The morning air was cold. He swung his scarf around to cover his mouth and nose. He pulled his cap down over his eyes. With each step, his rugged boots dug into the rocks, one wrong move and down the mountainside he would tumble.
The peak of their tent poked through nature’s overgrowth. How fun, camping as a couple, the trouble with such is they’d never asked his permission to use his land. It wasn’t a mistake, but a yearly habit. He never forgets a trespasser; his trail cam wouldn’t allow it.
He whistled an unnamed tune as he approached the site. A tin percolator sat atop a crackling fire. A gray-haired man exited the tent, zipping it quickly closed behind him.
The property owner sat down in a lawn chair already placed by the pit. He crossed his legs and sighed. “They call me Jake, probably because I’m the biggest Jackass around these parts. Where’s your wife?” His fingers intertwined, rubbing one thumb over the other.
The gold seven-point star stitched on Jake’s hat sent his unwelcomed visitor into a panic. He fled. “Sherriff’s department, stop where you are!” Jake retrieved his weapon from its holster. The man fell. Sliding rapidly down the hill, he grabbed at every tree he could reach, attempting to slow his descend.
The sheriff pulled the trigger, rendering the suspect unalive.
“John, Beatrice.” Jake called out, moving through the brush. “John, Beatrice!” Over the years, he learned their names from many recorded conversations.
Finally, he heard their muffled voices. He found the couple tied to a tree, dirty, parched and hungry, their mouths duct taped.
Jake couldn’t imagine how someone managed to get to the couple before him. Gun drawn; he led them back to his house. “Now, let’s teach you both some manners.”
Leesa Writes 