Born to Run [antikvár]

CHAPTER 1To live with ghosts requires solitude. Anne Michaels, Fugitive PiecesFOR DAYS, I'd been searching Mexico's Sierra Madre for the phantom known as Caballo Blancothe White Horse. I'd finally arrived at the end of the trail, in the last place I expected to find himnot deep in the wilderness he was said to haunt, but in the dim lobby of an old hotel on the edge of a dusty desert town.''Si, El Caballo está" the desk clerk said, nodding. Yes, the Horse is here."For real?" After hearing that Yd just missed him so many times, in so many bizarre locations, I'd begun to suspect that Caballo Blanco was nothing more than a fairy tale, a local Loch Ness monstruo dreamed up to spook the kids and fool gullible gringos."He's always back by five," the clerk added. "It's like a ritual."I didn't know whether to hug her in relief or high-five her in triumph. I checked my watch. That meant I'd actually lay eyes on the ghost in less than . hang on."But it's already after six."The clerk shrugged. "Maybe he's gone away."I sagged into an ancient sofa. I was filthy, famished, and defeated. I was exhausted, and so were my leads.Some said Caballo Blanco was a fugitive; others heard he was a boxer who'd run off to punish himself after beating a man to death in the ring. No one knew his name, or age, or where he was from. He