DARK TIMBER, TROUBLED THOUGHTS
Kee rack!
“Hear that?” Neil was ahead of me with his rifle up. “Do you think it’s a grizzly?”
Thumb on his rifle’s safety, looking over the top of the scope in the dim light, Neil backed away from the dead moose at the tree line on the lake’s edge. The moose had been down for some time with a bullet in its neck, as large as a black-leather sectional sofa with antlers, its palms spread toward us.
The sound had come from our right, back in the dark timber. Shoulder-to-shoulder we backed up into the moonstruck water.
Cra aack! Another animal to our left. It could have been two moose. Or a moose on one side, a bear on the other. Maybe two bears?
In my right hand was a revolver, thumb on the hammer, a light in my left. Both seemed pitiful, and I wished I had Neil’s .30-06.
