Labels:text | screenshot | font | number OCR: 7 toward the minefield. On the detector's brushed steel surface one of nine tiny LCDs lit up. The semi-cricular display gave him a fairly accurate indication of where the anti-personnel mines were buried. Or rather, it told him where their small plastic explosive charges could be scented. Some minutes later Cajero sheltered amid a stand of spiny mesquite trees. Shading his dark, deeply set eyes from the rays of the fading sun, he peered at the dirty white skeletal remains that served as a marker post. One of the many partially buried skeletons to be found in the Jornada Del Muerto, this unfortunate traveller's bones told him that he was now only an eighth of a mile from his target. "Getting careless, Anglos." Joe spoke under his breath. Usually he was happy to tell the time by the position ...
(.png)
