We were walking bright and early in the morning at a slow and steady pace, and a cold breeze rushed through our hair. We were cresting over a hillside when all of a sudden Dad, who was leading our group, stopped in his tracks. His face paled as he slowly turned his head to the left. He whispered the words we had been waiting to hear.
The deer crossed over the ridge right at daybreak, just as I had predicted. I was in the perfect spot, prepared for them. I gripped my muzzleloader tightly as I prepared to shoot.
We crept low to the ground as we headed towards the bedded down buck. We were concealed by the many bushes along the sidehill. Just a few more yards and we would be within range.
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