Tub had been walking for an hour in the falling snow. He paced the sidewalk to keep warm and stuck his head out over the curb whenever he saw a car approaching. One driver stopped for him but before Tub could wave the man on, he saw the rifle on Tub’s back and hit the gas. The tire’s spun.
The fall of snow thickened. Tub stood below the overhang of a building. Across the road the cloud’s whitened just above the rooftops, and the streetlight went out. He shifted the rifle to his other shoulder. The whitness seeped up the sky. A truck slid around the corner, horn blaring, rear end sashaying. Tub moved to the sidewalk and held up his hand . They jumped the curb and kept coming. Half on the street and half on the sidewalk. It wasn’t slowing down at all. Tub stood for a moment still holding up his hand, then jumped back, his rifle slipped off his shoulder and clattered on the floor.
The truck stopped several feet beyond where Tub stood. He picked up his rifle and went up to the drivers windows. The driver was bent against the steering wheel slapping his knees and drumming his feet on the floorboard, he looked like a cartoon of a person lauphing exept that his eyes watched the man beside him “you ought to see yourself, he looks like a beach ball with a hat on doesn’t he? Doesn’t he Frank?” But before the driver could say anything else to the man beside him, he was already joining Tub. Tub and the man slowly walked as the snow crunched beneath their feet. They were walking in the same direction with the same rifle hanging from their shoulders, they were both walking to the valley of the hunters in the snow.