A Hunting StoryIt was still at least a mile to the next farm. Erastus’s truck was just a few yards away when Sam drove over a bank, broke through a barbed wire fence and cut across a large field to avoid a long, winding curve. Then he was back on the road again. The truck couldn’t follow and had to go the long way around. In a short time, Erastus caught up and was trying to drive Sam into a high pile of snow. The pickup’s bumper rammed into the big wheels of the tractor and was lifted off the ground as it skidded out of control. Sam had to whip the steering wheel around to stop sliding sideways. Erastus tried to race past him but Sam stayed in the middle of the road to block the way. Now, the snow was coming down in heavy sheets, blowing sideways, so that at full throttle, Sam could hardly see. Again, the truck drove into the wheels of the tractor, momentarily driving Sam out of control. The wind rushed over his icy hands and past his frozen ears. Then there was a loud roar and headlights appeared above the blast of an air horn. Sam yanked the wheel towards the side of the road. Erastus didn’t even see the huge blade of the snowplow as his truck drove head on into the oncoming mountain of steel. There was a crash immediately followed by an explosion that left the crushed pickup engulfed in flames. With no possibility or inclination of a rescue, Sam just sat there on the tractor, frozen, as black smoke wafted past his face. The driver of the snowplow was in shock but not hurt and was already on his radio calling for help. When he climbed down from his smoky cab and walked over to Sam, the first thing he said was, “What the hell’s going on?” Sam was too cold and exhausted to explain and just said, “He didn’t see your plow.” In a short time, the police were on the scene. “So you’re the hunter they’ve been looking for,” a burly officer said as Sam was being guided towards an ambulance, his arm already in a sling. He had refused to be carried on a stretcher. “I want to know exactly what happened here,” the officer said as an attendant opened the doors. Sam worried that Sissy would twist things around to make it look like her brother was trying to catch someone who had made off with his tractor. When the officer persisted with his questions, Sam told him that he was too tired and in too much pain to talk. Nick, who had put out the alarm for his lost hunting buddy, showed up just as the ambulance was pulling away, headed for the hospital in Cooperstown. Through the back window, Sam could see his friend behind the wheel following in his truck. Once again, he heard Nick saying, “You can chase this buck for 20 miles and never catch up with him.” But Nick was wrong. Sam did catch up with the ivory-racked deer – only it was already hanging from a rafter in Erastus’s barn. As expected, when questioned, Sissy, grieving for her dead brother, denied ever having held Sam captive in her house. She had had plenty of time to hide all evidence of his being there. It began to look like a lost hunter stole a tractor from an innocent farmer in order to make his way home. Nick told the police about Erastus’s barn-burning suspicions and that he had vowed to get even. It appeared obvious that his friend had unfortunately stumbled onto the wrong farm. Sam was treated for exposure, and x-rays found no broken bones, only a dislocated shoulder that was painfully corrected. He was released from the hospital the next morning but the incident was far from closed. He had been found at the scene of a fatal accident and in possession of a stolen tractor. The police would be asking plenty of questions. “If you only would have let that deer go,” Nick said as they headed home. “There’s gotta be a way to prove they were holding me,” Sam said. “That would justify taking the tractor.” They rode in silence for a while as Sam looked out the window. A jet plane was making its way across the distant sky. Sam began honing in on it, wondering where it was headed and if it was on time. He felt the tension of responsibility building and wondered how he was going to get out of the fix he was in. His time off due to a near miss at Kennedy had ironically resulted in a head-on collision for which he appeared responsible. “I guess you lost your gun when you fell,” Nick broke in. “No, I carried it to the house and Erastus took it.” “That’s it!” Nick said. “We gotta tell the troopers about it.” Sure enough, armed with a search warrant and under violent protest from Sissy, the police searched the farmhouse and found Sam’s Remington hidden high in an unused chimney. Now, Sam was off the hook but Sissy Quinn faced charges of kidnapping as well as attempted murder. Three days later, Sam was packing his stuff in preparation for returning to his job in the city. His shoulder was still sore and he didn’t feel ready to go back to work. He knew that what he needed was an extended leave and a trip to some island like Aruba where he could sit on a beach sipping a minted drink and watching waves roll in. But, they were short on help at the tower and, consistent with his character, he would most likely report to work as expected. “So, Mr. Traffic Cop, what’d you learn from all this?” Nick asked Sam as he helped carry his gear to his car. Sam thought for a minute. Then he said, emphatically, “Don’t shoot unless you know it’s a kill shot.” Terry Berkson is an author living in Richfield Springs.
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