"Only the first skirmish. I know—That is, I'm pretty sure that Damon and Pythias are still on Burned Mountain."
"Then at least we'll know where to find them."
"I believe so. Do you mind if I carry a rifle?"
"Why, I hope you do."
"I won't shoot either Damon or Pythias, even if I should get a shot," Ted promised. "But I would like to get a buck. It helps a lot on the meat bills."
"By all means get one. Pretty warm for this time of year, isn't it?"
"Too warm. Some snow would be a great help."
They exchanged more hunting talk, then went to bed.
An hour before dawn the next morning, after ordering Tammie to stay in the house, Ted closed the back door behind him and started up Hawkbill with his guest. He walked slowly, for Hawkbill was a hard climb for a young man, even in daylight. Though John Wilson was by no means doddering, neither was he young. Ted stopped to rest at judicious intervals.
The darkness lifted slowly, but it was still a thick curtain of gray when, in the distance, a fusillade of shots rang out. Ted grimaced. Some fool, who couldn't possibly see what he was shooting at, had shot anyhow. That was one way hunters managed to kill each other instead of game.