Chapter 55

BOOK TWO

On the other side of the field from where the hunters sat huddled in a bush, a ghostly animal wandered out of the dark and began chewing on the willow growing in the meadow.

"Damn, look at that!" Bob whispered and pointed into the dusk.

"We only have about ten minutes of hunting time left," Frank peered into the dimming light. "Don't waste it."

"But the moose is white!" Bob said, "Maybe it's diseased."

"It don't look diseased," Frank sighted through the scope of his rifle. "Look at the rack on it.

Bob lifted his rifle up to look through the scope. The antlers were immense. He imagined himself in a picture standing beside the beast, probably in an outdoors magazine with hunters all over just screwed up with jealously that he got the shot. He lined his sights up extra careful. The pair had been out every day for a week and this was the first time they'd seen anything other than cows or footprints.