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It was snowing on the mesa. Well, why shouldn’t it? December, almost Christmas, and here I am having been deposited here three days ago on top of this forsaken mesa that my publisher told me sports a cave that’s older than time itself. Well, it does. But why am I squatting on my aching haunches trying to hide behind a scanty bush while watching an old buck deer with a whole set of missing left horns? And he knows I’m near. Do I really smell that bad? Believe it or not, the deer actually nodded his head in agreement.
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