Cagle leans back in a plastic lawn chair yawning, arms stretched over his head. "See there," he says pointing to a spot underneath one of the makeshift beds, "that's a Super Soaker filled with fox piss." He pauses for effect before adding: "It's a hunting scent that one of the guys brought in." He leans forward, smiling. "The next time I see that bunch of teenagers that always drives by yelling and throwing rocks at us, they're gonna get it."