“There’s a buck feeding on that far slope. Every now and then he stops to look around,” I whispered. “I think we could get within range.” I put my binoculars down and examined our approach.
The ground rose in a gentle swell, crested at a low ridge, troughed in a grassy valley and crested again, tipped with low sagebrush at the top like a breaking wave. The pronghorn buck looked to be at least 1200 yards away.
Jerry, who had tagged his antelope on the first day of the season, said “This looks like a job for ol’ Bossy.”