men, me aoe raisea ner

men, me aoe raisea ner head, and I knew I had guessed wrong again. So, it was a doe acting like a buck. She had no yearlings with her, and I wondered if she was following some old buck’s scrape line. The rut was in full swing. She turned and went over the ridge. I smiled.

A pack of dogs?

Hunkering down under the cedar, I only had to wait about 15 minutes for the next excitement. Two dogs come trotting across the ridge, very nearly where the doe had been. But, wait, they were not dogs. They were slick and sassy coyotes. I tell you that because the last two I sent to coyote heaven, a number of years ago, also in muzzle loader season, were mangy and emaciated looking. These two, obviously, had been doing very well for themselves. At whose expense, I cannot say.

The one in the lead, with a whitish coat, probably the female, went out of sight in the brush. The second one, a bit larger, had a beautiful tan and white coat, and they were both moving along at a pretty good clip.

I put the old side hammer Hawken up and cocked it. At the hammer’s click, the larger one froze for an instant, and looked square at me, then tore off through the brush, passing the smaller one. They were better than 100 yards away, and, though alerted, were intent on their direction of travel. They were quartering towards me, and would pass through a draw about 75 yards out. I found an opening in the brush, and when the smaller one went through, I dropped the hammer.

The instant the smoke pole roared, I said a bad word under my breath. I was sure I had missed.

Can’t win them all

As I reloaded, I watched the far end of the gully. The only thing I saw emerge was the larger of the two coyotes. I sat down and waited. I was certain I had made a bad shot, and I was not happy with myself. I tried not to feel too bad; they