The gunshots grew fainter, eventually stopping altogether. Nevertheless, Thelonious stayed put. He leafed through his guidebook until the last of the light was gone. An entire chapter was devoted to murders that had taken place on the Appalachian Trail, some still unsolved. He flung the book into a corner. The tree limbs created sinister silhouettes against the tent, though it was pitch-black inside. Thelonious couldn’t even see his paw in front of his face, yet he wouldn’t risk lighting the oil lantern in case someone might still be out there. Instead he spent a restless night cowering in his sleeping bag, trying to ignore a pressing need for a wee. But he didn’t dare stick his muzzle outside the tent. Especially when the noises began….
At first it was a scuffling. Thelonious immediately
