Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 116, Nos. 3 & 4. Whole Nos. 709 & 710, September/October 2000

It was pitch-dark out when they left the house. The new moon, a fingernail crescent, was obscured by clouds; The driveway sloped down to the street and they coasted the truck down with the lights off, not turning the ignition on until they were at the bottom. The engine caught with a low rumble and the driver backed out into the street, saving his headlights until they were pointed away from the house.

As they pulled away, the driver looked back over his shoulder towards the house. They had left the light on in the kitchen; as the truck trundled down the slick narrow blacktop he saw a second light go on upstairs, in a bedroom window. He thought he saw a shadow in the window, a reflection from the light inside, but he wasn’t sure.

They drove to their destination at a leisurely pace, parked their truck in a secluded area, hiked into the mountains, and set up on a small bluff with a good view to the narrow, mostly overgrown trail below. If their intended prize came, it would almost certainly come down this trail. The woods were too thick on either side to get through. If their target showed up, they would have a clear shot.

They hadn’t seen any other footprints since shortly after they’d left the car and headed up the trail. They hadn’t stayed on the trail long; they didn’t want to leave footprints of their own. They had circled around the long way to get to this view spot; it had taken an extra hour of hard going through gnarly woods, but they hadn’t left any trace of having come this way. And they made sure they were downwind from the direction they figured anything would come.

The advantage of the extra work was that they were in an area few others would traverse. There were closer-in, easier-to-get-to places if all you wanted was a run-of-the-mill deer. If something showed all the way up here they would have the kill to themselves. And it would be worth it.

They had good reason to believe their target would show up, that sooner or later he would come down this trail. The lead hunter had come upon his tracks a few days before, when he was out looking to see where the best place to bag his trophy might be. The tracks had been large and fresh, and the way they imprinted the soft ground indicated an animal unworried about being some hunter’s target. This was a mature specimen, who had survived for a long time out here and knew his way around. It was a male, there was no question in their minds. The size, weight, and spacing of the tracks were too large for a female. The head and pelt would be huge, a prize trophy. The kind a sportsman waits a lifetime for.

The sun rose up, hanging low on the horizon for a long time before starting to climb, a pale milky gray-yellow. It was wintertime, the sun would be low and weak all day, and it would set early. They sat patiently, huddled up against the wind that wasn’t blowing hard but was a steady, bone-chilling force.

Around eleven o’clock they each ate half a sandwich and a candy bar. They folded up the wrappings and jammed them in their pockets. They were good hunters, good sportsmen. Anything they brought in, they carried out; and they swept their footprints with pine boughs when they left. Tomorrow somebody could come through here and not know a human being had been anywhere near these parts.

The coffee, still hot in the thermoses, helped ward off the cold. So did the postprandial nip of whiskey. They didn’t have to worry about their reflexes going mushy from the whiskey; the cold kept them sharp.

There wasn’t much sound: the wind in the barren trees, leafless and black against the colorless sky. The heavy pines sagged from recent frost. No birdsong. A cracking of branches from small animals running under the dead leaf cover, and a few times the sound of an icicle breaking off and crashing to the ground.

The younger one, who had ridden shotgun on the drive out, checked his watch and turned to his brother. “Is your animal going to show?” he asked. “Seems if he was going to come this way, he should’ve done so by now.”

The other, the man whose house they had started out from, who had driven away and looked over his shoulder and seen the shadow in the window, shrugged his shoulder. “Hope so. Be a long hike if it turns out to be nothing to show for it.” He pointed down below them, where there was evidence of fresh animal activity, deer, rabbit, other game. “He hunts here. He knows this is where his dinner will be.” He looked off towards the horizon. “That’s if he’s hungry. There’s no guarantees. It ain’t like punching a clock.” He looked off again. “If he shows now, it’ll be closer to sundown, likely, or not at all. That’s how they hunt.”

The other nodded in agreement. That’s how animals like this hunted.

At two-thirty they polished off the rest of the food they’d brought. An hour left, then they’d have to head back before they lost the light.

Off in the distance, coming up the trail towards them, they heard the sounds of footfalls. Something big. The pace was steady, unhurried.