“A few more feet and the gun would be his. He stopped and looked up, first
towards the gun, then back towards the fire—then he saw it. No, he saw them.
Spirit-like shadows moving just beyond the fire. He stared to see what they
were but the more he tried to look past the fire, the less he could see.
There was nothing to do but get the gun. Thomas lunged the last few feet,
grabbed the .45-70 and rolled to a sitting position, his back against the
small spruce. He hadn’t reloaded after the shot at the moose; racking the
lever action he pointed past the fire and pulled the trigger only to be
rewarded with a sickening click as the firing pin struck empty space. The gun
was empty. Amateur! he thought as he fumbled in his pocket for
cartridges.”

—From Forging North