The turnoff was just a gap in a grove of old aspen. He jounced into it and into a tunnel of blazing yellow leaves and hard blue sky. On any other morning the colors might have pained him, how they enhanced and sharpened each other. But not now; he was driving the track as fast as he could without hitting his head on the roof. It was more of a four-wheeler track than a road, and the limbs of trees screeched against the truck as he plowed through—oh well. He crossed a little park of grass and sagebrush and startled two does. They lifted their heads in unison, ears forward, and showed their pale
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