Tag Archives: French trade gun

The Details Are Up to You

Moonlight, full and bright, illuminated the hollow. Stars sparkled. Shallow breaths turned to drifting clouds. Thick frost made leaves crunch. Sixty or so paces from the brush shelter, buffalo-hide moccasins found the silence of the earthen trail that angled between … Continue reading

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“I’m not surprised…”

Geese ke-honked to the east, “Kee-honk, kee-honk, yonk, yonk.” The sight of rhythmic wing beats left little doubt. Two ragged strings took flight. The birds gained altitude, honking all the while. “Kee-honk, kee-honk, yonk, yonk…kee-honk, kee-honk, yonk, yonk…” “They’re turning … Continue reading

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Geese are my only hope…

Yellow maple leaves fluttered earthward. Elk moccasins hustled along a churned up doe trail. The hasty stalk skirted a small knoll, then crossed two wagon ruts. Tree-to-tree the hired post hunter wove his way through a half dozen black oaks, … Continue reading

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The Gobbler Roasts the Same

Buffalo-hide moccasins still-hunted north. Intermittent gusts dislodged snow. At the wild apple that grew on the south edge of the cedar grove, wild turkey tracks zigged and zagged in and out of the border trees. Msko-waagosh stood, his eyes unraveling … Continue reading

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“It looks too new…”

Deer ears twitched. A second pair, not as alert, plodded behind, then paused. The larger doe watched, then nibbled on a tender twig. She commenced walking north on the mid-hill trail with what little wind there was at her rump. … Continue reading

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“The Finest British Soap…”

Cinnamon-colored hair rippled. A white tail flicked twice. Green oak leaves fluttered, coaxed alive by a warm, southwest breeze. The doe browsed on lush, belly-deep, dew-laden prairie grass. Yellow spears burst forth from the eastern tree line. Long shadows shrouded … Continue reading

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“Crazy Thought Time…”

A Tad Late Tuesday Missive… Three deer matted frail grass. The largest depression rested higher up the hill than the other two—bedding not more than the night prior. “A doe and her fawns,” the hired hunter whispered, his breath drifting … Continue reading

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As Needy as Little Kids

Wet corn stubble perfumed still air. A full moon, white and mellow, high to the west, guided buffalo-hide moccasins through dawn’s first glimmer. The night prior, before the drizzle, forty-plus geese gathered on the cornfield’s eastern-most knob. They took flight … Continue reading

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