Through his scope he watched the deer climbing the other side of the ravine. It wasn’t necessary to hide like he was. He was too far away for them to smell him, and much too far for them to see. But if they were suddenly spooked it would be suspicious, and he had tracked his prey far too long to risk losing them now.
There were only six deer—two males, four females—but during the rut it was so unusual to find males behaving well together it was no wonder they were popular. The group was drawing close to the top of the ridge. He was beginning to worry he would have to move, but just then the clouds opened up, allowing the sun to fall across a small stand of trees in the distance, and immediately he saw his shot.
The two hunters had left the trail about a mile to the north, telling him almost too late that their plan was to climb to the top of the eastern ridge. He’d been forced to double back and circle around to approach from the west, but he had made it in time.
The first was edging forward now, his partner apparently giving him this kill. Perhaps the latter had already gotten his. He was certainly about to. Being in the rear, he would need to be taken first so as not to alert the other one. If all went well, the second would go down with a quick, easy follow-up shot.
Taking aim, he waited until the first hunter had stalked forward about twenty yards, to where the sound of a supersonic bullet exploding his friend’s skull would barely register as something like a wet rag dropping on a tile floor before the loud, echoing report that would quickly follow. With expert breath control, he squeezed the trigger, turning the first target’s head into a cloud of red mist, and cycled the bolt before the second even heard the gunshot.
Unknown to both parties, the deer began to run toward the remaining hunter, surely wanting nothing to do with the noise suddenly coming from across the ravine. The second shot further spurred them on, yet even as the other hunter collapsed into an incomplete heap some distance before them they barely changed their direction, reacting, it seemed, only to the unnatural sound still filling their ears.
Satisfied, he lowered his rifle, and thought he might check out what those other guys were carrying. Could be something nice. The weekend warrior types tended to have money, and therefore the best equipment. And after all, he had to cross the ravine anyway. There was a nice buck or two to catch up with.