His smiling face radiated a Mad Men chic, an old-time movie star glamour. Six-four in his socks, he said, but that was hard to verify from his photo. ...e claimed to be a journalist for some Sunday broadsheet. I wasn’t sure about that either, though his written English was succinct, faultless.After exchanging emails, he and I met. He said he lived in London, a hundred miles from us, and so I arranged our assignation mid-week in the bar of a Steakhouse, the one next to the Travel Lodge in Dedbury,. Runt walked up to Tom and stuck out his hand, the two shook, Runt had tears running down his weathered face as he looked up at the tall injun.“Reckon I’ll see ya another time Injun,” Runt said and stood back with a wide grin that would hold a bucket of water, as the two rode off down the dusty road to church. Runt still had tears in his eyes still as he hobbled back to the barn with his head down. He knew Injun Tom wouldn’t be back this way for a while yet, he was gonna miss him.When Tom drove. More

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