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It was near dusk when I heard that unearthly scream from the woods nearby where I was working. I don't spook easily, but I could feel a cold ripple of fear.
I'd come alone from town to our isolated farm to tinker with some tractors. "I'll probably stay overnight," I'd told my wife, Doris.
Now, as I picked up my wrench, the weird cry came a second time - not human, not animal. And it was louder, closer.
That did it. I had to get out of there. I jumped into my truck and barreled down the lonely back road toward home. Then, rounding a curve, I came upon a scene as startling as the scream that still echoed in my head. A truck was carelessly parked at the side of the road - the door open, motor idling, lights on. Beside it lay the body of a man.
I braked hard and pulled in behind the truck. He's had a heart attack, I thought to myself. But bending over the unconscious figure - he was in his twenties - I could see blood pulsing from a wound in his left thigh.
I don't have any medical training, but I knew this boy was bleeding to death. I tore off my belt. As I cinched it tight around his leg like a tourniquet, another car stopped and the driver hurried up to me. "Help me get him in my truck," I told him. "Call the rescue squad, and I'll drive ahead to meet them."
Later, we learned that Jeffrey Brumfield's rifle had jolted off the seat and fired into his leg, piercing a major artery. Doctors barley managed to save his life - and shattered leg.
Jeffrey Might well have died, they said. But I heard an eerie scream - eight miles away from a victim who had blacked out.
- Royal Krantz
This is just one of the exciting, true stories from the book, His Mysterious Ways
R. Rachelle Page Acts 16:31