Roy
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The grizzled old man hunched his shoulders and pulled the sheepskin collar of his worn coat up around his neck against the chill wind of late October that screamed straight down upon him from the tops of the already snow-packed peaks. Here in the valley, the snow was light, maybe only an inch or two but was falling steadily, the half-dollar flakes fluttering listlessly on the driving wind. He shifted the old .30-30 in the cradle of his arm as his eyes strained into the whiteness for the buck's track or another trace of blood. At first he was sure the hit had been solid, maybe a little far back, but fatal nontheless. Now though he began to wonder as the blood spots had diminished to mere specks only every fifty yeards or so. He looked behind him to maybe see if he could tell how far he had traveled, but could barely make out the faint treeline of the stand of twisted deadfall he had just picked his way through. He was certain the buck would have bedded down by now and normally would have given him more time, but with the snow falling fast, he knew that all traces and tracks would be erased if he didn't make some kind of effort to pursure his wounded quarry.
....to be continued...
UTROY
Proverbs 21:19 (why I hunt!)
....to be continued...
UTROY
Proverbs 21:19 (why I hunt!)
