“A Sure Shot”

“Snapshot Saturday”

A mountain man lying on the ground shooting at a bison.
The grizzled old trapper dropped to the ground, took careful aim through the brush and with a gentle squeeze released the death messenger amidst a rolling cloud of white, sulfurous stench. Rheumatism hampered getting up. His empty rifle served as a crutch of sorts. The thin smile on his dark-tanned, whiskered face foretold of the work ahead. Somewhere in the mountains, in the Year of our Lord, 1836.

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