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The hunter bowed his head, he'd muffed the shot and cliped this target. The animal had turned on a dime and made it to the sactuary of the long grass and now he had a wounded beast on his hands. No PH to back him up here, no trackers or gun bearers, he was on his own. He sat down and rolled a smoke-as is custom in these situations-and pondered how he came to be on this shimmering grassland. He had always wanted to do it by himself, just like his heros, Selous and those other hunters of yesteryear, and now his time has come, hell his day had come and if he backed down he'd never be able to live with himself.

His heart beat picked up, he didn't feel the burn of his rollie, he threw the stub on the ground and stood up, carefully grinding the smoke under his heel, the last thing he needed was a grass fire! He broke open his rifle and replaced the rounds with fresh ones. The rifle felt comfortable in is hands, he threw it to his shoulder and took a bead on a dead tree in the distance and with a deep breath he entered the long grass.

As the grass closed in behind him, the sounds of the bush dissapeared, there was only the rustle of his footsteps and the swish of the grass as it brushed past his shoulders. Every sense was working overtime, waiting for the charge that he knew would come. Eyes were wide open, ears straining for the slightest sound and nostrils flared, trying to catch the scent of his quarry. He looked down and saw a drop of blood, it wasn't the bubbly lung blood he wanted to see but dark rich blood that says flesh wound.

Twenty meters into the grass he heard it, a slight rustle that didn't belong he stopped, nothing, moving again even more slowly. Suddenly the grass disapeared and in front of him was a clearing, was his quarry waiting for him on the other side, thirty meters away? He stepped into the clearing, one pace, two,three,ten, eyes on the wall of grass in front of him, sweat driped into his eye, he quickly blinked it away, he glanced down at his rifle....and thats when it came, bursting out of the grass in a ground eating rush.

The rifle came up naturally, he'd lost vital seconds looking up from his rifle at the start of the charge, his eye fell in line with the sights and when things looked right he pulled the trigger...nothing, a bloody misfire, his finger quickley felt for the second trigger, this time the rifle sounded, the second barrel saving his skin as the 500 grain 470 projectile hit his quarry between its eyes.

He approached the fallen body of his trophy with caution, he would've touched the eye of the animal with the barrel of his rifle, to check for signs of life, but this time there was no need as the animal had no head! You see a 500 grain bullet does nastie things to a rabbit!

The end.

Edited by Bakes (08/02/04 03:55 AM)

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