I was camping/turkey hunting at the end of dead-end road in the national forest. One afternoon a couple local greasers walked into camp. Said they were mushroom hunting, but I didn't see any bags. They said they parked up the road, that was on private ground. We chatted for a while, and it didn't take long to figure out the chattiest kid was lying about how great an outdoorsman he was. As they walked away, they both turned and looked at me. I didn't have a very good feeling about it. I had a rough time getting to sleep that night and sure enough, heard trucks coming latter. They stopped 100 yards or so away, cranked up the music and proceeded to party. After an hour or so, I stuck my pistol in the back of my pants and walked over to them. I told them, I didn't have a problem but asked them to turn down the volume. There were 6 or 8 boys and girls there, probably 10 years or so younger than I was. From the group, a voice said, who the f#%^k you think you are. I couldn't see his face, but I think it was the chatty greaser from earlier. I turned and walked away with the hair on the back of my neck standing. They left a while latter. I slept terrible, thinking they would get drunk and come back. Got up early and took off hunting. Came back to camp and everything but the tent was gone! Never camped there again.
