Pennsylvania Game News - November 2010 - 29

And when Tip came through, he paused just long enough to give me a disgusted look, as if to say, “Come on, old man. Pay attention to what you’re supposed to be doing.” And then he was gone, headed downhill and across Mallory Run and uphill on the far side. Even George gave me a questioning look — why didn’t you shoot? George and I had had a lengthy discussion about this rabbit hunt the evening before. After looking out the kitchen window I said, “The sky is clear and there’s nearly a full moon out there. It’s going to be bitter cold by tomorrow morning.” George looked at me as though I was trying to duck out of our plans. “I can dress warm,” he said. “I’ve waited all week for this, and all of the kids at school know about it.” He clenched his jaw and squinted at me. “We’re going rabbit hunting and we’re going to get a limit.” I grinned and leaned my chair against the wall. “Okay, big boy, we’re going rabbit hunting, and we’re going to get a limit. That’s four rabbits.” He wore a grin from ear to ear. Just as I had predicted, it was a cold clear morning with the air filled with crystals of frost sparkling in the early sunlight like jeweled motes. It was the kind of a day that, despite the cold, filled you with enthusiasm. And as Tip’s voice came ringing back across the hollow, I glanced at George and promised him the rabbit wouldn’t get past me again. All he said was, “I hope you’re right.” Paul Stevens’ woods was rectangularshaped, stretching along Mallory Run and sloping upward several hundred yards to the edge of the fields that bordered a dirt road aptly named Ridge Road. Starting at the edge of Ridge Road and reaching downhill through the woods to the flat that bordered Mallory Run, were the remnants of an old stone wall, now tumbled and broken. The rabbit had followed this row of stones, and I had been too late in spotting it. I could hear Tip bawling at the far end
NOVEMBER 2010

of the woods, and knew that within the next few minutes the rabbit would be coming down that row of stones again. We shifted our position a few feet uphill to allow the rabbit to show itself a bit earlier, and I got into position with the Lefever held at high port and my thumb pressed against the safety. Sure enough, within minutes the rabbit came along the old stone wall at a casual run, and in an instant the Lefever was at my shoulder, the safety off, waiting for the rabbit to come over a small hump of land that for an instant would allow it to be airborne like a trapeze artist. The left barrel roared and the rabbit crumpled without a twitch. We stood there long enough to let the dog come through and nuzzle the rabbit, and then he was off again into the woods and the numerous piles of brush left by the lumbering operation. We had scarcely finished field-dressing the rabbit when Tip gave voice and the second chase was on. What I wouldn’t give today to stand just once more in Paul Stevens’ woods with my old Lefever and listen to Tip as he worked from one thicket to the next with that deep-throated bawl marking his progress as the woods rabbit finally broke and ran. George and I didn’t move far from where I shot the first rabbit. I had a hunch that the stone wall was a natural runway for the rabbits in these woods, regardless of where they were started. We had to wait a bit longer for this rabbit. Despite the fact that the dog had taken him downhill toward Mallory Run, the rabbit didn’t cross the creek as the first one had, but turned at the foot of the slope and followed the course of Mallory Run upstream to the far end of Paul Stevens’ woods, and beyond hearing distance into a field I knew was overgrown with
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Pennsylvania Game News - November 2010

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