Kemosabe

He loved the solitude of the mountains, and as he dismounted his horse he smiled as the usual thoughts and emotions washed over him His ex-wife sarcastically called it the Zen of the Mountain Man, which he thought was a perfect fit. To him, thoroughly, to family going back a half-dozen generations these mountains were home, and in a lot of ways he k rude(a) his way around here better than his apartment complex.He led his horse to a tiny glade and tied the reins to a low branch where he could nibble on the mountain grass. For a shortened issue he gazed at the steed and his hand-tooled saddle and was proud that alwaysything he needed to live in the woods and mountains was right there in front of him. It gave him the comfort self-reliant people have, knowing how to use the best tools and equipment and property it all in good shape and neatly organized.He took his binoculars from a saddle bag and strapped it around his neck. From the scabbard came a well-used Ruger Number 1 rifle, a single-shot domiciliate in 7mm Remington Magnum topped with an equally worn Unertl scope. He was equally proud of his marksmanship even after he lost the eye he rarely if ever needed a second shot. Besides, if you missed the first shot chances are your prey spooked and ran.He climbed a hundred yards or so to a rocky ridgeline that gave him a perfect view of the valley below and the mountainside opposite his position. Any shot at an elk here could be up to 500 yards, well within the lethal range of his gun and optics. He reloaded his own ammo, learning the hard way never leave anything to chance or individual elses control. Soon he spied several younger bucks and a stag too big for the youngsters to challengefor now.He loved the natural order of nature, how it provided for those who took care of it, and in his nous he was already butchering the bounty that would feed him well for months. He said a silent prayer the stag would keep grazing and subject him a solid broadside shot. Suddenly he noticed the elk froze, ears perked and eyes alert and good as suddenly they bolted out of sight. A brief moment later the sound that spooked his quarry rolled up the hill.Fuck Ignorant mother- screw propeller assholes he swore, already up and moving down to his horse as the distant growl of a big dozer washed the hills. He unloaded his rifle and leaned the rifle against a tree. He found the ammo hammock he was looking for, each shell tipped with an especially hardened solid metal-piercing bullet.It took him a while to get a good view of the glazed yellow machine as it tore into trees. Just great, asshole, he whispered to himself. Whack down another couple dozen trees and show yourself. He waited until the moment the machine throttled up, certain the engines noise would mask his gunfire. He knew that from experience. He also knew that the metallic bang of the bullet slamming through the engine summit and impacting on the engine, along with the sudden appearance of a s hiny hole would get the operators attention.The heavy recoil of his shot rocked against his shoulder. He was halfway to his mount when he heard the motor die into silence. He shook his head in disgust and patted his horse. Well, Jumper, just another day in fucking paradise.On the way home he remembered the days when his oath and badge would have compelled him to search out and arrest the sneaky SOB vandal. It was both just a few years as well as a lifetime past. If anyone had the right to a hard-on for the logging interests, he did. He had tried to restore order in a bar full of loggers and lost his eye in the vicious brawl that ensued. At least a half-dozen loggers focalise upon him, kicking and laughing as the other patrons watched, either uncaring or too frightened to come to his aid. Miraculously he was able to draw his back-up six-shooter and shoot three of them, killing one, before they surrendered. Luck was with himit was a five shot revolver.Insult was added to injury wh en he was taken off the road and given a job as a dispatcher. His brother-in-law lawyer was able to secure a decent monetary settlement for his injuries and partial loss of sight. Then a new sheriff was elected, nothing but a pawn of the logging coalition, and he was, in the vernacular, adiosd. Pissed as he was. he knew he couldnt kill anyone, at least not without the heat of battle. But it wouldnt stop him from ruining their day. Or months and years, he was happy to admit.As much as he liked the solitude, he wasnt anti-social, and had more than a few good friends he regularly met up with at old bar. He thought his befriend Barney summed it up the kind of place Hemmingway would be comfortable barfing in. He loved Barney and his bullshit, and found him holding court with a bunch of coeds and beatniks. Barney held his lecture and beamed at him. Yo The dandy White Hunter returns Are we gonna have an elk bar-be-que tonight?He glanced at the cleavage of the young girl putting his beer on the table. No much(prenominal) luck. Busted. Goddam noise from the logging scares em into fucking Canada.Well, Barney said, maybe you need to chase other game.Like hell I will.Take bulldozers for instance. The news says someone nailed a trophy Cat in Gates Valley this morning.He raised his glass. No shit? Heres to emYep. Barney had a drunk grin. Damn shame theyre too heavy to quarter and take home. Itd make a hellofa mount