careful measurements of the location of the shell casing were taken, no one made measurements of the location of the boot prints. That would later prove to be a huge mistake.
It was at this juncture that I first became aware of the death of John Bruce Dodson. As District Attorney, I am notified whenever a death occurs under suspicious circumstances. In the beginning, all I heard was that a hunter had been found shot to death. Since my jurisdiction encompasses thousands of square miles of federal public lands, including some of the best public hunting areas in the West, and because this could have been an accidental death, I was not overly concerned. There are hunting-related firearms deaths just about every year in Colorado. Nevertheless something about Dodson’s death seemed peculiar and I asked my investigator, Bill Booth, to keep an eye on it.
We soon learned that, serendipitously, Brent Branchwater, who had been hunting on the Uncompahgre Plateau the day of John Bruce Dodson’s death and reported it, was a fellow law enforcement officer. In fact, he was a captain. Since it was clear that he would be a witness at future court proceedings, should there be any regarding Bruce’s death, Police Lieutenant Ron Finley asked Branchwater to write down, in his own words and from the perspective of a police officer, the events of that weekend and bring it to him. He agreed.
LOG OF EVENTS
Thursday, October 12, 1995: Arrive at campsite about 2:30 P.M. and set up camp. Scout the area until dark.
Friday, October 13, 1995: Ryan and I spend the day scouting. Return to camp around dark for dinner. Around 9:00 P.M., two vehicles arrive. One a red and white Bronco, the other a VW Camper. After some trouble getting into the opening from the road, both vehicles park on a rise just above our camp. We have no contact with the people.
Saturday, October 14, 1995: Ryan and I get up around 5:00 A.M., eat and head into the canyon by way of the 4 × 4 road over the ridge above camp. Hunt the entire day, having lunch from our packs. Around 3:30 P.M. I shoot a small deer. Ryan and I have to drag the deer from the bottom of the canyon to the truck. We get into camp late. The deer is hung, we take some photos, eat and go to bed.
Sunday, October 15, 1995: I plan to stay in camp to quarter my deer because the days are warm. Ryan gets up around 5 A.M. Before he eats and leaves, we make plans to go into town when Ryan comes in for lunch. We need more ice and are going to have a meal. About 7:00 A.M. while I’m still in bed in the tent, a shot goes off awakening me. The first shot is followed by hollering. I cannot tell what words are being hollered. I look at the clock to check the time. I could see 7:0-something showing. In a moment another shot goes off, then another, followed by the thump of a bullet strike. These two shots are clearly coming from the area in front of the people’s camp nearby. Not wanting to go out while there is shooting nearby, I lay in the tent until about 7:30 A.M. and then go out and head to the cook tent for some breakfast. I see a person in coveralls and orange vest and hat carrying a rifle up the tree line in front of the VW camper. The person is walking toward the vehicles.
After eating, I start skinning my deer and notice the same person come to the back of the Bronco. I now can see it is a female. She is dressed in blue jeans, sweater jacket, orange vest and sandals with white socks. She steps on the back bumper of the Bronco and pulls out a gun case. It is a brown soft case. With her back toward me, she puts the gun in the case and puts it in the back of the Bronco. She steps down, rolls the window up then turns and sees me. Neither of us acknowledges the other. I continue to skin the deer. When I get to quartering the meat a few minutes later, someone behind me says, “That’s a nice forky you have there.” I turn and find the aforementioned female standing behind me. She has a cup of water and a toothbrush in her hand. She begins a polite conversation asking about where we are from, who we are and what we do. I find she is originally from the same general area Ryan and I are from. I mention hearing shots and hollering and ask if one of her group got a deer. She says she has not heard any shooting or hollering from the area. She says her husband is on the mountain somewhere. This is his first deer hunt and she is hunting elk. She asks where my friend is and I tell her he’s hunting over in the canyon and will be down at lunch. We are going into town for ice and a meal.
She tells me that they haven’t brought enough water and would we mind bringing them some back. I tell her we would and to just put their containers by our cook tent. She says they have friends camped on the mountain above and when her husband comes in they are going there so they can put him on a deer.
She says he should have been back by now and she is going to circle the area to look for him. She says if he comes to camp while she is gone, ask him to stay. She says his name is Bruce. She introduces herself as what I thought to be “Denise.” I tell her my name is Brent. She says again the water jugs will be by her camper. Once more I ask her to put them by our tent. She goes to her vehicles and I return to the deer.
I finish boning the meat and put it into the ice chests and am putting the carcass in a bag for disposal. I have a radio playing and I can hear what I think might be an elk bugling. I turn off the radio to listen. I can now hear the sound clearly. It is a person screaming for help and is coming from the direction of the area in front of the Bronco and the VW. I run up in front of our sleeping tent and look over the rise. The female is standing by someone lying on the ground. She has an orange vest in one hand. When she sees me she starts hollering and beating the vest on the ground. She is saying, “Why didn’t you have your orange on?!!” She then picks up a gun lying there and throws it on the ground.
I shout and ask what is wrong. All she says is, “He’s hurt.” I start to run over and she runs to meet me at the front of their vehicles. When she gets to me she sinks to the ground. I ask if the man has a bad heart. She says, “No, he’s hurt. You’ve got to help him.” I run to the man lying there. She gets up and follows me. As I approach the man I can see a hole in the back of his jacket with bloodstains around it. He is lying on his stomach, palms of hands down with his head turned facing a fence to his left. He has on a gray sweater jacket and what I think are faded jeans, some hiking-type boots, an orange cap partially on his head and glasses. He has brown cotton gloves on his hands. The rifle has landed by the man’s left hand parallel to the fence. There are two empty casings lying just inside the area between the left hand and his head. There are no other pieces of clothing around except the orange vest she has thrown down at his feet. I ask if this is her husband Bruce. She said it is. I shout at him as I kneel by his right side. There is no response so I lean over to check for a carotid pulse on the neck. I can find none. I notice his face is blue and his eyes are glazed over. I then take the glove off his right hand to check for a pulse on the wrist. I can find none. I can see he is not breathing. As I am doing this, the female picks up the two empty casings and throws them. They hit my leg and glance off the ground in front of me. I tell her I am sorry, but the man is gone. She says, “No, he’s trying to talk—see?” His mouth opens and closes in a muscle spasm. I again tell her he is dead. She says, “No, you’ve got to help him.”
Ryan has our truck on the mountain and the key to the four wheeler also. I tell her I have to go for help and ask where the keys to her Bronco are. She says she doesn’t know. I ask if they are in the Bronco and she says they may be. I run to the Bronco and find the keys on the dashboard.
I drive the Bronco up the road to look for help. I see two men in a truck and wave them over. They tell me they have a cell phone we could try dialing 9-1-1 on. One dials the phone while the other gives me some water. I can barely speak my mouth is so dry. The man on the phone reaches a 9-1-1 operator and tries to tell her where we are and what has happened. When I have enough water to be able to talk, I take the phone and try to tell her what has happened. I figure I left my camp about 9:30 to go for help. It took ten minutes to find the men and make the call.
After a lengthy talk with the operator trying to find out what county we are in, a maroon Chevy X-Cab comes by with two men inside. They pass by going downhill. In a few minutes
