|
|
|
SATURDAY MORNING PASSED QUICKLY. Jim ate a couple of sandwiches and then packed a few things in his daypack. He folded the maps that Billy Bob had given him so he would be able to follow the route without the need to unfold it completely in the car. He knew it would be critical for him to know where he was at all times. It would also be critical to determine the quickest route home.
He put on his leather boots, deciding to wear only a long-sleeved wool shirt, and quickly walked from the post office to the city jail. Billy Bob, waiting patiently, wore his traditional brown shooting jacket. Billy Bob threw him a small brown bag as he came in.
“Thanks, how much do I owe you?” — Jim said.
“Not sure. I bought ammo for me too.”
“Will a ten cover it?”
“More than enough — Billy Bob said — Ready to go?”
“Ready.”
“All the equipment’s in the trunk. We are going to an old rock quarry I know about.”
“Aren’t we going to the same place you hunt?”
“Oh, no! We don’t want to disturb the deer until it’s time to hunt. That will be next Saturday. Deer season’s only fifteen days in North Georgia, so we have to make every day count.”
After a short drive they stopped in front of a cable that blocked the road, the steel cable leading into an old rock quarry that hadn’t been worked in years. The piles of trash left about proved the local people had found a convenient place to dump their larger pieces of trash, such as mattresses, tree limbs, old drums and other items. A large waste site had accumulated over the years.
The steel cable didn’t seem to keep anyone out. Billy Bob took some three-foot stakes and targets from the trunk. He pointed to a bench located behind a large pile of trash. He replaced some old targets that had been used months before.
That done — he returned to the car and picked up his shooting guide. He looked at a table of numbers in the back of the book then picked up a target.
“The target’s twenty-five yards away. What distance do you want to zero your rifle?”
“150 yards.”
“Okay. You can zero with this twenty-five-yard target.”
Taking a red magic marker out of his pocket he put a red cross on the target.
“Put your crosshairs on this horizontal and vertical line.”
He pulled out a ruler and measured up from the horizontal line and made a small X. This is where your bullet needs to hit if you want it to be dead on at one fifty. Then he placed two sandbags on the bench telling him to use them as a rest and to put on the earplugs he handed him.
“Let’s see how close Kurt adjusted your scope to zero.”
Jim took a good rest position on the bench and squeezed off a round. Billy Bob called out:
“One-inch right, three inches high.”
Jim started to make an adjustment to the scope position.
“No! Shoot two more rounds to make sure you didn’t move”— Billy Bob said.
Picking up two rounds, Jim quickly fired at the target.
Billy Bob let out a long whistle and said: “Look at that shot group! I can cover it with a quarter.”
“Just beginner’s luck” — Jim said. He then moved the scope four clicks to the left and eight clicks down. He squeezed off another round.
“On line, one-inch high. Shoot a couple more rounds.” Billy Bob nodded his head.
Jim repeated his previous, two quick shots.
“Man, if you shoot like this next week, the deer don’t have a prayer.”
He moved the scope down four clicks and made one more shot to check the results. The bullet cut the red X in the center.
“I’m happy!”
“You should be! Let me see if I can get .243 to shoot that well.”
It was clear Billy Bob was disappointed when his three rounds shot group was twice the size of Jim’s. He angrily ejected the last round out of his rifle. The empty shell fell near his foot.
While Billy Bob made the adjustments, he picked up the spent shell and put it in his pocket. Billy Bob was even more embarrassed with his second shot group, quickly making his final adjustment and fired a zero check shot. Jim’s out shooting him had not put Billy Bob in a good mood and abruptly came up with an excuse to get back to his office.
The ride back to the jail was uncomfortable and quiet. It was apparent that Billy Bob was not used to finishing second when it came to shooting. He was glad to get out of the car when he finally shut off the engine. Billy Bob quickly walked to the entrance to City Hall.
“I’ll keep your rifle in the car. See you next Saturday. Bring your hunting clothes.”
“Is one o’clock good?”— Jim said.
“That’s ideal, the deer don’t come out until dark.”
“See you Saturday.”
Jim had a real spring in his step as he walked back to the apartment. It was time to see his old friend, Nick.
 |  |  |
|
|
|