In Open Spaces by Russell Rowland

Author:Russell Rowland [Rowland, Russell]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-06-201344-6
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2002-03-03T16:00:00+00:00

After a silent half hour, we came up over a rise, and I spotted the antelope three-quarters of a mile away. I pulled up and put my arm out to stop Art, who was riding behind me. There was nothing but white, empty space between us and them, so we had to come up with a strategy.

A line of brush ran along the east side of the meadow. We agreed I would sneak along behind the brush while Art approached from the other direction. We figured he’d scare them toward me if they didn’t see him too soon.

The sun shone nearly straight overhead, and the warm sweat felt good inside my clothes. Tromping through the brush, my horse’s hooves unleashed the aroma of scrubwood and wild plum. I breathed deep. I kept a close eye on Art, trying to stay ahead of him in case the antelope jumped too quickly. I cradled my gun in my right elbow, the weight of its oily barrel heavy on my forearm. About halfway down, still well out of range, I heard a shot.

“Damn,” I muttered. I was behind a thick bush and had to move forward before I saw Art, at full gallop, aiming at the bounding figures, again yards out of his range. He shot, then pulled his horse up. Art’s head jerked forward and back, and I could imagine what he was saying. Or maybe I couldn’t.

I resisted the urge to ask “What the hell has gotten into you today?” until I heard Art’s explanation. I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. He’d been hunting since he could lift a gun, long before I was born, and was actually known as one of the better hunters in our parts.

“Those sons of bitches saw me and took off ’fore I knew what…” His eyes, desperate and wide, darted around me, over and under me, anywhere but at me, and it was then I realized how much Art’s rabid desire to get one of the animals might be affecting his judgment. He looked frantic, hungry for something deeper, more crucial to life than food. He had the look of a man who had to get one of these antelope to prove something, to make things right somehow, to give him a reason to keep on. It scared the living daylights out of me.

“All right, Art. Let’s just take it easy. I think we’re okay. They’re headed up toward that grove of cottonwoods near Hay Creek. If they go in there, it will give us a good chance of sneaking up on them and flushing them out.” I slipped my rifle back into its scabbard. “Let’s rest for a second or two.”

Art nodded, his head bobbing unevenly. “Sons a bitches took off ’fore I even woulda figured they could see me,” he said.

It was possible the antelope really did see him and take off, but the more he talked, the more I was convinced that he’d shot at them first. I decided if we caught up to them again, I’d better make damn sure I shot before Art did.

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