Hackberry Holland roars through Mexico searching for his estranged sun, killing and sort of wisecracking and making friends in his inimitable way. He sets fire to a hearse full of guns but not before relieving it of a curious religious artifact. There's an Austrian arms dealer who wants it back, but meanwhile Hack's son goes to war and his wife and his ex-sweetheart - no the same person - and a bordello madame he met in Mexico are all on a kind of collision course, a frantic tug-of-war over the injured and disoriented son, and this is quite possibly the maddest Burke I've ever read, probably because the character of Hackberry lends himself to demented and violent and highly illogical adventures with rumbling spiritual undertones. It's quite the romp, actually, though full of familiar Burkisms of tortured macho souls driven by demons but hoping for redemption, trying to do the right thing almost always the wrong way. Satisfying stuff.