I was reading through some stories, and I'm reminded of one I've almost forgot.
When I was 12 or 13, I was returning from a day of whistle pig hunting on a neighbor's farm about a mile away through the woods. It was close to dark at the end of September, so it was chilly enough to see you're breath, just a beautiful fall evening. I came into a small pasture in the woods like I have hundreds of times before, I never figured out why the pasture is there, it's all old growth around it, and I've never found any type of foundation around it. As I come into the pasture, I see someone riding a horse for all it was worth across this pasture, I could hear the hooves hitting the ground, and I can see the steam comming from the horse's nostrils. I thought it was a little odd, because I didn't know a soul around us that had a horse, and just figured someone thought they were trespassing, seen me with a rifle, and decided to split.
A month later when small game opened, I was in the pasture just as the sun broke over the horizion and started to melt the frost. I was in one corner watching an old black cherry tree for movement when I seen an old rusty horseshoe nailed to the tree about 25 feet up. I put 2 and 2 together, but always figured what were the chances?
