The Hunt

After months of pleading and derision calculated to incite Horace’s ire, Ephrom convinced him to join him for a hunt. They brought their rifles to school, leaning them against the outhouse when the master rang the morning bell. When their lessons ended, they stashed their books under a pile of dead leaves and wandered into the underbrush. Side by side, step by step, skirting brambles and bushes, wading through glades of shady ferns, they proceeded as noiselessly as possible toward Snake Pond. Ephrom was anxious to impress; the master had reprimanded him for his penmanship, his recitation, and his lack of geography knowledge. After his upbraiding, the spectacled tyrant rapped Ephrom’s knuckles with a wooden ruler. Worse, Horace had recited the Preamble and earned an admiring glance from the master.
A gray squirrel scrambled up a tree trunk. Both boys lifted their fire pieces and aimed. Ephrom’s bullet struck the creature just above its waving tail. Horace held his fire; a rustling movement beside them caught the corner of his eye. When Ephrom’s rifle had exploded, it woke a deer and two of its young from their afternoon nap. Startled, the animals leapt and fled, crashing in breaking waves through the undergrowth. Seconds after Ephrom, Horace swiveled and fired. Ephrom, assuming Horace had missed the squirrel, retrieved his prey, turned, and held it high with a crooked grin. Horace had moved away. Frowning, Ephrom followed him to the place where the deer lay dying. Another cursed, curious squirrel ventured into view from behind a tree trunk. Always ready, Ephrom raised his rifle for the second time. Horace ignored him and stepped closer to the prone deer just as Ephrom squeezed the trigger. The bullet ripped through Horace’s calf, behind and below his knee. The deer cushioned his fall.