"No."
"A quarter of the way below the summit. Look a hundred yards to the right of that light-colored patch of ground and thirty yards down slope."
"I still don't—Oh, my gosh!"
He uncased his binoculars, put them to his eyes, focused and stared for a full three minutes. When he took the glasses down, there was a gleam of purest ecstasy in his eyes and at the same time a little awe.
"There isn't a buck that big!" he murmured breathlessly.
"Look again," Ted invited. "Wonder where the dickens the other one is."
He searched the briers, a little puzzled. Damon and Pythias were known as such because, except during the rutting season, they were never far apart. But definitely only one of the two huge deer was on Burned Mountain now. It was very unusual.
Ted shrugged. There was no unchangeable rule that said the two big bucks must always be together. Maybe the sound of shooting or the hunters going into the woods had caused them to separate, or perhaps they had parted for reasons of their own.
The shooting continued spasmodically, and not too far away came the outlandish cacophony of shrieks and shouts that meant a hunting party was staging a deer drive. A thin voice screamed, "He's coming your way, Harvey!"
As Ted continued to watch the big buck, John Wilson became restless.