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Dave scanned the computer screen looking for the fuel pump I had just asked him for. “What are you doing this weekend?” he inquired. Dave was a church going man. I knew by weekend he meant Saturday. I also knew he had coyote hunting in mind. “I don’t know Dave, I’ve had my eye on a patch of sagebrush north of town, but I don’t know if I dare go at it alone.” “I know just the place you are talkin’ about. I’ve hunted it before, and you are right. It would be best with two people.” “So should I pick you up around six Saturday?” I quizzed. “Sounds like a plan to me, as long as we can be home around one o’clock. I have some things to do around the house.” Before leaving work the Friday before, I stopped by the parts department. “Are we still on in the morning Dave?” “I’ll see you at six.” Dave confirmed. My alarm broke the silence at five a.m. I had a long hot no soap shower and the truck loaded by five-thirty. I picked up my morning fix from the local convenience store, and rolled into Dave’s driveway at five till six. Dave was almost ready. He invited me in and offered me some toast and orange juice. It hit the spot. We loaded Dave’s gear and I pointed my truck north. I pulled off the freeway, rolled to a stop, and checked the wind. A slight breeze was detectable from the south. “Let’s park on the north side of that sand pile over there and walk down that wash a ways” Dave suggested. “Looks good to me.” We approached as Dave had recommended. We perched in the brush overlooking the sagebrush flat. Dave began to call. We were persistent on this stand because we noticed allot of sign on our approach. Forty minutes passed with no response. Making our way to the truck I complained, “They should have come. The wind, our approach, everything was perfect.” as I removed the shells directly under the hammer and the next one up from my revolver, as Utah law requires. Dave chuckled, “Sometimes they come other times they don’t. Let’s go try again.” We drove along the frontage road that ran parallel to a large embankment, left over from the freeway being constructed. A wide spot in the road presented its self as a perfect hiding place for the truck and we took it. “You play the tune this time. They didn’t seem to care for mine.” Dave interjected. “All right.” I was anxious to try my newly modified call. After crossing the fence I realized the brush was much taller than I had estimated from the freeway. Nervousness began to set in. I hadn’t dared call in brush this tall before. “We need to find an opening; this brush is a little heavy.” Dave pointed out. I nodded in agreement, and we moved on. Suddenly we were standing in a small clearing with scattered sagebrush to conceal ourselves. Dave chose a spot near the center of the clearing. I moved up wind, thinking if they came Dave would alert me to their presence, even if it was with a gun shot. I sat down, scanning the countryside for any signs of life. After the birds calmed back down, I began my best imitation of a dying jack rabbit. After my first stanza I realized, 150 yards away, traffic was going by at 75 miles an hour. I really let it all hang out, continuing for another ten minutes. I glanced in Dave’s direction, when his eyes met mine; I gave him an unknowing shrug. I blew the call again. She stepped out from behind the sagebrush not 25 yards away. My hands quaked uncontrollably. I didn’t dare move. Her jet black pupils hi-lighted by her golden irises seemed to stare right through me. She looked over her shoulder. I began to draw my revolver; she looked back before I could take aim. I froze as if she and I were playing some childhood game. I glanced in the direction she had, careful not to move my head. A second coyote stood just behind her and to the right. All I could see were its legs between the sagebrush. Finally, she looked away. I rocked the hammer back and took aim. The sight picture was perfect. The florescent blade centered on her chest. I took special effort not to jerk the trigger and began to squeeze. The trigger broke and the click of the hammer dropping echoed through the sagebrush and seemed louder than any .357 mag. I had ever shot. I managed to jerk off four rounds at the blur I saw darting through the brush, as they made their getaway. Dave emerged from his hiding spot laughing uncontrollably. “I thought something was up. When I heard that ‘click’ I knew it. How close was it?” “It? Hell, Dave there were two coyotes! One went north the other south. You didn’t see them?” I asked, pointing out the tracks in the sand, and the ditch my 125 grain hollow point had dug. “No, all I heard was a click, a string of profanity, and then you stood up shooting. What happened?” “I was still loaded legal from the truck. I never put my two bullets back into my revolver.” We continued our hunt, but I was still rattled. I couldn't believe I had forgotten to load my gun. ~ B. J. W.
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