Now they call me Speedy
Hahnzalez
Opening day of deer
season. Low, gray clouds scudded across the sky as a harsh November
wind shook our ground blind. The previous day had been balmy and
comfortable, but then a nasty cold front roared in. “The deer are
all bedded down,” I thought disappointedly. “There's no way
they'll be out in this weath--”
“One coming in on the right!”
murmured my guide, Ruben Serna. Raising his binoculars for a better
look, Ruben said, “Eight points, but it's a cull buck.”
