Red earth. Saguaros. Sonoran hills. Lawless and I ride through it all, until, rising out of the desert like an oasis, we reach the familiar wood-hewn gates and bunkhouse of El Toro Ranch. No green pastures, no jagged mountains at El Toro Ranch. Just red dirt, dust, and tumbleweeds. The days here move like molasses, and the air is hotter than hell. The perfect place to hide out from the world.
