Chapter Three
The bull elk was bugling to another male. The leader was ready for the fight. Pawing the ground just like another type of bull, he looked ready to take on all younger comers. This was natural selection. The survival of the fittest and horniest. The snow was falling softly among the Aspens as Mick and Elliott were watching in stunned amazement.
Mick signaled to the boy – move over to this stand – we don't want to get in their path during the fight. They were ready to take it to the bloodiest of ends. All for females, thought Mick, remembering the times he had rescued Beth and been ready to die for her. DNA. We're programmed to it from the stone ages.
He watched his young son. Eyes bright, so like my own in their hazel color. The boy lives for these times together. I guess I do, too, Mick admitted. Was I like this when I was 10? Worse. Always getting into trouble. More like Red. And my dad, veteran of the first World War, was an extremely quiet and gentle man. I must have gotten my personality from Mom's fighting Irishman ancestor. Still I can see that boy in my own. He loves nature and knows how to handle himself with the creatures of the wild.
The roaring started and then a clap. As loud as thunder. The ground was shaking from the massive animals coming together. Once again, they went at it. But then, a curious thing happened. Mick caught a rancid smell in the air from the west. And the beasts stopped, lifting their heads at the unknown.
Mick knew he didn't have to caution the boy to keep silent but was hard put not to make a sound himself. For there, coming towards the great elk, was a huge man, followed by other hunters. They were dressed in skins but were very hairy on their own. Most were dark but unbelievably one or two were blondes! With their jaws jutting out from the beards, the hunters came with spears in hand. The leader gave the sign and the hunt was on.