CHAPTER TWENTY-TWOJack Raftery
Jack had never paid much attention to the weather as something that might prevent his doing whatever he wanted to do. When he had a notion to go and shoot a deer, he went, rain or shine or snow or sleet. He already had gotten soaked through more than once. This had been as dreary a November as he could recall. But on the present morning, gloomy as it was, the weather didn’t slow him down at all. He intended to shoot a deer before the season ended, even if it meant getting pneumonia.
He moved through his own wood on the west side of the road, his steps quiet on the damp dead leaves, his eyes watchful. But there was no flash of motion among the trees, no matter how he searched. He crossed to the other side of the road and worked his way north through the tree
