The Deer Stalker

by Zane Grey

  “Drive ten thousand deer!” echoed Thad incredulously. “Through the saddle—down the canyon—up the rim.”

  “Shore. You’re locoed now. But wait till thet idee soaks in,” replied Jim with glee, nodding his gray old head. “It’ll shore get you. Because it’s a way to save the deer without trappin’ or killin’. An’ it’ll be good for other ranges on the south side. Deer used to be thick in the Coconino Basin, around the San Francisco Peaks, an’ south toward the Mogollons. Now they’re gone. This drive would restock those ranges.”

  “Wonderful, but impossible!” ejaculated Eburne, breathing hard.

  “No it ain’t impossible,” returned the old hunter stoutly. “I’d bet a million dollars if Buffalo Jones was heah he could drive them deer. He understood wild animals. But McKay will have the Indians to help. Navajos he wants—drivin’ on foot with cowbells to ring.”

  “Jim, I tell you it’s impossible,” protested Thad, regretting that he must take this negative viewpoint. “Deer won’t drive. You might move them, gradually work them into a great herd. But then! The instant they found you wanted them to go in any one direction, they’d bolt. They’d spill like ants over the ground. They’d scatter like a flock of quail. They’d run over horses and men. No, deer won’t drive.”

  That was Eburne’s intuitive reaction to McKay’s astounding idea.

  It was what he felt. He had been a deer stalker for many years, at first as a hunter, and then as a watcher, and finally as a lover of nature and of the most beautiful and graceful wild creatures in the woods.

  “Wal, now, how do you know they won’t drive?” demanded Jim persistently.

  “I don’t know. I just feel they won’t,” replied Eburne.

  “Let’s stick to what we know. Take for instance last month when Lee Daley an’ a couple of cowboys drove them ten buffalo yearlin’s of mine into an automobile truck. Who’d have thunk it could be done? Wal, it was, an’ them buff calves went clear to Mexico where I sold them. Look how cowboys can drive wild steers. I reckon a bunch of wild steers is wuss than a herd of elephants. I remember them Stewart boys, wild hoss hunters years ago. They could drive anythin’ on four legs. Wal, we never heerd of deer bein’ drove, at it’s good figurin’ to believe it can be done till we find out for shore.’

  “Jim, you’re right. I’ve nothing to stand on. I admit it might be done. How I hope it could!”

  “Wal, McKay wants you to submit his proposition to the fores service an’ to the government, with your approval,” drawled Jim confidently, as if there were no question of Eburne’s stand.

  “By thunder, I’ll do it!” burst out the ranger, suddenly elated “Sure as you’re born they’ll fall for it. And then what a row with the opposing side who’ll want to kill the deer! It tickles me, Jim, it’ fascinating. It grows on me.”

  “Wal, I was plumb shore it would,” replied Evers mildly. “Now let’s get down to brass tacks. McKay wants to make money on the drive. He wants to ask the government two dollars an’ fifty cents a head for deer drove across the canyon, an’ thet much more a head for deer drove to other ranges.”

  “Little enough. He can get it,” said Eburne.

  “Wal, it’s going to cost a lot to make the drive. The Indians an cowboys will have to be paid wages an’ fed. Outfits will have to be packed. Trucks to haul grain for horses an’ supplies for camps. Mac’ no hand at figgerin’, but I calkilated somethin’ like five hundred dollars a day.”

  “That’s a lot of money,” replied the ranger, seriously.

  “Shore is. An’ Mac hasn’t got a dollar. He’ll have to have backin’.”

  “He’s welcome to all I have. But it’s not enough.”

  “I’ll chip in a little to help Mac. An’ his friends in Flagstaff will donate. Shore he’ll raise the money. You jest go ahead an’ get a strong bid ready for the drive.”

  “Jim, wouldn’t it be wise to go slow on approaching the government?” queried Eburne thoughtfully. “It’s over four months till time for the deer to work down off the mountain. If we sprang this idea at once wouldn’t that give our opponents too much time to work in their propaganda?”

  “Reckon I’d wait till you’ve given this trappin’ deer a good tryout. It’s shore bound to be a failure, an’ when you send in your reports to thet effect you can inclose McKay’s proposition. Thet’d be a favorable time to hit them. But on the other hand you don’t want to wait too long an’ give the deer-killin’ crowd a chance to get set. For that matter, they are set, but this new idee may throw them out. I shore hope so.”

  “Well, it’s settled,” returned Eburne with satisfaction. “Now Jim, let’s sneak up closer to that bunch of deer coming in. Let’s watch them. And you can work out your idea of what a trap corral should be like.”

  The ranger and the hunter spent the remainder of that afternoon spying upon the deer. By sunset about five hundred had come in to drink. The wire fence Eburne had already erected did not appear to interest the deer to any appreciable extent. It was evident that they would come in to drink if they had to pass through open gates and down a narrow aisle. The matter of their entering a trap, then, as Eburne had surmised, was not a difficult question. Indeed, though he had no definite plans formulated for traps, he had not been in the least concerned about his ability to construct them. Jim Evers hit the nail on the head when he drawled out, “Wal, it shore ain’t gettin’ deer alive in a trap thet’ll stump you; it’s gettin’ them out alive!”

  Traps and deer occupied the fireside talk for an hour after supper. Then Blakener sounded out the old hunter on the well-known controversy between cattlemen and forest service. Evers had served on both sides. He had lived on and around Buckskin for twenty years. It was his humble opinion that the government should never have coddled the deer herd to grow into such unmanageable numbers. The little ranchers and sheepmen, of whom there had formerly been many and now were few, had been dependent on the grass of the plateau. Many of them had been ruined by the multiplication of the deer and the consequent restrictions. Then, for fifteen years, nonnative cattle companies had obtained the best of the grazing that had once belonged to the local ranchers. The company that at the present time and for the last six or eight years held the balance of power on Buckskin was composed of absentee owners and headed by the Californian, Settlemire. According to the hunter, Settlemire had neither legal nor moral right to the privileges he enjoyed. Apparently he was not a Mormon, which fact made his influence all the more astonishing. It had been Settlemire who had claimed he would see to it that the deer preserve should be opened to hunters in the early fall.

  “Jim, why is it when the rangers order Settlemire’s cowboys to drive their stock off the range they roll their cigarettes and grin and say: ‘Reckon we gotta ride out on that job pronto,’ and then never even make the attempt?”

  “Wal, boys, don’t ask me thet,” drawled Evers. “But I’ve always wondered why you rangers didn’t get together and drive Settlemire’s stock off the range.”

  “We act under orders. We have but little leeway,” replied Eburne. “I put that very proposition up to headquarters.”

  “An’ what come off?” queried Evers, knowingly.

  “I got disliked for my pains and called down for my suggestions,” replied Thad tersely.

  “Wal, boys, it’s no wuss heab than anywheres,” said Evers. “Reckon life is aboot the same wherever you go. I remember Texas when I was a boy. This heah Utah, is a picnic to live in compared to my home State then. Rich men do things that poor men cain’t. There’s always men in high positions thet oughtn’t to be there. Or so it seems to us poor devils who have to hold the sack. But after you live a long while, like me, an’ can look back a ways, you see thet everythin’ happens for the best an’ things work out better than if you done it yourself.”

  “Jim, your philosophy is fine,” rejoined Eburne. “I wish I could accept it. But I’m still full of protest and fight—at this particular time against both the forest service officials, hig
h and low, and the outside cattlemen.”

  “Thad, where’dit ever get you?” asked Evers with blunt kindness.

  “Nowhere, materially. But I don’t live just to get on and up in the world. If my conscience tells me a thing is wrong I’m against it. That’s all. And I’ll say so.”

  “Wal, a fellar’s conscience can feel somethin’s wrong, like what we was hintin’ aboot Settlemire. But thet ain’t proof. An’ thet’s why it’ll be wise to keep your mouth shut. No one ever caught Settlemire even on the edge of a shady deal. Either he’s honest or hard business or just slick.”

  “Jim, you know Bing Dyott, don’t you?” queried Thad.

  “I shore do. I knowed him in Texas thirty years ago. If all I know aboot thet hombre was told he’d go to jail for the rest of his life an’ then hang…. But what’s Dyott got to do with this argyment? He’s different.”

  “Blakener saw Dyott meet Settlemire in these woods and hold a conference that was sure serious, if no more.”

  Evers looked astounded and had to hear Eburne’s account of the rendezvous witnessed by Blakener, after which he lapsed into silence.

  “Wal,” he said at length, “thet has a queer look. There’s no mebbe aboot it. Dyott was foreman of an outfit in Utah some years ago. Settlemire bought it. He let Dyott run it. Then, a year or more ago, when the law went off grazin’ permits, Dyott showed up heah on this range. Looks queer!”

  CHAPTER THREE

  IT TOOK nearly two weeks for the two rangers, working during the mornings, to put up the wire fences as planned by Eburne. It was an experiment and not at all satisfactory to the men. But wire and lumber were scarce and must be replenished from Kanab before any further plans could be attempted.

  The wide end of the corral, which extended by wings down along the meadow, was left open. The head that surrounded the spring had a gate for the deer to pass out. At a point close to the water, Eburne planned to place the traps to be sent by Cassell, and if these proved unsatisfactory he would construct one of his own design. The question as to how the trapped animals would act kept the ranger awake at night.

  At length the Cleveland-Cliff traps arrived, and the driver who had packed them in his rickety Ford had also guided two automobiles loaded with tourists. He had not lost the opportunity to enlarge upon the wonders of Buckskin, the thousands of deer, and the hospitality of the rangers. Soon he departed, pocketing the generous tips bestowed by the sight-seers and leaving the rangers in an awkward situation.

  One of the rules of the forest service demanded courtesy to visitors. An old slogan was that the national parks belonged to Americans. Eburne and Blakener greeted the strangers with a certain amount of reserve. Now that the vanguard of the summer tourists had arrived, the rangers realized that in addition to guarding their country’s natural resources, they would have to serve as guides, cooks, and information bureau.

  Thad did not have time to examine the traps until the visitors had left. Then he found them to be boxlike constructions, nine feet long, eight high, and between four and five wide. The entrance was a trap door. Manifestly the idea was to leave the door open for the deer to enter and pull at the bait of hay, which action would release the catch and close the door.

  “Well, these traps won’t do as they are, that’s certain,” declared Eburne.

  Blakener, too, was doubtful of the traps’ practicability, but he expressed himself in quite different language. They carried one of the contraptions up to the cabin porch, where, after supper, they studied it. It was easy to see where they could be improved.

  Next morning they set about the task of lengthening the boxes and adding another trap door to each. When completed, they were rather heavy; and packing them out to the fenced-in water hole taxed the strength of the rangers. Finally they were set and baited to suit Eburne, and he repaired to his hiding place above the spring.

  The crudely reconstructed traps did not look very enticing; however, they were made of old lumber and had nothing conspicuous about them. Thad had not the slightest doubt about deer going into them to nibble at the hay.

  On this day the deer appeared slow in coming, and Thad grew tired of waiting. At long last, however, a whole troop filed across the meadow and entered the corral. Thad’s position was such that he did not have a good view of the traps, and he crawled to a more advantageous, though less comfortable, place. The bucks were plainly curious about the traps, but the does and fawns gave them a wide berth. Eburne’s instruction had been to make a speciality of the latter. Young bucks would be acceptable, but the tough old stags were not wanted.

  It turned out that the desirable deer were not likely to be captured in this sort of trap. The older, bolder bucks, however, plainly showed they were going after that hay. Eburne espied one, presently, warily enter the trap. He waited, but nothing happened. If the buck was pulling on the hay, which Eburne doubted, it certainly did not spring the trap door. The failure of the trap to spring nonplused the ranger. At the same time he was pleased to see the other deer grouped around the trap which contained the buck. The fawns were especially amusing. They imitated the actions of their mothers, yet they seemed to have a good many ideas of their own as they flipped their short tails and kicked out with their hind legs.

  There were probably twenty-five deer in this group, and their excitement over the buck in the trap seemed to make them forget why they had come to the spring. They forgot to drink or to exercise their usual caution.

  Suddenly a crack and a bang sounded from the second trap, which Eburne could not see very well from where he sat. This was followed by a clattering and scraping, mixed with solid thumps. It was obvious that a buck had sprung the door of the trap.

  Eburne was rising to get a better view when a crashing sound from the first trap warned him to expect violent action in that corner. The box trap rocked; and then, right out of the top of this eight-foot pen shot a big buck deer. Thad yelled with delight to see that magnificent leap. “Good boy!” he shouted.

  The deer was unhurt but pretty badly scared. He bounded straight against the wire fence, staggered back, then, recovering himself, ran with prodigious leaps down into the meadow, followed by the whole troop, They halted at the edge of the forest to look back. Then one by one they trotted out of sight into the brown and green forest.

  Meanwhile the trapped buck in the box was making a battering ram of himself. He could not break out, however, or scale the side of the trap. Eburne ran toward the spring, yelling for his partner Blakener to come. It did not take more than a glance to see that the deer had injured himself. Blood dripped from his mouth. Eburne was afraid the jaw was broken. But the deer would not stand still long enough for Eburne to make closer observations. As he stood there, Blakener came running from the cabin.

  “Say, Blake, we’ve got one—a big buck,” shouted Thad. “He sure raised the dickens. There was another buck got in the other trap. For some reason the door didn’t work at first. Maybe he didn’t pull on the hay. But when he did spring the trap—wow, he leaped right out of the box!”

  “Stop your—kiddin’,” panted Blakener.

  “Honest. Look, see the trap door down—the hay pulled off the wire.”

  “By golly—” exclaimed Blakener, peering into the trap. Then he was interrupted by a terrific commotion in the other box. The captured buck had begun to thrash and crash around again.

  “He’ll kill himself. I knew this would happen,” declared Eburne in distress. “We’ll let him out into our pen.”

  Suiting action to word, Eburne lifted the slide door at the back of the trap. They had set the trap against an opening of appropriate size in the fence. The buck rushed out blindly, colliding with the wire of this small round pen, bounced back, and then began to circle. Eburne closed the slide door in the trap. They now had the buck captive, but in quarters where he could see and move. Thad had built this little side pen for the does and fawns he hoped to catch. It was soon evident that the buck would not further injure himself. Eburne feared, ho
wever, that serious harm already had been done. The buck limped; he had skinned his knees and breast; his lower jaw hung down, dripping with blood.

  “Bad hurt,” said Blakener regretfully. “What’ll we do? Let him go?”

  “No. Not unless he kicks up more fuss,” replied Eburne. “I’m afraid he’s done for. We’ll hold him a while, anyway.”

  “How about the traps?” queried Blakener.

  “I’m afraid they won’t do,” replied the ranger. “Certainly not for big, strong deer. They’d be fine for fawns. But the foxy little things wouldn’t go in. One out of a hundred might, but that would not make this kind of trap of any use to us. We’ll try my pen trap idea.”

  On the other side of the corral Thad had constructed another small wire enclosure with a trap gate. There was water inside. A board pen, ten by twenty feet, had been built alongside this, into which deer could be quickly driven after they were captured. By shutting off access to the spring in the larger corral Eburne felt confident that even does and fawns might be induced to seek the water in the small pen.

  While the rangers were talking over the advisability of trying this trap on the next herd of deer, a motorcar came humming out of the forest and halted before the cabin. The discordant honk of a horn disturbed the forest stillness. It frightened the captured buck into renewed frantic efforts to escape.

  “Blake, there are some of your tourist friends,” said Eburne banteringly. “I think I see a lady with red hair.”

  “Humph! So you do,” replied Blakener. “Well, I don’t see that you have anythin’ on me. The fame of my sour-dough biscuits has penetrated to the outside world, an’ also your fame as the ranger who loves deer. Strikes me you get off easier than I.”

  “Yes, when you have to dispense biscuits and I merely sentiment,” replied Thad, laughing.