My dad, uncle, and two cousins unloaded the two pickups. We set up our tents while it was still light. We gather downed branches and pieces of wood and built a campfire.
We'd cooked dinner and roasted marshmallows. Naturally ghost stories mad the rounds. "Hello the fire" came in from the dark. "Come on in" was the reply.
A pretty rough looking and worse smelling red bearded man came in at sat staring at the fire.
"Coffee?" my Dad offered. "Yup" He held out his hand. "Need a cup?" My uncle asks. The man looked at his hand, "Nope."
The man pulled an extra large Bowie knife from its sheath on his belt. It was covered with blood and so was his hand. Not that unusual in a hunting setting. "Skin your kill?" Said my Dad
"Yup. I kilt 'em. Didn't skin 'em...yet...good idea." He re-sheathed his knife. He stood. "Sorry" He walked back out into the blackness.
We all gathered more deadfall and kept the fire going all night. We all picked up our rifles and put a round in the chamber. For Mr. Nurtz we told each other.
The next morning we hunted with no luck. Later around noon. A sheriff deputy and forest ranger
Asked if we had seen a man with a red beard. We told our story. " You were lucky. He killed four hunters about a half mile from here. Skinned 'em."