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Chapter One
"Chad!" Sixteen-year-old Dillon Townsend shook his younger brother. Chad moaned and pulled the red and green plaid comforter over his head.
"Get up, Chad. You'd better get used to getting up early. After all, school starts soon. And don't forget bow hunting season."
Chad allowed one brown eye to peer out from under the covers. Then Chad pulled the covers down, but his eyes were still squinched tight. Dillon laughed. Chad looked funny with his eyes all squinty and his dark wavy hair plastered to his head.
Chad moaned again. "Why do I have to start today?"
Dillon sighed. Chad had forgotten. "We're scouting our new hunting spot today, remember?"
"Oh, yeah. Oh, yeah." Chad sat up and swung his stocky legs to the floor.
Dillon watched his brother shake his head to wake up. For Dillon, getting up early was easy. Good thing for a hunter. He crossed the room they shared and opened the blinds. He looked out. The sky was clear - he couldn't wait to get out there, but Chad was still dawdling. Best to tempt him.
"Ryder's ranch ought to be a great spot to hunt. He told me he's seen a huge buck come out around dusk lately."
Chad sat up. "That's enough to get anyone out of bed."
The boys dressed and clattered down to the kitchen for breakfast. Their father was already at the table with his paper and a cup of coffee.
Mr. Townsend looked up. His eyes sparkled. "Up so early? Must be getting close to hunting season."
"It's my first year out. I can't wait to let an arrow fly," Chad said.
"Ah, to be fourteen again," Mr. Townsend said. "We'd love to see you bag a deer your first year."
"Do you think you're better than Grandfather, Dad and I? None of us shot a deer our first year," Dillon said with a grin.
"Not better, just luckier!" answered the irrepressible Chad.
"Maybe you will be luckier, Chad," their father said softly. "But remember, never take a foolish shot. We pride ourselves on the way we hunt, not just what we bring home to eat. We're one-sixteenth Shoshone, you know."
"I know. I won't disappoint you," Chad answered.
Dillon watched Chad pour more milk on his cereal. Maybe Chad would be a better hunter than he was. Although he was shorter than Dillon, he was a lot stockier. Soon he might be as strong. But one thing Dillon had over Chad was patience. And patience was key to hunting, especially with a bow.
"Where are you going this fine morning?" Mr. Townsend asked.
"Mr. Ryder's," Dillon answered. "He said we could hunt there this season. We'll be the only ones out there."
"It should be a good spot. It's pretty isolated. But be extra careful, those mountain roads are dangerous."
"Right," Dillon said.
"Say, doesn't Robin live near there?" Chad asked with the tone that siblings have used to tease since time began.
"Yeah, she does. So?"
"Oughtta be great hunting!" Chad was smart enough to say this from the doorway so he could have a head start as Dillon ran after him.
***
By nine o'clock in the morning Dillon's light blue pickup bounced and jounced along the mountain road.
"Bad road," Chad commented. "Hope they work on it before the season."
They reached the lane to Ryder's and stopped. "Let's see if Mr. Ryder is here," Dillon said. They checked at the white frame farmhouse and Mrs. Ryder directed them to the machine shed.
"Mr. Ryder!" called Dillon as they neared the yellow metal building.
"In here!" a raspy voice called. They found Mr. Ryder bent over, oiling a post-hole digger. He lifted his seamed brown face and smiled in greeting.
Dillon explained they were there to scout. Mr. Ryder squinted at them. Dillon noticed Mr. Ryder's blue eyes looked almost transparent next to his brown, sun-ravaged face. "I s'pose you boys want to hear about the big buck," he said.
"Wel-l-l," Dillon said, smiling.
"I seen 'im jest a few nights ago. Must have five or six points two aside. Came down to the edge of my alfalfa field, big as you please."
"Does he always come from the same direction?" Dillon asked.
"Yep. Always from the east. Thing is, it's too dark to shoot by the time he gits here. If you guys figure out where he's bedding down, you'll git 'im some fine morning."
"Any good spots to set up around the field?" Dillon asked.
"There's some trees, but you'd know more about that. I've never bow hunted," replied Mr. Ryder.
"Are there any other good places to hunt?" Chad asked.
"Well, most of the muleys usually come down in early fall. You oughtta walk the ridge west of here. You'll want to hunt the points and heads of the draws. There's also a spring to the north of the ridge you boys oughtta check out. They most likely water there."
"Thanks so much, Mr. Ryder," Chad said.
"I always liked your dad," Mr. Ryder said, swinging round toward the shed door.
"Should we start at the alfalfa field?" Dillon asked.
"You bet," answered Chad. They circled the field. At one edge there was a windbreak of cedar and Russian olive. The boys walked through it looking for tracks.
"Look here," Chad stopped. He pointed to the ground. They squatted down to get a better look.
Dillon stared at the tracks in the dried mud. More than one deer had passed by, so it was hard to pick a single animal out. But a yard ahead he saw what he was looking for. A single, big track. The print of the buck's two-toed split hoof was 5 inches long.
"Look!" Dillon said, pointing.
Chad whistled. "He's a monster."
Dillon's stomach fluttered. "Yeah, he is." He stood up. "We'd better check out the draws and the spring too."
The boys hiked across a bright green meadow into the woods. Dillon felt cooler once they were under the canopy of trees. He watched as sunlight filtered through the tree branches, dappling Chad's back ahead of him. A light breeze set the branches in motion, and brought with it the pungent smell of pine.
"Ah!" exclaimed Chad. "This is the life."
"Sure is." It was good to be here with Chad. Chad felt the same way he did. Then Dillon spied a silhouette in the sky. He lifted his binoculars to his eyes.
"A goshawk," he said. He heard Chad fumble for his binoculars.
"Good spot, Dillon." They watched the magnificent bird darting through the trees.
Then Dillon swung the binoculars around to his left. "A Western Tanager!"
"Where?" Chad followed Dillon's lead and looked through his lenses. He groaned. "You're right."
Dillon extracted a notebook and pen from his pack. "You bet I am. I'm to 211 bird species now. How many have you got?"
"One hundred eighty-nine. You're ahead. But not for long."
"Do you think we'll ever catch up with Dad?"
Chad shook his head. "Only when we're old, maybe not even then."
Dillon put everything back in his pack. "Onward!"
The brothers set out for the ridge at a good pace.
Then, crack! Crack, crackety, crack! They looked at each other. Gunfire!
Copyright 2000 Writer's Club Press -- electronic rights copyright Gail Blankenau 2001