![]() ![]() It was like his dad said: "Good hunts never end. Twelve, and his dad took him on a real hunting trip, going after white-tailed deer with an old. When he was nine, it had been ground squirrels with a shotgun. When he was seven, he'd gotten robins and starlings with his BB gun. Gordie preferred big game, but rabbits were always available-if you knew how to dodge the rangers. It was the wet, plopping sound when lead met flesh. ![]() ![]() It wasn't the wild-flower-splashed hills, the sky blue lupines, or the fragrant purple sage. That was why he was cutting school even though he wasn't sure he'd get away with forging his morals signature on another readmit. That was what brought Gordie Wilson out to the Santa Ana foothills on a sunny May morning like this. ![]()
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