When he finally arrived at the cave, the horses reacted strangely. Tater also sensed someone else was in the cave. It was dark, and Tater couldn’t see a thing. He tied the horses outside. They were being skittish and couldn’t be led into the cave. He started a small fire at the entrance. There was still some dried wood in the cave that he fumbled for. He got a sturdy stick burning and held it like a torch in one hand. With his pistol in his other hand, he crept deeper into the cave. He could hear his own breathing even though he tried to hold his breath. The echoes were unnerving. He turned his head to listen for anything that moved. His heart was beating fast as he crept deeper into the cave. He could hear a soft sighing sound that echoed from the sides and roof of the cave. He was on high alert. He hoped that he wouldn’t kill anyone he wasn’t supposed to; but to survive out here, you needed to shoot first.
He crept deeper and deeper into the cave as quietly as he could. As he came to the place where the stream ran in the cave, he was able to stand straight up. As he rounded a corner, he saw it. His first impression was to shoot it; but he thought, . . . .
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