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The gray drizzle of the late fall storm became colder
as the day wore on. What had been an almost balmy fifty-five degrees at dawn was
now down to thirty-eight and falling. Many hunters were leaving the woods to
bask in the warmth of their truck heaters.
Jake Grady had figured on the drop and had dressed
accordingly. No matter, he was still cold. Cold and damp, with two hours left in
the day. He shook his head slightly.
"Must be nuts, out here at my age." In a way
they didn't need the meat, but only in a way. The talk of Mad Cow disease had
frightened both Mildred and himself and he gathered all outdoor food that he
could. From dandelion greens to venison and fish, he tried to do it all.
His grandson Davey should be coming to join him soon,
for the boy always hunted after school. Together they would wait down by the
cedar swamp, hoping the deer would come out early to feed. If they were ever
going to, today was the perfect day.
Jake slowly eased a hundred yards up the trail, mostly
for the heat from the exertion. He glanced at his watch. Three o'clock. The boy
should be here by now. As he looked up he saw the first flakes of snow, and in
minutes they were so thick visibility went down to zero. Time to start moving
out of the woods. A couple of shots rang out far away.
"At least somebody had some luck," thought
Jake. He traveled the path the boy should be taking in but found no sign of him.
"Probably got smart and stayed home. No, I'll bet Mildred has him sitting
in front of the fire."
When Jake arrived at the house he opened the door and
was greeted by the warmth of the fireplace. He had a joke ready for Davey, but
the boy was not to be seen.
"I figured you had Davey planted in front of the
fire," he told Mildred.
"Jake, are you serious? He was here and went out
to find you at two-thirty."
All of a sudden that wet November snow had taken on an
ominous tone. Mildred was immediately on the phone to the boy's parents. When
she hung up she turned to Jake.
"Two men are going out on snowmobiles. If they
don't find anything by six they're calling the warden service."
"I ought to go out there myself," said Jake.
"I'm good in the woods at night."
"That's what they all say. You are staying right
here and getting a night's sleep. If they haven't found him by morning then you
go out."
There was no sense arguing with her. He turned in at
ten and was surprised to sleep the night through. He dressed hurriedly in the
morning and headed out. The rest of the men turned out as well, and the scene
reminded Jake of a painting he had seen of a Colonial wolf drive. The difference
was that the men in the picture found wolves. At the end of a long day these men
had nothing to show for their efforts.
While he would admit it to no one Jake was tired and
in pain. His back and feet did not act the way they did forty years ago and the
afternoon was a torture. He knew that he would go alone in the morning at his
own pace.
Mildred only had to look at him to sense how he felt,
but she said nothing except, "Eat this chicken pie, then off to bed with
you. I'm going to make sure you get up early instead of sleeping to noon."
Jake looked up with a surprised glance and she smiled. They both know he hadn't
slept past six in many, many years.
It was actually two thirty when Jake arose. Moving
carefully so as not to awaken Mildred he picked up his clothes and headed for
the kitchen to dress. He made it to the bedroom door before Mildred spoke
softly.
"You be careful, Jake. I couldn't stand to lose
you."
"I will. Go back to sleep and don't worry. I'll
find him today. I can feel it."
In the kitchen he sucked down three coffees and filled
his pockets with apples, sandwiches, and two cans of apple juice. He knew the
big mistake men make is to have plenty of food but nothing to drink. Then they
become dehydrated and lose all ambition.
As an afterthought he filled another pocket with
candy. Mildred would not approve, but simple sugar can get a body going in a
hurry.
There was enough moonlight to be able to see the
trails in the new snow. He had traveled over an hour before the legal shooting
time came in and then he loaded his rifle. He thought he could smell a slight
trace of smoke. He dismissed it because he was still relatively close to the
houses. Somebody probably got up early to stoke their fire.
He had walked another twenty minutes when a small
four-point buck stepped out into the trail in front of him. His motion was
automatic as he raised the rifle and squeezed the trigger. As soon as the deer
fell he chastised himself for hunting deer instead of the boy. But then he
figured that was as good as any signal shot. If Davey heard it he ought to
answer.
Quickly he dressed the deer and left his tag tied to
the antler for identification. Then he did what he should have done the day
before - he put his mind to work instead of his feet.
"Let me see. If the boy didn't come in on my
trail then he came in on the logging road to the north of it. He probably
figured on taking the right hand fork and meeting me at the cedar swamp. But it
was snowing by then. If he missed the fork he might of got on the corduroy road
that heads for the back side of Johnson's Mountain. In there he wouldn't hear
any signal shots but maybe he could rustle some shelter. I better go
check."
On that note Jake changed his course and headed
uphill. He took the even, moderate pace of an experienced woodsman and his body
did not act up the way it had the day before.
He was nearly to the shoulder of the mountain when he
again smelled the smoke. Smoke and the aroma of broiling meat. He touched off a
shot and one immediately rang out in response. Now he saw a flicker of movement
and there was Davey waving his hat, motioning him to come down.3
Jake approached a well-built lean-to with a fire at
the open end and strips of venison hanging over it.
"Is this a stag party, or can anybody
attend?" Jake queried his grandson.
The boy acted nonchalant. "Have a seat and eat
some lunch. I kept it hot for you."
The old man looked around and saw the eight-pointer
pulled partway up a log. From it the boy had been getting his meals. "When
did you shoot him?"
""Bout an hour after it started to snow. I
knew I was turned around, so I remembered what you said and made camp. I knew
you'd come."
"Camp is one thing. You could spend the winter
here." There was a heavy framework of birch poles, covered on three sides
by fir boughs. Jake sat down beside the boy and they had a good meal.
" We better get back. Everyone's worried about
you. We'll send in a snowmobile and get your deer."
"I'm glad it was you that found me. I was worried
some newspaper guy would have a picture of me with a shit-eatin' grin."
"What kind, Boy?"
"I mean, a surprised look."
"Like Billy Kramer last month, you mean? The kid
with the shit-eatin grin?"
They fell in together for the walk out.
"You'll do, boy. Out West they got a saying.
You'll do to ride the river with. You'll do."
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