Gods and Generals - Jeff Shaara [14]
He had climbed the wide hill, moved slowly across the crest, resting between slow, deliberate steps, sinking into the deep powdery snow. He began to move downhill now, and stopped, stared at the tall ridges in the distance. How high are we, how far up? he wondered. He took a long, cold breath, thought, Easier going down, and . . . I am tired—Tom is so much younger.
Chamberlain turned, looked sideways across the wide slope for the figure of his brother, knew the boy would be moving through the smaller trees to the left, the short, thick ones where a man could hide his movements, sneak through, then suddenly glimpse the far side without detection. He waited, heard nothing, and realized, Yes, you can hear nothing. He listened hard, focused on any sounds, and there were none, no birds, no breeze. Remarkable, he thought. How many places can you go where you hear nothing?
He kept watching the cluster of small trees, suddenly saw movement, the trees first, a small shower of loose snow from the low branches, and then a quick brown flash, and a deer burst out, ran along the hillside toward him. He did not move, and the deer stopped, looked back to the trees, then raised its long, thick, white tail and began to make long prancing strides right toward him, still not seeing him. Chamberlain stood completely still, and the deer stopped again, now saw him, stared at him from a few yards away, and Chamberlain stared back, looked into the large round eyes, saw, not panic, but intense curiosity. They stood motionless for several seconds, and the deer suddenly raised its tail again, the thick flag, had seen enough of this unknown thing, and jumped quickly into motion, ran off, down the hill, away from him, and then darted below through the larger trees.
He watched the animal, could still glimpse the high bounding tail, thought, How odd, they hide so well, masters of camouflage, and then display their tail so everything in the woods can see them.
“Lawrence . . . did you see him?”
The boy emerged from the small trees, running now, fought his way through the deep snow, and he looked down, saw the tracks of the deer, then looked at Chamberlain, called out, “Lawrence, he ran right by you. Did you see him?”
He watched the boy, plowing his way closer, and Tom looked again at the tracks punched through the snow, a solid line leading away down the hill.
“Yes, Tom, I saw him. He went off, down there.” He pointed a gloved hand down the hill.
“Well, yes, Lawrence, I can see where he went. Did you get a shot? I didn’t hear you shoot.”
Chamberlain looked down at the musket, the long barrel of the old flintlock, had not even thought of using it. “No, I didn’t get a shot.”
“Lawrence! You let him go. God in heaven, you did it again! I been trailing that fellow from clear across that last valley, and he flushed out right by you . . . and you let him go. I swear, Lawrence, you do cause me some aggravation.”
The boy was out of breath, and Chamberlain swung the gun up, laid it backward on his shoulder, said, “We best be getting back. Over there, some clouds moving up. Could be more snow.”
The boy looked toward the thickening sky, then stared back at Chamberlain, and suddenly kicked at the soft snow.
“Phooo! I am never going hunting with you! Not ever again! If you wasn’t going to shoot the deer, why’d you come along anyway?”
Chamberlain turned, began to walk, stepping slowly through the snow, up the broad hill. He looked back, saw his brother following, holding his musket firmly in both hands, ready, always ready. Chamberlain stopped, smiled at the boy, who puffed up the hill and moved up beside him, short bursts of steam from tired breathing.
“Why do you come out here if you don’t want to shoot