The seven-year-old boy went over a small rise to an old run-down farm surrounded by untrimmed trees and overgrown weeds. The barn was mostly collapsed and the roof of the house has a gaping hole on one end. He went around the house to the side window. Brushing the weeds aside, he tried to peek over the decaying windowsill. It was too high for him, so he moved a big rock over and stood on it to peer through the filthy glass. Everything was covered in a layer of dust and cobwebs except for a newer cot with a blanket and a backpack. On the table was a plate with a few eggs, a bucket and glass of milk. Next to that was a First Aid kit, a revolver and a box of shells. He had found the poacher's hideout! He froze with fear. CJ swallowed very hard. He hadn't thought this far ahead. What should he do? The poacher could be murderer. That's when CJ felt a man's hand squeezing his shoulder. His eyes opened wide and his mouth came open, but nothing came out. A man's deep voice asked gruffly, "Whatcha doin', kid?"
