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The knife was one of my favorite possessions; it was a hand forged Damascus steel blade with a hollow ivory handle. I had been tracking the hog for about an hour when the radio on my pack squawked and my son asked for my location. I told him I was about five miles north of camp along the creak. He told me I might want to head back that a bad storm was on the way in.

I told him I would head back in a few I was tracking a wounded and needed to finish it off at least.