About thirty years ago while on a 4WD trail in Kalifornia, about five miles from the nearest road, I had this wierd looking guy come out of nowhere carying a hatchet. He had bright orange hair, and a large purple scar across his face. My girlfriend and I just watched him stagger over to our jeep and jerk open the door. I might add that his stagger was not from an injury, as much as from what he had been drinking. Although I did not have a permit to cary the thing, I always kept a Ruger Blackhawk in .44 Magnum with us while off road. As he pulled open the door, I pionted and cocked the .44. He almost turned himself inside out backing up. He dropped the hatchet, and we never saw him again. I still have that hatchet.
John
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