The Hunter

The Hunter

By Blanche Boshinski (excerpt)

“Look at the long-range implications,” the hunter said over and over again as the men argued.

Doug yelled at Cutter. “Driving drunk isn’t like cheating on your income taxes. I always knew you were a foo!” His voice was ugly, just as it was when Hugo had been missing for two days.

.Probably got chewed up by a coyote, he told Dillon. Then added under his breath, “Or accidentally shot.”

The third night without a warm spot at the foot of his bed, Dillon went outside way after midnight. Maybe Hugo was hurt or hiding out by the corrals.

Finally, after searching and calling way beyond the ranch buildings, Dillon sat and leaned against the tool shed. With his arms across bent knees, he put his head down and cried.

When ths sobs quit, he shivered with cold and looked up. In the glow of the nearly full moon, he saw a figure limp accross the rise to the south, stumble through the yard, and slip into the house by way of the back door. Ni light came on. Dillon scrambled to his feet and raced to the silent, dark house.

It wasn’t until the next day that Dillon knew he had an awful secret.

“If I wrote the confessions, this would be a lot more fun,” Cutter said as he poked another log into the stove and the smoke rolled out into Dillon’s face.

“Then write one,” the hunter ordered, as he tossed blank cars out onto the table. “Everyone contribute an evil deed.” Then he added, “But no sex and no religion.”

The Hunter. Image by Elena.

The old man suddenly leaped from his chair as he pointed to the window.

“An elk rack!” he yelled. “He just passed the window!”

Snow tumbled into the cabin as Doug yanked open the door. The wind doused all warmth as the men, including the hunter, grabbed their rifles from beside their chairs or along the wall and dived into the blizzard.

Dillon unwound himself and slid from the sofa. He set his coffee cup on the table and quickly printed on a blank card: “I know who was with Julia, but I haven’t told.”

He slipped the card into the deck and jumped back onto the sofa.

At the ranch a phone call came the morning after Dillon’s hunt for Hugo. Cutter’s girl had been killed in a car accident on the range road by the Old Mine Bridge. The driver had run off. No one knew who had been driving Julia’s car.

Anger dwarfed any griev Cutter felt.

“If I ever find out who was with her, I’ll kill him.”

Cutter slammed the kitcjen door as he stormed out. In a few minutes he was spurring Diablo at a run along the road leading to the high pasture where the three men raced their horses.

“Cutter won’t ever get another girl as pretty as Julia,” Doug said.

The old man came back into the cabin first.

“I was danged sur I saw something,” he said to the others, who followed him in, stamping their feet and brushing snow from their clothes.