Part 2

"I hope not. Supposed to be bad luck to shoot a woman first thing on a hunt, you know," Thurman replied as they reached the far side of the clearing. "Anyway, we'll soon know."

They plunged into the heavy forest only a few hundred yards behind their game. Following rapidly along behind him, they left a wake of broken branches and torn limbs as they went. The forest rang with the sounds of the chase.

Soon, sloshing across a little stream, they came up over a grassy knoll and down into a shallow glade on the other side of it.

"He's heading for the rocks, over that way," Thurman said, turning off in pursuit. "He won't be able to go much farther."

"I don't know if _I'll_ be able to go much farther," said Karsten, the perspiration beading out across his heavy face. "I'm not used to this."

"Neither is he," Thurman reminded him. "Remember, he's had nothing to eat for almost a week, and they probably didn't let him sleep for three or four days back. He can't last much longer."

"I hope not," said Karsten.

They passed across a narrow strip of marsh land, carefully avoiding most of the bog holes as they went. Just on the other side, as they came around a series of heavy berry bushes, they heard a long, shrill buzz from their ear plugs.

Thurman stopped quickly. "Somebody else has spotted him!" he said, and took out his whistle. He gave it three lusty blasts and then stuck it back in his pocket. "That should fix them," he told his partner. They set off again in pursuit.

Soon it became obvious to the two hunters that they were gaining rapidly on their quarry. They increased their pace just a trifle to take advantage of their lead.

* * * * *

It was perhaps five minutes later when they tracked their man down and for the first time got a good look at him. They were very close to the outcroppings of a rather steep foothill when they came over a little rise and saw him scarcely a thousand yards in front of them.

"There he goes!" cried Karsten. "Into that little pass between those two rocks!" Rapidly they closed in upon the narrow pass.

The opening between the big rocks was not much more than ten feet wide. It led like a narrow corridor through the sides of the hill and then opened up beyond into a little canyon. The two hunters paused just on the other side of the pass.

"I think he's trapped," said Thurman. "I can't tell for sure, because there are too many bushes in the way. But I think this is a little box canyon, and that this pass is the only way out."

William Karsten looked around him. "Seems that way to me," he told his companion. "Let's move on in slowly."

They took their time as they walked through the narrow canyon, checking behind each bush and rock as they went. The little valley was only a hundred yards wide but several hundred yards in length. On all sides rose a sheer cliff some fifty feet in height.

When they were about two hundred yards from the end of the canyon, they stopped. The cliff walls had narrowed so that there was scarcely a twenty-five yard distance from one side to the other. Only one last row of bushes separated the hunters from their quarry.

"I can see him from here," Karsten said. "He's up against the back of the canyon there, trying to hide."

"Well, this is it," Thurman said. "It's a pity he's such a small-sized one."

"Well," asked Karsten. "Shall we flip a coin?"

"Why not?" said Thurman. He reached in his pocket. "Call it," he said.

"Heads," Karsten answered. Thomas Thurman tossed the coin high into the air. Its silver sides caught brightly at the sunlight as it mounted in a smooth arc, then danced back to earth. The two men leaned over to inspect it.

"Heads it is," Karsten said, grinning. "I win."

"This is your day, I guess," Thurman told him.

Karsten moved forward to the clump of bushes, Thurman following close behind. They could see the quarry clearly now, the whiteness of his body in bold contrast with the thick red stripes.

"He has gray hair," Thurman said.

The criminal inched back along the rocky wall, seeking desperately for some exit. He tried to climb up the side of the cliff, but could do no more than to stir up a small shower of loose stones as he lost his footing. Suddenly he picked up a rock, twirled, and threw it at the hunters. It scarcely covered a third of the ground between them.

"Well, I like that," said Karsten. "He's got his nerve." He raised his rifle to his shoulder and looked carefully through the telescopic sight. For several moments he held his stance. Then slowly he lowered the gun back to his side.

"I'm sorry, Tom," he said. "But I think I'll let you have this one after all."

Thurman looked surprised. "What's the matter, Bill?" he asked.

William Karsten sighed. "I think I used to know him."

"Oh," Thurman said. And then he frowned. "You're sure it's not just because he's so small that you're giving him up?" he questioned.

"No. Quite sure. I think he was one of my professors back in college."

"Oh, well, then," Thurman said. He put his gun to his shoulder and took careful aim.

"Shoot for the body, Tom," Karsten whispered to him. "Don't want to spoil the head."

Thurman pulled the trigger. The explosion split the quiet air apart and cast the pieces of silence as echoes up and down the little canyon.

* * * * *

"Good shot!" Karsten told his companion. "Nice and clean."

Thurman smiled. "Thank you," he said. And then, "Too bad you had to give him up."

Shrugging his shoulders, Karsten said, "Well, that's the way of things. I don't remember him too well, but I think he taught me anthropology. Old Mac something-or-other. I forget his name."

The two men started walking back towards the entrance to the canyon. "I suppose that I could have taken him anyway," Karsten said as they walked. "But I've never considered it good taste to shoot someone whom I've known."

"I know how you feel," Thurman told him.

"It sort of ... well ... ruins the sport, if you know what I mean," Karsten said.

"Sure," replied Thurman.

They went quietly through the narrow little pass, stopping on the other side. Thurman lit a cigarette and leaned back against a rock to rest. Karsten put a star shell into his rifle, pointed it towards the sky, and fired. They both watched as it burst into a gaudy blossom of fire and smoke far above them.

"That ought to bring Emmett on the run," Karsten said. "He can clean things up and leave a marker. The plane will pick up the body later today."

Thurman took a deep breath. The air had a tangy smell to it of springtime grass and early flowers. The warmth of the sun gave the forest a hazy sort of glow. In the nearby trees small animals chattered loudly.

"Nice day, isn't it, Bill?"

"It certainly is," Karsten answered, gazing thoughtfully at the pleasant landscape. "But look at those clouds. It might rain tonight."

"It might at that," Thurman told him. He gave another sigh and then smiled, dropping his cigar to the ground and crushing it out beneath his boot.

"Well, shall we go?" he asked. "I'm getting hungry."