VIIIHAMI AND I WERE ENJOYING another night in the solitude of her saloon. The dishes were all done and put away. Except for the plate of Hami's delicious toll-house cookies and two tall tumblers of iced coffee. These sat nearby us on one of her round four-legged tables. We each were relaxing in our own ever-comfortable "caboose" bentwood chair, just reading from one of that tall stack of books Jude had left.
No one else around, just the tables, chairs and the long bar with it's mirror on the wall behind it.
Other than the way we were dressed and the paperbacks in our hands, the whole scene could be out of an 1880's Western tin-type photograph.
Our quiet was interrupted by a large dark winged form like a condor as it swooped down - a huge, fast shadow that dove across the front of the sa
