Outside, the woods lay in clear October sunlight: the autumn air was full of the sharp, exciting smell of moist, leaf-covered earth. Inside, a man smiled grimly as he turned from the bathroom cabinet, entered the primitive living room of his mountain camp, and crossed to a closet set in the pine wall. It was his special closet with a spring lock, and in it he kept guns, ammunition, fishing rods and liquor. Not even his wife was allowed to have a key, for Judson Webb loved his personal possessions and became furious if they were touched by any hand but his own. The closet door stood open: he had been packing his things away for the winter, and in a few minutes he would be driving back to civilization. As he looked at the shelf on which the liquor stood, his smile was not attractive. All the bottles were unopened, except one quart of Bourbon which was placed invitingly in front, a whiskey glass by its self. The bottle was less than half full. As he took it from the shelf, his wife spoke from the next bedroom.