Winter 1962 • Vol. XXIV No. 1 FictionJanuary 1, 1962 |

Bounty Hunters

The doe was a half-mile off the shore, and moving over the ice slowly, with her weakened legs spraddled to hold her balance. Now, knowing her fate, she paused in the drifts and threw her head over her shoulder to sniff of the wolves still concealed in the thick strip of pine and balsam up on the ridge. I put the glasses on the back compartment and settled the automatic between my knees. "They'll be out in a few seconds," I said. Jamie gave a nod, and made a steep turn away from the floundering doe, into the frost-aureoled sun, into the citrine flash- ing of color over the snow and the white-capped evergreen. Wisps of cloud lay in ribbons over the chill land, and reflections of land and ice not visible from our height seemed imprinted along them. We went back along our route and crossed the trail of the doe, and the wolf tracks, and passed over the six deer lying in the snow at the edge of the slope leading into the tamarack swamp below. Frost hung like smoke over the ani

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