STILL COLOR IN THE HILLS OF CALIFORNIA
When I was a summer sheriff deputy, looking for a lost hiker in the Stanislaus National Forest, I heard the click of someone putting a shell into a chamber of a weapon. I stopped short, looked at my partner, he pointed to the left--standing with a shotgun pointed at us was an old looking man: long hair brushed back into a ponytail; eyebrows, bushy as ...
