Two of them moved toward him. Jacob’s muscles locked in terror as they closed in, their boots crunching against the dirt. His mind screamed at him to run, but his legs refused to move. Just as their hands reached for him, a deep, guttural roar shattered the air.
The moose. It stomped forward, nostrils flaring, its massive antlers lowering in a warning. The men skidded to a stop, their confidence flickering. One of them cursed under his breath, backing away. But the leader, unfazed, turned sharply and barked, “Get the rifle. Now.”