Every word in this book seems to be chosen just perfectly. The writing is simple yet evocative and the characters are unforgettable, especially the leads Gus and Call, aging ex-Texas Rangers who engage in a slightly Quixotic cattle drive from the Rio Grande to semi-mythical Montana.

But the tone not so consistent. A chapter of McMurtry’s irascible cowpokes exchanging wit will be followed by brutal sexual assault, then a passage of high adventure will lead to a shocking description of violence reminiscent of Blood Meridian (or perhaps Bone Tomahawk).

And while the cowpokes of the story are shown with depth and humor, nobody else is. In particular the Indians are either remorseless superhuman savages or pathetic criminals waiting around to be slaughtered.

And slaughtered they are. It’s hard to square the wry iconoclasts that Gus and Call start as with the Terminator-like killing machines they become when they interact with Indians. They also beat people severely for minor insults and hang whoever they feel deserves it according to their own unwritten moral code.

The ultraviolence stands out even more because the rest of the adventure is so captivating. McMurtry transported me to the semi-fantastic time of the frontier, when brave men (or Terminators) carved a path in front of advancing Western society.

He’s clearly fictionalizing the period in the same way that American writers have since the period itself, but I can’t deny that the mythic grandeur of the style really grabs me and McMurtry’s writing is wonderful. I just wish that he had acknowledged that maybe a world where strong men with guns decide what’s right or wrong and who lives or dies might not be so great an ideal.