By David Irving
(Four Thanksgiving Day Vignettes)
Among twenty snowy mountains the only thing the hunter saw in the early morning light from behind his blind was a deer moving at the edge of the woods. The young doe lifted her head and sniffed the crisp air just as the 160 grain bullet tore into the flesh of her left hip and shattered the bone there. A whine cut the air as the doe leaped in agony. Adrenalin poured through her system, fear coated her eyes, a gush of red erupted onto the snow at her feet.
“God dammit! Missed the fucking bastard again!” the hunter swore, smacking the side of his 7mm Remington Magnum with his paw. He pressed a gloved thumb against the right side of his nostrils and blew out a wad of snot on the snow at his feet. “Wish the hell Harry would hurry and get back with the God damned coffee!!”
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