High Hunt (25 page)

“Y
OU
see any with any size?” Miller asked when he came back up about ten thirty.

“One pretty good three-point was all,” I told him. I'd decided the less I said about the albino, the better.

“There'll be bigger ones,” he said. “The others already went on down.” He was looking at me kind of funny.

“I haven't seen anything in the last hour or so,” I told him, walking over to Ned. The damn fool horse reached out and nuzzled at me, almost like a puppy. I scratched his ears for him.

“You two sure seem to be gettin' along good.” Miller chuckled.

“I think he's all bluff,” I said, tying the rifle to the saddle and hooking the water bag over the horn. I climbed on, and we started down the ridge.

“The Big Man don't seem much better,” he said when we got out past McKlearey's notch.

“He'll hold on,” I said. “This is awfully important to him.”

Miller grunted.

It was close to eleven when we got back down to camp.

“What the hell's the matter with your eyes Dan?” Jack demanded as I climbed down at the corral. “That big white bastard damn near walked over the top of you up there—couldn't 'a been more'n thirty yards from you.”

“Oh?” I said. I saw Miller watching me closely. “I must have been watching another deer.”

“Hell, man, that's the one that counts.”

I unsaddled Ned and ran him into the corral.

Jack shook his head disgustedly and stalked back up to the fire. I followed him.

“I'm not shittin' you,” he told the others. “Just goddamn near ran right over him. I was watchin' the whole time through my scope.”

“Why didn't you shoot?” McKlearey demanded.

“Christ, Lou, he was almost a mile away, and Stan, you, and Dan were all between me and him. I ain't about to get trigger-happy.”

“Are you sure it was the same deer?” Stan asked.

“Ain't very likely there's more than one like that on the whole mountain,” Jack said. “I still can't see how you missed spottin' him, Dan.”

“Coulda been brush or a rise of ground between the Kid and that deer,” Miller said, pouring himself a cup of coffee. “That ground can be damn tricky when you get at a different angle.”

“Now that's sure the truth,” Clint said. “I seen a nine-pointer walk no more'n ten yards in front of ol' Cap here one time. From where I was sittin' it looked like they were right in each other's laps, but when I got down there I seen that deer had been in a kind of shallow draw.”

Miller chuckled. “Biggest deer we seen all that year, too.”

“I guess that explains it then,” Jack said dubiously.

“Where's Sloane?” I asked.

“He's lying down in the tent,” Stan said. “He's still not feeling too well.”

“Is he asleep?”

“I think he was going to try to sleep a little.”

“I won't pester him then,” I said. “Any of you guys see any good ones?”

“I seen a four-point,” McKlearey said, “but I figure it's early yet.”

“That's playin' it smart, Sarge,” Miller said. “We got plenty of time left.”

“What time you think we oughta go back up?” Jack asked him.

“Oh, 'bout three thirty or so,” Miller said. “Evenin' huntin' ain't all that productive this time of year. Deer'll move in the evening, but not near as much as in the mornin'.”

We loafed around until lunchtime and then ate some more
venison and beans. We tried to get Sloane to eat, but he said he didn't feel much like it, so we left him alone.

The rest of the guys sacked out after we'd eaten, but I wasn't really sleepy. I was feeling kind of sticky and grimy and thought a bit about maybe trying to swim in the beaver pond, but one hand stuck in there convinced me that it would be an awful mistake. I think that water came right out of a glacier somewhere. I settled for a stand-up bath out of the washbasin and called it good. Then I washed out my shirt and underwear and hung them on limbs to dry. I felt better in clean clothes and with at least the top layer of dirt off.

At three thirty we went down to the corral. Sloane was still feeling pretty rough, and Miller suggested that maybe he ought to just stay in bed so he'd be better tomorrow. Cal didn't give him much of an argument.

“Horses'll be OK to stay with you men,” Miller said. “They're a whole lot quieter come evenin'. I'll just ride on up to the top with the Kid here, and we'll come on down end of shootin' time.”

We all got on our horses and started up the ridge. It felt a little funny not having Cal along. Each of the others peeled off at their regular stands, and Miller and I scrambled on up to my knob at the top.

We got down and tied the horses securely and went on up to the rock where I'd sat that morning.

Miller lit a cigarette. “Sun's still pretty warm, ain't it?” he said.

“Yeah,” I agreed. I could see that something was bothering him.

After a long while he said it. “How come you didn't shoot this mornin'?”

“I didn't see anything I wanted to shoot,” I said.

“I was down below watchin' you with my field glasses,” he said. “I saw you follow that freak deer with your scope all the way across the ridge. I don't think your brother saw you.”

“I don't know, Cap,” I said. “I just didn't feel like shooting him.”

He nodded. “Maybe I'd feel the same way,” he said. “I've seen a few of 'em and I've never shot one.”

“I just watched him,” I said. “I don't think I even considered pulling the trigger on him.”

“In a way I almost wish you had. It woulda put an end to
it. Your brother and ol' Sarge are startin' to get at each other about it.”

“I know,” I said. “I wish the damn deer would get the hell off this side of the mountain.”

“Ain't very likely.”

I had a cigarette.

“Doe,” Miller said, nodding at the other ridge.

We watched her step daintily down into the ravine. Then something spooked her. She snorted and bounded up the side of the ravine and on over the ridge.

“Picked up somebody's scent,” Miller said. “Breeze gets a little tricky this time of evenin'.”

We sat in silence, watching several does and a couple of small bucks pick their way on down the ravine. The sun crept slowly down toward the shoulder of the peak, and the shadows of the rocks and bushes grew longer. It was very quiet up there.

The sun slid behind the mountain, and the lucid shadowless twilight settled in. After a while Miller checked his watch.

“I guess that's about it,” he said.

We got up and went back to the horses.

“Evenings
are
a little slower, aren't they?” I said.

“Yeah,” he agreed, “like I said.”

We mounted up and started down. McKlearey was already on his horse waiting for us, but we had to whistle for Stan and Jack. It was almost dark by the time we got down to the corral. We unsaddled and went back up to camp.

“Boy,” Jack said, “you weren't kiddin' when you said pickin's were lean at night. I don't think I seen more'n half a dozen.”

“You saw more than I did then,” Stan said.

“I seen eight or ten,” McKlearey said.

“I know some fellers don't even go out in the afternoon, Clint said, “but a man never knows when that big one'll come easin' by. Besides”—he grinned—“it gives me a chance to get supper goin' without havin' all you men under foot.”

We got the point and backed away from the fire to give him a little more room.

“I don't mind goin' out,” McKlearey said. “That's what we came up here for. I wouldn't want old Whitey gettin' past me.”

“Don't be gettin' no wild ideas about
my
deer,” Jack said.

“He ain't yours till you get your tag on 'im, Alders.”

“I'll tag 'im,” Jack said, “don't worry about that.”

“Not if I see 'im first, you won't,” McKlearey snapped.

“I told you men yesterday,” Miller said, “that there's a whole
lot of deer up on that mountain. You get your mind all set on just that one, and you're liable to come up empty.”

“One of us is bound to get 'im,” Jack said.

“Not necessarily,” Miller said. “There's a hundred or more trails on that ridge. He could be crossin' on any one of 'em.”

“I'm still gonna wait a few days before I fill my tag,” Jack said.

I went over to see how Sloane was doing. I'm afraid that about two or three more smart remarks from my brother, and I'd have had to get in on it. Jack could be awfully knot-headed stubborn when he got his back up.

“Hey, Cal,” I said, poking my head into his tent. “How's it going?”

“A little better now, Dan,” he said from his bed. “I think it's startin' to settle down finally.”

“Good deal, Cal. I'm glad to hear it.”

“Come on in,” he said, “have a blast.” He giggled. That made me feel better right there.

“Now there's an idea,” I said. I went on into his tent. He fished out his bottle and we each had a small snort.

“I'll tell you, buddy,” he said, “it just damn near had me whipped there for a while. About ten this morning it was all I could do to climb up on that horse.”

“You been sleeping straight through?” I asked him.

“Dozing,” he said. “I feel pretty good now. Except I'm hungrier'n hell.”

“Wouldn't be surprised,” I said. “We couldn't interest you in lunch.”

“I couldn't have eaten lunch if you guys had all held guns on me.”

“You about ready to make an appearance?” I asked him.

“Sure thing. Chow about ready?” He sat up, carefully.

“Should be.”

“Good.” He pulled on his boots and got slowly to his feet. “I ain't about to rush it this time,” he said.

“Good thinking.”

We went out to join the others, and there were the usual wisecracks about Sloane loafing around camp. He laughed and giggled as if nothing were wrong. I could see the relief in Miller's face. We all felt a helluva lot better. Having a man sick like Cal had been is just like having a heavy weight on top of everybody's head.

“You're lookin' a helluva lot better there, Sullivan,” McKlearey said.

“Who?” I asked him.

“Sullivan there.” He pointed at Cal with his bandaged hand.

I shrugged. Maybe it was some kind of goof-off nickname.

“Come and get it,” Clint said, “or I'll feed it to the porky.”

“Where is that little bastard anyway?” Jack said as we walked toward the fire.

“Oh, he's still around,” Miller said. “Just watch where you set.”

We lined up and Clint filled our plates. Then we went over and sat around the fire to eat.

“Hell,” McKlearey said suddenly, staring at Cal. “You ain't Sullivan.”

“I never said I was.” Sloane giggled through a mouthful of beans.

“Hey, Danny,” McKlearey said, “where the hell is Sullivan?”

“Sullivan who?” I asked.

“Oh, shit, you know Sullivan as well as I do.”

“Sorry, Lou. It doesn't ring a bell.”

He looked at me closely. “Oh,” he said. “No, I guess it wouldn't. I guess I was thinkin' about somebody else.”

“McKlearey,” Jack said, “what the hell are you smokin' anyway?”

“Well,” Lou said, grinning broadly at him, “I tried a pinecone this morning.”

“How was it?” Sloane giggled. “Did it blow your mind?”

“Aw, hell no,” Lou said. “Turned it inside-out a couple times, but it didn't even come close to blowin' it.”

Who the hell was Sullivan, for Chrissake?

We finished eating and cleaned up our dishes. Then we all sat down around the fire with a drink.

“Same layout for tomorrow as this morning?” Sloane asked.

“Seems to work out pretty well,” Miller said, “and you men all got them posts you're on pretty well located by now.”

“God, yes,” Jack said. “Let's not switch around now. I'd get lost sure as hell.”

“Well, then,” Sloane said, polishing off his drink, “if there aren't gonna be any changes, I think I'll hit the sack.”

“Christ, Sloane,” Jack said, “you been sleepin' all day.”

“Man, I need my beauty sleep.” Cal giggled.

“Somehow,” I said, grinning, “I think it's a little late for that.”

“Never hurts to give it a try,” he said, getting up.

“I'll call it a day, too,” Stan said.

“What a buncha candy asses,” McKlearey rasped.

“Four o'clock still comes damned early,” Clint growled at the rest of us. It occurred to me that the little old guy had to be up at least a half hour before the rest of us, and he might feel it was bad manners to go to bed before we did.

“Why don't we all hang it up?” I suggested. “Maybe then you mighty hunters won't be so damn rum-dum in the morning.”

“I suppose a good night's sleep wouldn't kill me,” Jack said. We all got up.

“Man,” Lou said, “this is worse than basic training.”

“But this is
fun
, Lou,” I said.

“Oh, sure”—he grinned at me—“I'd rather do a little sack-time with some high-class broad.” He winked knowingly at Stan.

Christ! Was he
trying
to get killed?

Stan's face tightened up, and he went off to his tent without saying anything.

The rest of us said good night and scattered toward our sacks.

“Sloane seems a lot better,” Jack said after we'd gotten settled.

“Yeah,” I agreed. “That's a helluva relief.”

“God, it must be awful—gettin' old like that,” he said suddenly.