They badly needed the meat. Stanley had borrowed a rifle and used store credit for the ammo, but they’d had to pay cash for the license fees, and Carolyn wasn’t happy.
He studied the landscape. Not an elk in sight. He sat down on a nearby log and pondered his situation. This move had been a mistake. There was no work and they were getting deeper in debt. He’d been a fool. You couldn’t eat a Ponderosa forest or a clear mountain stream.
But the forested hillsides were green, the air scented with pine, the sun warm on his shoulders. Stanley took a deep breath and just sat, soaking it in. “It’s going to have to last me a long time,” he thought ruefully.
There was a slight rustle in the clearing below, then a six-point bull elk stepped into the open. Slowly, carefully, Stanley raised the rifle and sighted.
Copyright © 2015 Loretta Miles Tollefson
As Suzanna rounded the cabin from the garden, she saw Gerald in the yard loading his pistol. Both of the children stood beside him, watching intently.
“What are you doing?” Suzanna asked.
“We’re learning to shoot!” Andrew said gleefully.
Suzanna frowned. “We?” she asked. She looked at Gerald. “Andrew’s one thing, but Alma doesn’t need–”
“But I’m the oldest,” Alma said.
“She’s unfeminine enough,” Suzanna said to Gerald. “Always out fishing when she should be inside with her needlework.”
A smile flitted across his face. “Out here, everyone should know how to shoot,” he said mildly. “For safety’s sake.”
“More reason to move someplace civilized.” She turned and stalked toward the house.
“Can I load it, Papa?” Alma asked.
“Me, too!” Andrew said.
Gerald crouched down to show them again how it was done.
from Moreno Valley Sketches II
“Please don’t shoot him, Papa.”
Gerald lowered the gun and looked down at the boy. “Coyote’ve been nipping at the elk all spring and they left tracks by that half-eaten calf up the hill.”
Andrew shook his head. “He didn’t kill that calf, Papa.”
Gerald frowned. “You know that for a fact?”
Andrew hesitated, then nodded. “I’ve been watching him. He lets me get mighty close. He’s not as skittish as the others.”
“You’ve been following that coyote around?”
The boy scuffed the muddy ground with his boot. “I was curious.” He lifted his head. “The calf was dead when he ate off it.”
Gerald shook his head. “You are something else,” he said. He scanned the valley. The coyote was still visible. It trotted purposefully across the far side of the grassy slope beyond the meandering creek. “We’d best head back,” he said. “They’ll be waiting dinner on us.”
from Moreno Valley Sketches