I met your mother during the Great Depression. She came from a big family, and her father, Bill Boulette, had a rough time feeding them, especially getting fresh meat. It was almost unaffordable. Since at that time, I was out in the hills near Indian Grove with the sheep, and there were a lot of antelope around there, I figured I might as well poach one so Bill could feed it to his family. The only problem was that I had no way to get the antelope into town after I shot it. Bill had an old Model A, and I told him that if he could afford to buy enough gas to drive out and pick the antelope up, I would put it in a culvert at a certain spot on the road. I asked him to pick a day when he could come out, because I could shoot the antelope any time I wanted to. We agreed on a day, and the evening before, I shot the antelope, dressed it out, and packed it on my horse to the road and put it in the culvert. Bill came out the following morning to get the antelope, but didn't find it in the culvert. He found blood and other signs that it had been there, but it was gone by the time he arrived. It took me about a week before I got back to town and he told me the story. All that time I thought he had the antelope, as I had checked the culvert and found it empty. The explanation eventually surfaced. I heard that Harry Willis, the town drunk at Atlantic City was bragging about stealing my antelope. I don't know why he was out at Indian Grove that day, but he was saying that he had watched me through field glasses while I put the antelope in the culvert, then after I rode back to sheep camp, he drove his truck to the spot and took it. There was nothing I could do about it, because I had poached the beast myself.