Mark of the Hunter

Mark of the Hunter by Charles G. West Page A

Book: Mark of the Hunter by Charles G. West Read Free Book Online
Authors: Charles G. West
Ads: Link
flight. Cord didn’t wait. Plunging out of the screen of bushes, he ran up the bank to get a clear shot at the fleeing animals, knowing he would have time for only one before they were out of range. He would have preferred a doe, but the best target he had was a young buck right behind the older leader. Cocking the rifle as he dropped to one knee, he took aim quickly and squeezed the trigger. The buck stumbled momentarily, wobbled drunkenly for a few more yards, before collapsing to the ground.
    â€œHot damn!” Dooley exclaimed. “That was a helluva shot! I swear, I’d already give up on havin’ venison for dinner.” He was satisfied that he would never have to ask again if Cord could handle a rifle. As for Cord, he held no illusions. He chalked it up for a lucky shot under the circumstances, but he saw no reason to volunteer that to his traveling companion. Like Dooley’s, his belly was grumbling for lack of attention and he was relieved that he would not have to hear it for much longer.
    â€œWas you japin’ me when you said you ain’t ever shot that rifle before?” Dooley asked while they were skinning the deer.
    â€œNope,” Cord replied. “That was the first time. I just traded an old Henry rifle for it, and I ain’t had a chance to see how it shoots till now.”
    â€œKinda like I just traded for that buckskin,” Dooley said with a mischievous grin.
    â€œYeah,” Cord replied, “kinda like that.” He thought it wouldn’t be a bad idea to let Dooley think he stole the rifle. It might further satisfy the old outlaw that Cord was of the same stock as his father and the apple had not fallen far from the tree.
    They delayed their trip a day to butcher the deer and smoke the greater portion of it over a fire to be tied up in packs. Dooley feasted on the liver and heart, while Cord contented himself with the animal’s flesh. The liver and heart were considered delicacies by most, especially Indians, but Cord would only eat the insides of an animal if starvation was the alternative. By the end of the day, both men were sufficiently sated. With bellies full, they turned in by the fire to give their overworked stomachs time to digest.
    Ready to begin anew with morning’s first light, they continued their westward journey, crossing a sizable creek that Dooley called Owl Creek, then another about five miles past that he couldn’t call by name. Lofty mountains loomed in the distance, their snowcapped peaks testament to the fact that winter was already in the higher elevations. In spite of the weighty issues on his mind, Cord could not help a natural feeling of awe and an awakening of a latent desire to know their peaks and valleys. His mind, set adrift by the majesty of the distant horizon, was drawn back to his reality by a comment from Dooley.
    â€œI expect we ain’t more’n a couple of miles from the road into Fort Collins,” he said. “Last chance to get some more coffee beans before we go up the river into the mountains.”
    â€œI reckon we could,” Cord said. “But it might be the last coffee we’ll buy, ’cause I’m runnin’ short of money.”
    â€œI need to do a little shoppin’ myself,” Dooley said. His comment brought an immediate reaction in the form of a questioning face on his partner. “I didn’t say I had any money to buy anythin’,” Dooley quickly explained. “I’m just curious about what’s for sale.” He flashed a wide grin to reassure Cord. “If I had a cent on me, I’da sure kicked in to buy some of the supplies.” Cord’s response was no more than a grunt. He was becoming accustomed to Dooley’s nonsensical remarks. Dooley went on. “It ain’t a good idea to ride on into Fort Collins—too big a risk of somebody wantin’ to ask a lot of questions. But there’s a saloon and a general store on

Similar Books

Jane Slayre

Sherri Browning Erwin

Slaves of the Swastika

Kenneth Harding

From My Window

Karen Jones

My Beautiful Failure

Janet Ruth Young