Issue link: https://www.e-digitaleditions.com/i/209178
considerable efforts? These are the demons that lurk in the hearts of every hunter. The blood starts again. And there's lots of it. Pushing him has actually worked to my advantage. There's sudden hope that was lost before. He's spilling vital life juices and it's only a matter of time. I'm pushing the track at a fast stalk, watching ahead for an antler or patch of hide that will betray his position. I jump him again, but his departure is less determined. I watch him flop into a bed 80 yards ahead. I pull off the trail and circle to accommodate the wind, picking my way carefully, the light beginning to go. My heart is in my throat and I must talk to myself sternly, if quietly. Then I can see him again, well within range, but there are obstacles to consider. I must make it good. He grows nervous, lurching to his feet and still there is no clear shot. I must take the chance. I rattle an arrow through willows and it deflects into his stomach again, the buck humping severely and mincing a short distance before settling once more. I run straight at him in utter frustration while he wobbles to his feet and begins to weave away into darkness. I run to cut the distance, skidding to a stop and shooting a hasty arrow, missing him completely, growing increasingly enraged, grabbing another shaft, sidestepping brush, finding him standing on shaky legs farther than I normally care to shoot. I suck in a breath and take my time. I slump before him in a dreamy state and grasp his antlers, greedily passing my finger tips over each tine, hugely relieved, tears in my eyes, sad for him to meet his end in such an undignified manner, for a bad shot that will ultimately tarnish the memory of him. But through the shame seeps a soaring joy – to have brought an end to it, at the sheer size of him, his unbelievable antlers that are now mine. I sit a long time with snow whirling around me, sifting onto the buck's back, a lonely coyote yipping across the river, the current sucking at the crumbling bank and leaves rattling in cottonwoods. The night creeps in until I can no longer see in detail. It's time to go home.