Ride the Thunder Read Free

muzzle pointed away from the children. The boy was sitting on his knees, the barrel of his rifle resting on the dead trunk of the tree. Dressed in a brand new hunting jacket of red plaid, he watched the deer trail that wound closely past their hiding position.
    The girl was sitting cross-legged on the ground, her hands shoved deep in the pockets of her parka and the collar turned up around her neck. A white wool scarf was wound around her head, covering most of her copper-red hair, and knotted at the throat. It was chilly in the dawn hours of the autumn day, but Jordanna was afraid to shiver. She was afraid to blink. Her father’s instructions had been very precise. They mustn’t move or make a single sound. He had scouted the areabefore the hunting season had opened and assured them a big whitetail buck would come by this very spot.
    Very carefully and quietly, Kit sat back on his heels and without turning his head, slid a questioning glance at his father. The anxiety of waiting was written on his face. Fletcher Smith gave him an encouraging smile and, with a movement of his eyes, directed his son’s attention to the trail.
    Jordanna saw Kit’s eyes light up with excitement. She followed the direction of his gaze, but found nothing. She stared until her eyes hurt, then remembered her father’s admonition to keep her gaze moving. Seconds later, she saw a flicker of movement, concentrated on it, and recognized the object. It was a doe, a small, delicate-looking creature no higher than the belt buckle on her father’s pants.
    Despite the carpet of dead leaves and the heavy underbrush, the doe didn’t make a sound as it walked cautiously along the trail toward them. That doe was followed by two more does and a small fawn. Jordanna barely stopped herself from breathing in sharply. Her mouth opened in awe but not a sound came out. Her dancing eyes met the glance from her father. He winked his understanding of the enchantment of the wild creatures parading past. Kit’s grin echoed her excitement. This sight alone was worth enduring the cold and the discomfort of cramped muscles.
    The does disappeared up the deer trail, working their way to a higher elevation. Still, the trio maintained their silent vigil. The female deer weren’t the object of their hunt. They were waiting for the antlered head that heralded a buck. More minutes dragged by and the anxiety mounted again.
    Fletcher Smith lightly rested his hand on his son’s shoulder. Where once there had been nothing but trees and brush stood a seven-point buck. Its head was turned to study the trail behind it, testing the motionless air. With a one-finger signal, Fletcher indicated for his son to wait until the deer was in closer range. Jordanna’s heart was pounding so loudly that she was sure thedeer could hear it. With a twitch of its white tail, it started forward—proud, majestic, and wary. Not even a leaf rustled beneath its hooves.
    When the buck was within easy range, the hand tightened on Kit’s shoulder. Remembering the hours of practice, he took aim and squeezed the trigger. At the same moment the rifle was fired, the buck took a bounding leap toward a nearby thicket. Kit jumped up.
    “I got him! I hit him, didn’t I, Dad?” His positive statement dwindled into uncertainty. The deer was nowhere in sight.
    “You hit him,” his father assured him. “But you should have led him a bit more. You hit him in the stomach.”
    “I was watching all the time and I didn’t see that,” Jordanna declared in amazement. “How do you know where Kit shot him?”
    “By the sound of the bullet when it hit,” he explained. “It makes different sounds when it strikes different parts of the body. After a while you learn to recognize the difference.”
    “Man, that was really something,” Kit declared, at least partly satisfied with the accuracy of his shooting. “It was just like the guys said in school. He was a big buck, wasn’t he, Dad?”
    “He was good size,