The gravel crunched under the tires of Ranger Daniel Mercer’s truck, each stone giving way in a rhythm he had long associated with comfort and peace. For fourteen months, that sound had been replaced by the sharp, cold gusts of the Idaho backcountry, by the endless green forests and jagged cliffs where he had tracked poachers and illegal hunters. The silence of those mountains, punctuated only by the distant call of an eagle or the rustle of a pine bough in the… CONTINUE READING…
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