Here is the continuation of the previous post…for those that are following along! Some of this is a bit of a repeat from the previous post…I just found I had other drafts of this story and it’s a bit more fleshed out. So sorry for the duplication.

I grew up in northwestern Montana. Mom left dad for another man, when I was ten years old. Apparently dad wasn’t home enough or something. I never understood why and I despised her for it. The three of us, Dad, Josh and me, had grown closer since she had left and we were nearly inseparable.

Dad had been a hunting guide for as long as I could remember and a damn good one. He’d always come home with photos of trophies his clients had taken. When I was 12, old enough to hunt, he took me on my first hunting trip. I bagged a spike elk and the client missed a six-point bull that I could’ve downed with my eyes closed. I was pissed as hell that I had to settle for a spike, but we needed the money so I let it be. The client never did get an elk, but he did pay us and we had another couple of months of money to live off of.

The next year is what haunts me in my deepest sleep. It was the year we brought Josh along as well. Dad’s usual babysitter wasn’t going to be in town for the week we were going to be gone, and this was a client that dad couldn’t pass up. This client was paying a lot of money for a trophy elk and dad knew exactly where such a beast was to be found.

It was the last week in November, the last week to hunt, when we took off. The client was a dentist from Texas. That much I do remember. Dad did a good job of keeping him entertained while we drove to his hunting spot. When we arrived at the trailhead, Josh and I unloaded the horses and loaded them up with supplies for the 10 mile trek to base camp.

Five inches of fresh powder had fallen the previous Friday, it was Sunday, and it dulled the sound of the horses walking. It was like walking through a tomb but very peaceful. I kept waiting to jump a bedded down dear or something else. We never did jump anything. It made me nervous that we didn’t see or jump anything on our way in, but I could tell dad was confident.

At camp Josh and I went about unloading the horses and giving them some feed that we’d brought in earlier in the fall. Camp was all setup from the previous hunts that dad had guided. After this hunt we’d spend a few days breaking them down and packing them out.

“Before you feed the horses boys, we need to take the food over to the food tent,” Dad called out.

“I’ll take it over there,” I called out.

I took my horse, Zeus and the pack horse that had the food on it, and rode over to the food tent which was a mile away. Food was always kept at another site because of the dense population of grizzly bears. I learned that lesson the hard way when I kept a pack of jerky in my tent the previous year.

When I returned to camp I heard a bunch of yelling followed by silence. Dad would never yell so I knew it wasn’t him that was yelling. I slid off of Zeus and led him to the top of a knoll that looked down over the camp. At the top of the knoll I saw the camp and noticed that there were three new men that had their guns pointed at Josh, my dad and the dentist. I stopped and stared for half a second and then turned around.

I took Zeus to a tree and tied him up. My first thought wasn’t to go and get help, but to do something about the situation in camp. To this day I never knew why I did what I did, but I’ve chalked it up to something biological. Maybe it was dads hunting blood, or perhaps it was some gene that my mom carried.

My rifle was on Zeus’s scabbard and I took it out and started back to camp, but from a direction that I could see the intruders better. The rifle, believe it or not, was the same caliber that I would end up shooting in the Marines 10 years later. It was a Remington 700 .308. Dad had given it to me for my birthday the previous year. It kicked a bit, but it sure put down animals when they were hit.

In my mind I imagined the setup of camp and remembered a place behind the tent that would provide me good cover and an overlook of the camp it would also place me behind Josh and dad.

The sun was going down fast, but I was so focused on my intent that I didn’t notice it until I crawled into position and couldn’t see through my scope. I muttered a few obscenities to myself and decided that this would be the best place to stay for the night. I tried to sleep, but I was worried about not waking up from the cold, so I occupied myself trying to remember everything that had happened in my life. A few times I saw a flicker of a lighter down in camp. No one in our group smoked and I thought long and hard about taking a pot shot at the flame, but decided against it. I’d wait until morning, when the light was better.

I wasn’t sure when I drifted to sleep, but I was awoken by the clattering of pots and pans in camp.

Dad and Josh were fixing breakfast for everyone else. The hostage takers were nowhere to be seen so I scoped over Josh and dad. I caught a couple of glimpses of dad looking around to see if he could spot me, but he never looked my direction. I wanted to wave my arms to tell him I was still there, but I didn’t.

When breakfast was done Josh and dad went back into the tent and I waited out in the cold.

There was no other movement outside except for my breathing. I was cold and thought about leaving to try and find someone, but I didn’t. I waited and put the pain behind me.

Fourty-five minutes later, dad and Josh came back out this time accompanied by one of the hostage takers.

I’d had plenty of time to figure out how far it was into camp and my best estimate was 200 yards. I centered the crosshairs of my rifle on the back of the intruder.

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. I held my breath at half way and squeezed the trigger like dad had taught me. Quickly I emptied the chamber and threw in another round.

Through the scope I saw the man down on the ground. Josh and dad were looking around for me, but I didn’t do anything. I waited for another man to come out of the tent.

Another did come out of the tent but he rushed over to Josh and picked him up as a shield before I could put a bullet into him.

He turned around with Josh in his arms looking for the direction of my shot. He never spotted me I was sure, but he was looking right in my direction. Josh was becoming heavy in his arms and he was slipping down. I moved my crosshairs to his upper chest and waited for him to drop Josh.

Josh dropped from the mans hands, but he picked him back up again just as I fired the bullet at the center of his chest.

The bullet hit Josh in the throat and continued into the hostage taker. Both of them were dead on the snow. I watched through the scope as the snow turned crimson red.

Dad ran over to Josh and picked him up, but it was of no use.

“Rick,” Dad yelled out after a few minutes.

Since those two shots I’d taken, I’d been a changed man.