Vikram Shankar squinted down the long metal barrel. Framed squarely in the sight, not two hundred feet away, the big cat sat on its haunches, its lower jaw drooping, exposed ribs rippling under a creamy mat of chocolate-striped fur.
A sweet shot.
Vikram's right finger closed over the trigger. He inhaled slowly, deliberately. Too seasoned a hunter to let the thrill overcome judgment, he took his time, savoring the anticipation.
The nasal whounk-ing of a snow goose flying overhead pricked the cat'...
Published on December 10, 2009 05:13