CORK DANCER

The officials quieted the crowd by announcing Les would be granted practice shots. More than anything the gamblers in the stands wanted to see what he could do before the contest started. He was the only mystery in the group of shooters. The crowd got even more excited when Les walked out into the middle of the range and faced the officials. Not a single spectator made a sound when they saw Les extend his arms on each side with palms up and petitioned.

“Instead of taking practice shots, may I walk off the distance to the targets?”

The officials looked at each other, mumbled something in a huddle, and after a consensus their spokesperson bellowed “You may do both. Check the distance plus take practice shots. We’ll wait until you’re ready.”

“Thank you. I will be ready after one practice shot.”

That last statement sent a roar through the crowd. Les suspected it might. He knew at that moment Earl was right. Rumors about the guy from Texas preceded his arrival. The locals were also keenly aware there were several of their own top bow shooters in the field so they expected the Texas entry would need to be exceptional to win. He walked off fifty-six paces to the target. Then he stood under the target to see if there were any holes in the red center yet. There were none. He trotted back to the others in the shooting area. Once there he stretched his upper torso and limbered his arms for a few seconds. With the raised bow in position, he waited for his breath, arms and eyes to get into sync. Without fuss he let the practice arrow rip across the open lawn.

All stared as the arrow slammed smack dead center in the red. It buried itself so deep into the bulls eye it took a struggle to remove it. The shot was incredible. Hard to believe. It drove everyone ecstatic. Jumping up and down, throwing things in the air, they loved what they just saw. The crowd never quite returned to the same sort of quiet as before Les performed that shot.

The contest was taking place on the grounds of the new bow hunting club. Prior to the start local officers conducted a dedication. Everybody stood while a high-ranking government official said something inaudible through a poor public address system as he placed a rendering of the completed lodge on a tripod for all to see. Photos were taken of the group in front of the rendering. Behind the tripod rolled a panoramic wonder. Green hills stretched as far as the eye could see. It was as pristine a piece of property as good as anywhere in Africa. The idea of a handful of Texans coming into this habitat and calling it their own is a notion that still rubs some locals wrong. Extreme caution has been taken by Nairobi officials and the Houston Safari Club to assure all legal matters and those concerning public image have been addressed. This contest was a prime opportunity for everybody to be seen working and playing together.

An announcement was made from the judges’ stand that the shooters would each be getting two shots. One would be taken from the standing position and one from the kneeling position. Through a random drawing it was decided one of the Bushmen would shoot first. All the other shooters sat on a large blanketed knoll waiting their turn. The sun was at the shooters back. There was no wind. The crowd had grown and the cheering grew with it.

At the end of all the shooting, three men were tied for first place. Les and the two Bushmen had to shoot it out. The judges decided the target would be moved back further and each would get only one shot. They can take that shot from their favorite position. The crowd was more rambunctious then at any time earlier. Alcohol surely played a role. It came down to this. All bets were down.
Les was to shoot second in rotation. The first Bushman elected to stand and he hit the ring about four inches above the bulls-eye. It was a shot that would be hard to beat. The crowd roared their approval.

Les chose to stand for his final shot. Later that day he confided to Earl, “I don’t remember anything after that, except, when I let go of the string. I can still see that arrow in flight, seemingly changing time into slow motion. In my mind, I clearly saw the rotation of the vanes all the way into the target. I’ve forgotten most shots I’ve ever taken but the flight of that arrow seems burned into my memory. I aimed longer than usual and put a little pepper on it.”

His arrow stuck so close to the Bushman’s that nobody could tell who was closer to the center. The official that ran out to the target between each round to pull the arrow had sprinted out to take a look. The anticipation caused a ruckus amongst the spectators. The guy kept starring up at the target as though it was impossible to make a ruling. Everybody waited for the official on the ground to call it. He continued to stand still directly under the target looking up at the two arrows. It was too close to call. From the bleachers, the arrows looked to be stuck together. It was decided the final shot from the second Bushman would be fired now. Afterwards, the target can be taken down and brought to the judges table for a final determination.

After several minutes the crowd quieted so the last archer could fire. The second Bushman elected to take his shot from the kneeling position. The guy fired a beautiful rocket that struck enough of the bulls-eye to eliminate the other two contestants. Pandemonium broke out! A local won. He got mobbed and lifted in the air onto shoulders. Les walked was off to the side to pack his bow when he heard someone say in a low voice “Savage.”