an unrunnable gorge

In 1928, on the verge of moving into his pseudo-English mansion on Long Island's North Shore, Cantor was in a state of reflective happiness.

[…]he got the drop on Cox, the only time I had seen or heard of its being done — had his pistol out and stuck in Cox's face before Cox could bat an eyelid.

Having both sides through grypt with griesly wound