A group of hunters were sailing by Ship Trap Island on Wednesday, August 6th, 2003. The night was thick and dark, "like moist black velvet," described Rainsford. Rainsford was puffing on his favorite brier, when suddenly he heard a faint gunshot. Twice. Thrice. Curiosity leapt through his mind just like the bullets. He jumped onto the railing, but as he was doing so, a rope snatched the pipe from his mouth. "As I reached for my …showed first 75 words of 1409 total…

…showed last 75 words of 1409 total…food for the starved hounds. The general pulled out a knife, and charged at me with it. I moved away just in time as he stumbled and fell and took his own life. Up until this night, I've never slept in a better bed. I thought hunting was a game, up until I turned into the prey. Perhaps it's nature's way of telling me hunting is not a game of fun and killing." concluded Rainsford.