"An, when you are camped out at the that favorite lake.. in your sleeping bags...an sometime after midnight, its black dark and about to rain...the fires gone out... Somthin big is rattlin the pots by the campstove.. gruntin... and you can SMELL IT... like a cross between a wet dog and a dead animal... Thass, when a cartridge is slidin into the breech of my 45-70, real quiet, and slow... and that ga, if she was brave enough to come with me... is right behind my back, shiverin, and prayin...ja...."