Chapter 38

Wednesday dawned clear and crisp. I slept in a bit and woke refreshed. The maudlin mood that I'd felt the might before was gone. Over oatmeal with nuts and fruit, washed down with hot sassafras tea, I contemplated my day. After considering and discarding several ideas, I hit upon a plan. I'd load up some of my guns and go out to the range and burn some powder.

I doubted it the trap and skeet ranges would be operating, but I had a target thrower with a foot release that I could use to toss some clays, so I rounded up a case of targets, my 12 gauge pump and a couple boxes shells. A .22 bolt action and a steel "spinner" target and my .308 rounded out the long guns. For handguns, I got my .45 Gov't Model, a .357 Ruger, and my normal carry gun, a S&W 5-shot .38 revolver (old-school, I know). I put everything in cases and range bags and piled it up by the door.

I went outside, tossed the paper inside and went down to scrap the frost off the truck.

The ice scraper was under the seat. I grabbed it and started on the back glass of the bed cap. I got it cleared and moved up to the driver's side glass. As I was scraping away, I heard a vehicle turn onto the street and head my way. I glanced up and saw that it was my neighbor, Chuck Farmer. I waved, and he pulled up beside me. The window rolled down (dern kids and their power window do-dads... ), and Chuck leaned over.

"Let me pull over and then take a look at what I have in the back!" he hollered over the engine noise.

"OK"

He drove around me and pulled to the curb ahead of my truck., got out and came around to open his tailgate as I caught up with him.

"I took a few days off to hunt the last of muzzleloader season, and shot this bad boy yesterday morning out on Dad's farm in Mason County" he said, grinning from ear to ear.

He reached in and dragged the carcass of a monster buck out where I could see it under the tonneau cover. If the deer hadn't gone over 200 pounds on the hoof, I'd eat it. (Well, I'd eat most of if either way, given an opportunity, but who am I to mess up the expression?) The rack was a beautiful twelve nice point typical, with very thick beams. Shiny and glistening white, it was going to be a great mount.

While I took all this in, Chuck was babbling about it. "John, I'd been after this guy all season! I'd seen him over the summer when I was putting out food plots and scouting. I tried everything I knew to get him in bow range in bow season, but he never came out of the heavy brush during shooting hours. You have no idea how many shots I passed on waiting for him."

"He made himself totally scarce during gun season" Chuck went on. "I went out a few time with the bow after gun season closed and tried still hunting, but nothing worked. I'd catch sight of him out of range, or find his tracks on top of mine. He didn't get to be that big by being dumb!"