One . . . the first cool, measuring glance at the target, the moment the soul falls silent and the eye takes over. Two . . . measuring the horizontal sight line; I didn’t have telescopic sights tonight, but I could imagine the lines framing the marksman’s shoulders as he stepped out of the trees. Three . . . using that benchmark to calculate distance. Hardly any distance at all here, but still not close enough. My heavy .45-caliber bullet would drop fast as soon as it left the barrel, but I hadn’t put in thousands of rounds of practice with this weapon to learn how fast. Four . . . checking
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