Walking Out Page #4

Right on back to Texas.

You couldn't hack it here.

What did you ever know

about me anyhow?

Did you ever even know me?

Musk thistle.

Milkweed.

Kinnikinnick.

Oh, Steller's Jay.

Steller's Jay.

Steller's Jay.

You look like a damn koala bear.

Or one of those cat posters?

"Hang in there."

Hang in there.

That's funny.

You sure as hell aren't

gonna sneak up on anything

clowning around like that..

Especially not the bull

elk we've been following

these last two miles.

A bull elk?

See these tracks along here?

Walk one,

wait five. Okay?

Don't skyline yourself.

Stay low.

Shh.

Sometimes the best stalking

is standing still.

Yeah.

There we go.

Shh, shh.

Gun down, gun down.

Put your gun down.

Right on top of that

ledge right there.

- You see it?

- Yeah. Yeah.

Quiet yourself.

You gotta be so quiet right now.

It's way up close.

- Alright? Just follow me.

- Yeah.

Alright.

You got eyes on him?

Alright, safety off, safety off.

Now, deep breath now.

Yeah.

Just let it out as

you squeeze the trigger.

And then you pull it soft,

but sure.

Alright?

You got it!

Always approach from behind

so he can't lash at you

with his hooves.

Get hold of his rack,

in case he's not dead.

Good. Get it out

of your system.

I need you to help me

dress out our elk

before nightfall.

We'll drag him to cover

and quarter sir elk

in the morning.

You ready to gut him?

It's right here.

Take it, David.

Hm..

I guess I'm getting to be

like your grandfather.

He was a railroader.

Route manager.

After school

I'd stop by the station.

He'd be asleep,

face flat on his desk

timetables damp with drool.

After we checked mom

into St. Anne's

for the last time

it became chronic..

They called it narcolepsy.

It got him his pension..

But I think he just

didn't care much

for being awake alone

for so many empty hours.

It used to be a tablespoon

and then she wrote in

half a tablespoon.

Ah..

I still love that part.

Stomach cancer.

Your grandmother Chloe

was only 51, David.

And her last three years

were total hell.

Don't you dare let me

go out that way.

You never told me

about your moose.

You said you, you killed a moose

when you were my age.

Oh, yeah.

For my birthday

my father gave me

the .30-30 I gave you.

He said it was lucky.

Said it was a man's gun.

I was so sure I'd get my moose

my hands were shaking.

Your grandfather

called it buck fever.

My heart was in my

throat. My mind was mush.

What does a moose look like?

Did you just ask me

what a moose looks like?

What's he gonna do

when he sees me?

What kind of thing is he

gonna do? I need to know.

Right.

He's gonna be pitch-black,

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