"Let's get off here." Quickly I zip myself back into my jeans and soon we're exiting the bus. We start to run into the park, kind of giddy, like happy...c***dren. It's dusk and the park is pretty empty. I spot a nice place on a hill where there's a quiet corner surrounded by bushes. "There," I say and point. Within a couple of minutes, we're there. Since we didn't plan this, we don't have a blanket or anything. I lay down my sweater for her to sit on. I take a seat beside her on the grass. Soon,. Beneath the blanket, in his lap, lay a freshly oiled Smith & Wesson Russian and, along his right leg, a Winchester carbine. His speckled horse raised its ears and looked toward the trail. The mule, half deaf, went on dozing. The strange horse stopped. The Palouse gave a soft, inquiring whinny and stared into the brush. A mama duck, whose voice he had come to know, quacked fussily. Wings flapped the water. As soon as the ruckus died down, a peculiar, husky voice called out the traditional,. More

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