Hunting for a Trophy- Pt. II
A Short Story
Hunting Fiction
Thanks to the older man, no doubt, for even finding him. Thomas lowered his rifle, confirmed no other hunters were near and walked to where the animal lay. He nudged its torso with his boot. No sudden movement: red blood painted the grass. He then took out his hunting knife and kneeled. While he was prepared to put it to rest, if necessary, he listened very hard. No labored breathing exited its snout for some moments. Finally, he thought. And it happened to be a six-pointed stag. He had scored huge right as the season culminated. This strong animal – the pride of Northern Scotland's wilderness. However, a thought crossed his mind. Thomas hoped it didn’t have any young. That was always the downside.
Thomas pushed his rifle’s safety back on, then straightened the body and lowered its antlers. He took his small blade out for field dressing it. This part he’d gotten good at. His father – even his mother – demonstrated detailed steps for the past few years. Could prepare one for transport in under sixteen minutes most times. He looked backward when something caught his eye.
By the closest tree, a dirty chunk of metal lay. Its bottom edge was covered by dirt. As though stuck straight in the ground, then gradually leaned backward over time. Thomas lowered the antlers. What’s that? He brushed its surroundings off. Its straight edges looked extremely brittle. He’d have to brush it off gently to examine engravings in detail.
“Is that what I think it is?” he murmured to himself.
His mouth opened agape as he held it with a corner of a meat sack. You can’t be joking. Never in a million years would he have the absolute fortune to come across this on a weekend hunting. And it just sits there, amid oak trees in late summer in proximity to dozens of other hunters. Which was a good point. Of the last few minutes, he only heard rustling some distance away. Probably leaves again. However, Thomas remembered now about the locally restored castle. Within fifteen miles and open to the public. Perhaps this chunk of metal was from its era. How brilliant would that turn out to be! He laid it next to his backpack, which he had opened all the way for meat.
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If whatever amount of venison the stag gave stuffed it, he’d wrap it thickly and carry it by hand. He leaned over the stag’s hindquarters and made the first slice.
Bollocks, he murmured. Blood covered a few inches of meat. One had a hole the size of his index finger in it. Slicing off that portion saved the rest.
And in a short time, it was ready. As much bruised venison as possible was cut off and put into cotton sacks. It's trimmed out the organs were in one also for later disposal. Just like mom and pop taught him. Last he wrapped the centuries-old, possibly Anglo-Saxon, artifact up and find a place for it. That may be so valuable that he knew he had to contact the Aberdeen Museum. After wrapping up on the stag at home, he’d make a call. He already imagined his dad’s incredulous look and the museum’s surprise. Aye, dad, I found this piece of old metal while I was out hunting. I just called the museum in town, and they gave me details. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.
It took Thomas only a year and a half to finally fill a tag. He slipped on his backpack and hoisted, with a grunt, the cleaned-out stag over his shoulders. It had sections he couldn’t fit in his backpack. But before he walked back to his pickup – where was that older hunter? Thomas realized that he never would have found it if not for him. He deserved a huge thanks and a chunk of tenderloin at the least. By now he lost his path. Tracing his steps back could bring him back to that big log. Which meant locating boot prints. On the flip side, meat needed storing, especially blood-soaked. Letting what was edible become rotten would make this trip a terrible waste.
Well, may as well try, and quick, he thought.
He roughly remembered his steps to that large log. For a little bit, he looked for his own bootprints. Breezes now made his pants flutter loudly. He’d be sweating through every layer on the way back and in the chill. Thomas barely found his own footpath back. He continued along, grunting from the weight of large shoulders upon his and antlers poking his head. Maybe that was where I started. The old man was south of there. He walked east I thought. He paused walking and switched shoulders for the stag. Can ask anyone in the parking lot if they know him and leave a note.
Thomas asked a couple other hunters on the way back. But they didn’t know the gent. By the time the sun was about in the midafternoon, he exited the trees to rows of trucks and campers. He found his truck, lowered the tailgate, and slid the stag in. Golly…releasing that weight sure felt good. Right before closing it, he grabbed a sack and put a few tenderloins in it. He walked down long rows, some people preparing their own hunt.
Before admitting his attempt had any more worth, his eyes caught sight of a man sitting on the edge of a tailgate. His dark green jacket lay over a fender, and a black water bottle sat at the edge of the truck bed.
Thomas jogged over holding his backpack. And saw that he did fill a tag. That put a smile on Thomas’s face. Went solo after all worked alright.
“Aye, sir.”
The old man saw him and nodded. “Did yer find one?”
“I sure did. Thanks for the heads up. Here,” he held out his sack. “Tenderloins.”
He waved it off. “I’ve got what I came for, lad. Enjoy it for yourself.”
Now that he wouldn’t have. Thomas laid it on his tailgate.
“I insist.”
The old gent sighed. “Always stubborn at your age.” And he tipped his beret.
***
Two thoughts crossed Thomas’s mind on the highway home. Other than listening to Blake Shelton’s latest CD. One, whether the stag’s meat would last the winter and two, what was the artifact made for? An insignia large enough to use as a door knocker, after it got a proper cleaning. Like dad would allow me to hammer it on the door to the shop, he thought. Would his dad even be wowed by the stag? Come out of the garage and give him a fatherly slap on the shoulder, saying “Great catch! Better than the last one I brought home”?
He was about to find out.
It was lunchtime when he parked next to his dad’s truck. The garage door was open; he heard sharp cuts on wood. It also doubled as meat storage. All animals they hunted were portioned and frozen inside. Thomas parked. As he got out, he saw wood splinters flying about.
“Aye, dad, check this out!”
The wood splintering kept going.
“Dad!”
The sound then revved low all the way down to off. Out of the garage, his dad came, thick hair matted with wood dust. He lowered the tailgate and gently pulled the antlers forward. All six points of them. Thomas flicked his eyebrows and displayed a hugely confident grin.
His dad’s jaw dropped at that literal moment.
“By George! That’s gotta be a five-pointer at least.”
“Naw,” Thomas showed. “Six. Pretty nice, eh? I wouldn’t have found it if not for an older gent taking a breather from his hunt. Said seventy yards or so around here, and he heard scuffling.”
The biggest grin possible formed on his lips. But for only a moment. It turned into a serious look. He lifted an edge of skin connected to meat.
“Oh, come off it. It might have enough meat to last us all winter. Imagine all the roasts we can cook… Mmhmm.”
They studied each other’s faces.
That huge grin flashed back like it wasn’t even there.
“I’m just kidding,” his dad laughed. “Is it a male stag?”
“Yessir.”
His dad slapped him firmly on his shoulder. “Let's get it on the table,” he said. “Your mum’s gonna love this.”
And that is a wrap. :) My first self-published story. No payment necessary!
I sent this to possibly a half-dozen publications over the previous year. I thought it was an easy sell! Like, “People read general fiction all the time. Shouldn’t be tricky, even being a hunting story”.
Ehhh, not quite.
So, I underestimated this process. I never found one. I thought, “Meh, oh well. I will put on my website instead.” Now that it is here, I think it looks pretty good like this.
Writing these is excellent practice. A pallet cleanser from writing novels. Regardless, as always thanks for reading! I almost want to compare that feeling to a perfectly cooked and marinated tenderloin.
*Crickets*
That’s cringy.
LASTLY - the full manuscript will be viewable on the brand new Fiction tab. Look at the top of my website and you will see it. Thank you for reading. :)