Robert Rinne

“The beef was stripped to the bones and the bones themselves carried off and vigas were dragged from the ruined buildings and piled onto the blaze. By now many of Glanton’s men were naked and lurching about and the judge soon had them dancing while he fiddled on a crude instrument he’d commandeered and the filthy hides of which they’d divested themselves smoked and stank and blackened in the flames and the red sparks rose like the souls of the small life they’d harbored.”
― Cormac McCarthy, Blood Meridian: Or the Evening Redness in the West