After lunch we hauled in more firewood and cleaned our rifles. McKlearey lashed together a kind of rifle rack and put it in the back of the supply tent. “Keep the scopes from gettin’ knocked around that way,” he rasped. His bandage was dirty again.
The sun went down early — it always would here, right up against the backside of that peak like we were. The twilight lasted a long time though. We had venison steak for dinner and settled down around the fire to watch the last of the daylight fade out of the sky.
They went back to talking about that damned white deer again.
I’d been kind of half-assed watching McKlearey. He’d been making a lot of trips to his tent for one reason or another, and his eyes were getting a little unfocused. I figured he was hitting his jug pretty hard again.
I caught Miller’s eye, and I knew he’d been counting McKlearey’s trips, too. He didn’t look too happy about it.
“Well, I’ll sure tell you one thing,” Jack was saying, “if that big white bastard crosses my stand, I’ll dump ‘im right in his tracks.”
“You said it, buddy,” McKlearey said, his voice slurring a little. “How about you, Danny Boy?”
“I came up here to hunt,” I said. “I’m not declaring war on one single deer.”
“There’s lots of deer up on that mountain,” Miller said. “Lots are bigger’n that one.”
“Just like the girls in Hong Kong, huh, Danny?” McKlearey said, trying to focus his eyes on me.
“I wouldn’t know, Lou,” I said. “I’ve never been there, remember?”
“Sure you have, Danny. Me’n you made an R and R there once.”
“Not me, Lou. You must have me mixed up with somebody else.”
He squinted at me very closely. “Yeah,” he said finally, “maybe so. I guess maybe it was another guy.”
What the hell was that all about?
We kept on talking until it got completely dark, and Miller suggested that we all get to bed. I walked on down to McKlearey’s slit-trench to unload some coffee. On the way back I met Clint.
“Say, Dan,” he said, his voice hushed, “What’s the score on old Sarge anyway? Does it seem to you he’s actin’ a little funny?”
“Lou? I don’t know, Clint. I don’t really know him all that well. Seems to me he’s been acting a little funny ever since I first met him.”
“Well,” he said, “I know one thing for sure. He hits that bottle about as hard as any man I’ve ever seen. That ain’t good up this high.”
“He’s used to it,” I said.
“Maybe so, but Cap’s a little worried about it. He wants this trip to go smooth, and already he’s got a sick man and one that’s actin’ kinda funny. Don’t take too much to spoil a trip for ever’body.”
“I think it’ll work out, Clint. Once we get to hunting, we’ll be OK.”
“I sure hope so,” he said.
“Sure, Clint, it’ll all settle down, don’t worry.” I wished that I could be as sure as I sounded. I walked on back up to the tent.
Jack was already in bed and about half-asleep, so I just undressed and crawled in my sleeping bag.
I lay in my sack, staring out at the fire and remembering the other deer — not the white one — and how he’d soared and bounced up the mountainside. Almost as if he could fly, if he really wanted to. For me, at least, it was going to be a good hunt.
20
“Time to roll out.” Clint’s head blotted out the looming white mountain in the doorway of the tent. I was immediately awake. It’s funny, in town or anyplace else, I always have a helluva time waking up. When I’m hunting though, I snap awake just like I was a different guy.
I was dressed and out to the fire while Jack was still mumbling around looking for his pants. I washed up and hunkered down by the fire waiting for the coffee to finish boiling. Slowly one by one the others joined me.
“Darker’n hell,” Jack said. “What time is it, anyway?”
“Four,” I said. We both spoke quietly, our voices hushed by the deep silence around us. Lou came out rubbing down the tape on a fresh bandage. I wondered why he didn’t wear a glove or try to keep that hand out of the dirt.
Miller came up from the corral about the same time Stan and then Sloane came out of their tent.
“Cold,” Stan said shortly, zipping up his new jacket and getting up close to the fire.
“Mornin’, men,” Miller said. “Coffee ready?”
“In just a minute or so, Cap,” Clint said. He looked around, his battered old cowboy hat pushed back from his face. “You fellers are gonna have to step back from the fire if you want any breakfast.”
We all moved obediently back away and he began slapping his pans down on the grill. “Coffee’s ready,” he said. “Take it over to the table there.”
I carried the heavy pot to the table and started pouring coffee into the cups. Then we all stood back in the bunch in front of the tents watching Clint make breakfast.
“We’ll get up there well before first light, men,” Miller said. “I’ll ride all the way up to the top with the Kid here, and then I’ll come on back down with the horses. They’d just get restless on you and move around and spook the deer. Besides, they might run off if you happen to get off a shot today.”
“It’s ready,” Clint said. “Come get your plates.”
We lined up, and he filled our plates for us. We sat down to eat. Miller continued with his instructions. “I’ll bring the horses down and put ’em out to graze in this meadow out here. I’ll be back up to get you about ten or so. Isn’t likely there’ll be much movin’ after that. We’ll go out again about three thirty or four this afternoon.” He bent his face to his plate and scooped in three or four mouthfuls of scrambled eggs. He stared off into the dark while he chewed, his white mustache twitching with each bite.
“I don’t know as I’d shoot today,” he said. “Just kinda get an idea of the size of the deer. Lots of men bust the first one they see with horns. There’s a lot of deer on this mountain. A lot of big ones, so take your time.”
He ate some more. By then the rest of us had finished. He looked at his watch. “I guess we’d better saddle up,” he said, rising.
The rest of us followed him on down to the corral. The moon was still high over the shoulder of the peak, and it was very bright out from under the shadow of the spruces. I’d had visions of fumbling around with flashlights and lanterns while we saddled the horses, but the moonlight was bright enough to make it almost as easy as doing it in broad daylight.
After we’d saddled the horses, we led them back up to the tents and picked up our rifles.
“How about the signals?” Sloane gasped, patting the butt of his Ruger.
“Oh, yeah,” Miller said. He didn’t sound very enthusiastic. “How ’bout this? One shot means a down deer. Two shots for one wounded and running. Three shots if you’re in trouble — hurt or sick or hangin’ off a cliff by one hand. OK?”
“Sure,” Sloane said. “Anything’ll work as long as we all know what it is.”
“You fellers better get movin’ if Cap’s gonna get them horses back down by shootin’ time,” Clint said.
We tied our rifles to the saddles and climbed on. Miller led the way, and we strung out behind him single file.
By the time we got to his stand, Cal was breathing hard. Even though the horse was doing all the work, he was puffing as if he’d climbed the hill by himself.
“You OK?” Miller asked him.
“Fine,” Sloane gasped. “You gonna take the horse with you now?”
“No. Just tie him to that bush there. I’ll be back down in about half an hour or so — before shootin’ time anyway. You might as well go on over and get settled now though.”
“Right,” Cal said, grunting as he slipped off his horse.
“Good luck, Sloane,” Jack said. “Try not to bust anything bigger’n a twelve-point.”
“Sure,” Cal grinned. Then he giggled, and I think that made us all feel better. We waved and moved on up the mountainside.
Jack tied down his horse and faded back into the shadowy bushes with a backward wave.
Stan dismounted stiffly and stood by his horse, watching us as Miller, McKlearey, and I rode on up the ridge.
It was darker than hell in McKlearey’s notch. His face was nothing more than a pale blur as he reined in his horse.