The sun sunk behind a ragged, snow-flanked peak and I looked again to find the buck gone. I slowly came to my knees and found an empty bench. I stood and began to steal forward but made only a couple steps when swiveling antlers caught my attention maybe 80 yards over a fold of land. I duck-walked forward, an arrow on the string, hoping for a quick shot after reaching that lip of rock and moss. Instead I found the deer at 80 yards, looking over their shoulders, tails twitching, ears pinned. They began to amble away, falling into a nearly unperceivable declivity. I dropped into the squat greenery and scrambled around them desperately, stepping lightly across silent moss in hopes of cutting them off before they made open ground. They caught me flat footed at 70 yards. I thought about shooting, but hesitated, and in that moment they turned and filed across the hillside, determined but not panicked.

All I could do was watch. It was Adrian's show now, if he was waiting where we'd agreed.

The bucks broke into a trot as they neared the strip of firs where Adrian should be stationed. I scrambled to higher ground to watch and as they turned downhill they seemed to gain momentum, breaking into long bounds that carried them 30 feet at a bounce, scattering shale and gobbling ground until they were out of sight. I soon found Adrian, his bow hanging at his side, his head downcast. I started toward him.

"They ran right over me," Adrian said when I reached earshot. "I was at full draw jerking my bow around to keep up, but when they cleared brush they were really moving. I should've shot but couldn't make myself do it. I would've had to lead them 20 yards…" The sun was gone now, leaving behind a rich alpenglow of golden light--normally my favorite part of the day.

* * * * *

It was black dark when we discovered the horses; or I should say heard a quiet whinny from the darkness that came as a relief to growing anxiety, walking toward it like a siren's song and relieved to find glowing embers of reflecting eyes in our flashlight beams where we'd picketed them in a patch of grass. When we arrived there seemed no hurry to be on our way. We'd already created our circumstances and had no option but to live with it. We unloaded our saddlebags and ate for the first time that day, Adrian starting a small fire to provide some comfort, chewing and talking about those bucks.

Then we rode and talked, giving the horses their heads, rehashing the entire episode until the subject was completely exhausted and we fell into bored muteness, only the wind in the firs, the creak of saddle leather and clattering hooves perceivable in the complete darkness. There seemed nothing to say, so we rode blindly and in silence, the country rising and falling until there was no way to fathom where we were; that we were making any progress whatsoever.

We came to a high place in the trail and the lights of Delta, or Montrose, (we couldn't be sure) showed dimly and well removed. We paused, dismounting to walk in circles and work the considerable creaks from our bones. The temperature had dropped like a stone and in our flashlights I could see well-defined plumes of exhaled breath as we talked. My fingers and toes were numb and I found I was having a difficult time creating coherent sentences.