Hunting the Bear, Part I

Conner woke up in his hotel and looked to the small clock. He’d slept through his early alarm, it was later than he thought. He leapt up and quickly dressed, for he had a job to do, so he pulled on his camo pants, and readied his rifle too. A problem bear wandered about this small, Wyoming town. A grizzly, it had killed three dogs, twas his job to bring it down. The bear population had thrived of late, so this happened more and more, Fish and Game would send him out to do what some deplored. Like the protesters who’s dogged him the last two days on the trail, making noise so any close game would hear them and turn tail. They said killing the bear was cruel, they were here to protect it, so Conner had tried to wake early to avid them on this trip. He expected to see all of them when he went out to his truck, Instead he saw nary a soul, he cold not believe his luck! He drove then to a patch of forest near the town’s big campground, sightings here had him convinced that the grizzly was lurking ‘round. Into evergreen woods he strode, past boulders gray and tall, though steep ravines and parklands wearing the coat of early fall. For two hours he had no luck looking for tracks or sign. No scat, no fur, nothing at all, he feared he'd wasted time. Then he saw a trail of fresh prints straight through the piney duff, and from a thicket to his left came a raspy, guttural huff. He peered deep, saw the brown head of a massive grizzly’s bear If fed on something, big teeth stained with a slick, crimson veneer. It paused then, sniffing the air, seeing not Conner on the hunt. He hoisted his rifle, sliding left, carefully sighting the gun... CONCLUDES IN PART II.