and one of them is his strange attachment to his hat. Most men would rather lose their pants than their hat. They’re also oddly honorable when it comes to hats. The same man who will shoot you for looking at him cross-eyed, or gut you for a pinch of gold dust, will treat your hat like it’s a sacred object.
Which is why I’m not too surprised when, just before we ride out, someone picks my hat up and jams it down on my head. I find it oddly reassuring. I’m going to be hanged, but at least I’ve got my hat.
Maybe I’m starting to catch on.
Continue reading “Ace Lone Wolf and the Lost Temple of Totec – Chapter 7”