by George Miller
April 10, 2005
The remote cabin was twenty miles out of town, on an old section of gravel highway that was headed east into Montana. An old derelict tourist camp was set on the banks of a small lake at the end of a bumpy, muddy road. The twenty-five deputies and five regular police officers, plus the Sheriff were arrayed in a large circle around the cabin, having walked very quietly into the camp under cover of a misty darkness. There were signs that someone was there and so they thought it might be a good tip. As they group sneaked very slowly up to the cabin the tension mounted. Everyone was wide-eyed and had a shell in the chamber, rifles and pistols at ready.
As the old ex-Sheriff told me the story he began to get a strange half-smile on his face. He told me that they were within about twenty feet of the cabin and he was very close to rushing the door when a very unexpected incident occurred. One of the newly deputized men, we ll call him Lon, a very large and very overweight man, stepped down full weight on a nesting duck. The duck had every iota of air forcefully expelled from its lungs, as it was being crushed, causing it to let out an earsplitting death quack. Everyone instantly reacted by throwing up their guns at anything and everything, including each other. The Sheriff said he had no choice but to respond by instantly running and kicking down the door, and handcuffing the mortally frightened killer/bank robber who was cowering within, having been scared near to death by the sound of that dying duck.
No-one wanted to talk about how many were nearly gunned down by their own company, in fact the story was kept very close for many years, except in quiet conversation among those who were there and had need to bring it up from time to time. The Ex-Sheriff, now retired, resides in Priest Lake Idaho. He was a member of our church for some years and still loves the Lord and serves Him faithfully.
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