The rifle on the ground beside him was a Remington Model 700 .308 Winchester with a synthetic camouflage stock. It carried a Leupold waterproof, fog-proof riflescope of the same power as the binoculars. The four-wheeler was getting closer, sending a dust plume into the air as it traversed the hardpan. It was a little under a quarter mile away, about three-hundred-fifty meters.
It wouldn’t be a difficult shot. He’d made longer ones many times in the sandbox back in Iraq though he’d had a better rifle back then. Neither the mild heat distortion nor the wind would be much of a factor. The sun behind him would set in less than fifteen minutes. The shadow of the ridge already extended far to the east below him. He lowered the binoculars and sat studying the land. Far to the south, he saw the mountains of Mexico. He spat tobacco juice and wiped his mouth on the shoulder of his camouflage shirt. He saw no other dust rising that would have alerted him the border patrol boys were in the vicinity. He didn’t expect them to be.
The man put down the binoculars and picked up the rifle.
Click Follow to receive emails when this author adds content on Bublish