I, Jack Swilling: Founder of Phoenix, Arizona (Prologue Books)

Yesterday I was delirious, and the day before that, or several before that. Tonight, though, I seem to be aware of everything I{u2019}ve ever known . . . . It{u2019}s dark, double dark because of the mist that August steams from the Colorado. Yet I can see almost very place I{u2019}ve ever been . . . All the men I liked are having drinks with me or yarning around campfires scattered from the Appalachians to the Pacific Coast. All the enemies I{u2019}ve fought are visible beyond the muxxles of guns or the points of knives . . . All of the women I{u2019}ve wigwamed with, including the two who demanded the law{u2019}s blessing, are either smiling or showing they wished they never met me . . . But I could never really belong to civilization, for once I hand helped to create it, I yearned for a place on which it hadn{u2019}t laid an ordering hand