Posted September 11, 2015 3:04 pm by Comments

By gunwriter Small patches of fog drifted above the treetops like lost spirits. Sunrise was an hour gone but the morning was cool and overcast. The world seemed dim and for hunting, he was late. Robert stepped from the car with his coffee. Ignored during the drive, the coffee was cold. He poured it out and tossed the cup in the vehicle. Taking the hunting vest from the back seat he slid it over his shoulders. 16 gauge shot-shells rattled in the pockets. It had the aroma of must but there was another smell, one he remembered. Pulling the shotgun from the well-worn canvas case he noticed rust on the receiver at the balance point. That bothered him. Like it would make it go away, he covered the rust with his hand and started toward the old gate and past posted sign. His keys were still in the ignition. On the old haul road just past the gate a wide hollow opened and rose gradually to the left and into the rising sun. Covered by a canopy of giant hardwoods, a trickle of a creek meandered down the draw. The path was there just as he remembered. It would follow the creek …read more

Source:: Empty Cases

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