When I thought the conversation could grow no worse, his eyes took on an eerie glow and he related to Norm the events of one of his past vacations, wherein he and several relatives traveled to Montana. From a previous trip, I knew Montana was a state resplendent with ground squirrels, and had enjoyed feeding them on one memorable occasion. The man, however, found the animals satisfying for quite a different reason; he, his son and another man spent an afternoon gunning down approximately 400 squirrels. It was a lavish affair which had afforded him pure delight; his excitement over the reckless slaughter was complete and shameless. He had done some ranchers a great service, he raved. As he blasted away, I am sure that service was the last thing on his mind. I gritted my teeth, glad that none of the conversation had been directed to me, while Norm, visibly unimpressed and equally disgusted by the man, inched toward the car. Fortunately, the man's wife appeared from the darkness of a motel room and we were spared further discussion of the ground squirrel Armageddon. "Be seein' ya'," he offered. "Yeh," Norm's tight-lipped response almost had to be cranked from his throat. Pulling from the motel lot was a relief. "Now there is a guy who likes to kill," I said. "Yeh," Norm replied. "A good ol' boy. . . nothing like blowing up a few rodents on a weekend..." The sheer number of his kill was enough to astonish, yet more disturbing was his unrestrainable enjoyment of the event. There was no nobility whatsoever in his action, for no one had asked for his assistance or solicited a need for a specific harvest of the animals. Certainly the grazing cattle injured themselves in rodent holes, but killing aside, the man took no interest in filling the holes in the line of duty. Thus, amid hundreds of bodies, the real menace remained. In context of need, hunting was natural, but when utilized as an outlet, a fulfillment of the need to kill for its own sake, hunting terrified me. I voiced my sentiments to Norm and we wondered aloud about the possible outcome if no such outlet was available. How would the killing need be vented? We drove into the park and experienced the reminiscent awe of the mountains. It was unparalleled beauty. After twisting through the pines we pulled off the road at a scenic turn off and roosted atop a pile of boulders for the rest of the afternoon. Occasionally a timid chipmunk would appear, nervously twitching its tail until our presence caused it to scoot behind a rock or bush. Once again, the sadistic mailman crossed my mind, and I wondered how the Colorado rodent population would fare. With luck, he had left his arsenal at home.