He was only fifteen and had tried to keep his family functioning after his mothers passing. No time to attend school now he planted the garden and hunted for meat for their table. All of the time seeing anything of value disappearing from the farm. Everything going to support the drinking habit his father and two older brothers had acquired. They’d leave for town in the morning after eating what ever there was for breakfast and not be back until suppertime. He would lie in his bed in the evening and hear them argue about the problems the country was having at that time. When all he wanted was some help so they keep the farm as it had been. After cooking a meal of the rabbits he had hunted and what was left from the root cellar there was nothing left. He would have to hunt if he going to be able to cook another meal. In the morning he went down to find the only animal they had left, the old horse that he could have used to pack in a deer, gone. That was almost the last straw and the last straw was when he looked where he always left his rifle, and it too was gone.
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