 
DAVID SHATH SQUARE Chapter Twenty-three
We dragged deadfall out of the bush and stacked it around the fallen deer. We made eight bonfires about six-feet high resembling small teepees. The wood was fast-burning poplar; we'd have to stoke the fires as the night wore on.
"How come there's never oak or tamarack around when you need it for a long-burning fire?"
"It's a jest of God, Hardy."
"You don't believe in God. But it is a jest in very poor taste," I said, lugging another poplar log out of the bush.
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the two bucks resting on the ground. Their eyes bulged and their flanks heaved with exhaustion and fear; they knew death stalked them as patiently as a wolf or a lion.
"How long do you think it will take them to..."
"To die," said Thoreena.
"Yeh, to die," I said.
"We can't afford to wait that long.
"What do you mean?"
"When the time comes, we're going to kill them by cutting their throats."
"What?"
"Hardy, it could take days for them to die. Meanwhile, the wolves or the lion will finish them off. We can't stand vigil forever."
"What do you mean by 'when the time comes'?"
"We'll wait until they're competely exhausted.. Right now, they're still capable of kicking. They might even stand up and trample us if we get too close."
"How will we know when they're too tired to hurt us."
"I'll know."
Sometimes Thoreena frightened me. She could cry at the death of a grouse, and yet she could consider the death of a much larger animal without remorse. Maybe it was her maternal instinct -- whatever it was, it scared the crap out of me. Women are the real survivors in this world, men are just a pale reflection of their power.
I had been on deer hunts before with my grandfather. He shot the animals with a rifle and butchered them with a well-honed knife he carried in a sheath attached to his belt. But the animals were always dead before he split their bellies open with the tip of his knife to bleed them. Myself, I'd killed and skinned grouse, fish, varmints; I knew life and death are inseparable but, at the same time, there was something repugnant to me about slitting the throat of a live animal, especially a majestic beast such as a stag.
"We'd better get these fires lit, Hardy. It's almost dark and as soon as we start to butcher these animals every predator in the forest will be attracted by the scent of blood."
Thoreena used one of our precious store of matches to ignite the kindling under the first bonfire; when it was blazing we spread the fire with torches to the other piles of bush. The big bonfires generated a lot of heat; an eerie light illuminated the clearing right to the edge of the bush.
The deer began to kick their legs and struggle to get up as their natural fear of fire triggered renewed efforts to survive. Shadow began to bark at the sudden commotion. We'd been so busy I'd forgotten all about him.
"Thoreena, I'm going to take Shadow back to the cabin and lock him in. If any of our predator friends arrive, he'll get himself killed."
"Good idea. While you're there bring back the long filleting knife that's hanging by the cookstove"
The walk back to the cabin through the dark bush was unnerving. Something large, probably a great horned wwl, swooped out of the darkness just missing the top of my head. I guess it was checking to see if Shadow and I were edible critters; if we'd been the size of mice we would have been on his dinner menu.
At the cabin, I went to the cookstove and took the filleting knife off the wall peg; Thoreena had fashioned the 12-inch blade from a piece of scrap steel and whittled an ash handle with her pocket knife. It was a formidable weapon with a sharp tip and a razor edge that sliced through flesh like a surgeon's scalpel. On the way out, I told Shadow to lie down and stay. Then I picked up the fallen front door and nailed it shut with a rock and rusty nails.
It wasn't difficult to find my way back because the light from the bonfires glowed as if a star that had fallen in the midst of the clearing. Thoreena took the filleting knife from me and used it to cut down a poplar sapling. She lashed the knife's handle to the end of the sapling with the laces from her running shoes.
"Okay, Hardy, when the time comes this will allow us to cut their jugulars without getting too close."
A queasy feeling in my stomach told me that time was running out for the two stags.
To Chapter Twenty-four
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