THE DEER HUNT
by Charlie Steel

Following is the conclusion of Charlie Steel's nostalgic coming-of-age deer hunter's tale.

Everywhere the forest was filling with hunters. As they moved in under the early morning light, the deer began to run. Charlie looked to his right and caught glimpse of a small buck bounding over the ridge to disappear into the forest. Charlie quickly raised his rifle for a shot and then, knowing he had seen the deer too late, lowered the weapon, his fingers still stiff on the trigger. With the clear light of dawn, the forest began to echo with the sounds of rifles, shotguns, and semi-automatic weapons. Every once in a while, throughout the morning, Charlie heard the zit-zit of bullets passing through the brown oak leaves and tree limbs above him. With so many hunters it was dangerous to be in the open woods. The forest echoed with the sounds of gun shots.

Toward noon, a fast-moving deer raced through. Charlie heard the distant shots and then others fired as the deer moved closer and closer to his position. Nervously, Charlie fitted his thumb over the hammer of his lever-action Winchester. Five shots echoed very near him in the bright light of midday. Charlie raised his rifle in expectation and listened. Nothing happened. Charlie lowered his gun and relaxed. Suddenly, straight in front of him, a small four-point buck exploded from the brush, running flat out, straight toward him. Charlie raised his 30-30, aimed carefully, lined the front sights with the rear sights, held his breath and squeezed the trigger as Uncle Clare had taught him. Nothing happened. Charlie pulled until his trigger-finger ached. The four-point buck ran 20 feet past Charlie. A shot sounded and the deer went down somewhere behind him in the underbrush. Charlie examined his rifle and saw that in his excitement he had forgotten to pull back the hammer of his rifle. The boy cursed softly under his breath. He watched Uncle Clare walk toward him.

"What happened?" his uncle asked as he got nearer. "That deer should have been yours."

"I know," Charlie said. "I forgot to cock the hammer."

The old man put his arm around the boy and started walking toward the deer. Charlie could see his cousin Ray and Uncle Art moving toward them. In an open place on the side of the ridge, the four-point buck lay on its side - dead.

Uncle Clare examined his kill. "Lucky shot," he said. "Got it through the neck."

Ray walked up to the deer and looked at it. "Good shot, Dad. I'll dress it out for you."

Charlie watched his cousin dress the deer. Ray took a sharp knife and disemboweled the deer. When he had finished, he fastened a rope around the deer's neck and forelegs.

"It's about lunchtime," his cousin said. "We might as well drag it in and eat."

The four men, in pairs, took turns dragging the 120-pound deer toward the car. Once there, they loaded the field dressed deer into the trunk and closed the lid. They took out the sacks Aunt Nellie had given them that morning and ate their chicken and egg salad sandwiches.

"When I was your age, Charlie," Uncle Clare said, "I used to see so many deer that I had a choice as to which one I wanted to shoot. In those days people didn't hunt for sport the way they do now."
"Did you shoot many, Uncle Clare?" Charlie asked.

"More than I should have. I was the oldest so your grandfather made it my responsibility to see that the family had enough to eat. He took me out and taught me to shoot. He made sure that once I learned, I didn't waste any shells. When the ice house got empty I'd take his old 30-30 and pick out a young buck and bring it in."

"How'd you get it home?" the boy asked.

"In a wagon. We had one old horse. Sometimes your father would go, Charlie, but we only had one rifle. Your grandfather would be mad as blazes if we didn't get a deer. He'd say, 'you wasted the whole blasted day playing in the woods,' and then he'd make us chop extra firewood for the stove."

"Your grandfather always asked three questions. First, was it a young buck?' If I said, 'Yes, Papa' he'd smile and shout 'Did you get it first shot?' and 'Show me!' I would hold out four of the five shells he'd given me."

All four of the men then sat in silence thinking for a long time before they got out of the car, picked up their rifles, and went back into the woods. They walked slowly back into the forest to their previous positions. The firing was sporadic for the rest of the day. The deer had disappeared into the swamps. At dusk the men returned to the car and drove home. The four of them worked together and hung the buck in the garage.

The next morning they got up early as before, ate breakfast and returned to their same deer stands on the tree lined ridge overlooking the open valley. From early dawn to noon Charlie listened and watched nervously. He consciously strained his eyes for the sight of a deer; he listened closely to the rhythm of the wind and the rustle of dried oak leaves high in the trees hoping to hear the first faint crackle of leaves that would signal a buck's approach. For an hour he watched two large fox squirrels, one gray and the other reddish-brown, jerk their large bushy tails and scamper from one tree to another. At noon the men again went to the car for lunch and afterward returned to their stands until dusk.

The third morning Charlie awoke first to the sound of the alarm clock. He jumped out of his warm sleeping bag, shut off the clock, and ran to look out of the front room window. The wind was blowing hard and cold from the north and the first winter snow was already piled four inches deep on the ground. Uncle Clare got up quietly and peered out of the window beside the boy.

"It'll make good tracking," he said. "But, it sure as heck will be cold."

The four men got ready, ate breakfast, took their lunches and thermoses of coffee, piled into the car and again headed for the woods. As they drove into the forest, the snow became slippery on top of the wet leaves. Several times the three men got out to push as Clare rocked the Ford out of a deep drift. Once they reached their destination, Charlie entered the forest with the others, and just before dawn took his position under a large oak tree. He cleared a spot in the snow and laid a red plastic mat on the damp ground to sit on. The woods were still, the only movement was of falling snowflakes; even the north wind had stopped. Several times through the morning, the snow fell so heavily and in such large flakes that Charlie couldn't see more than a few feet in front of him.

Toward noon the sun came out, the sky turned blue, and the snow began to melt from the tree limbs. It got so warm that Charlie unfastened his heavy wool red and black checked hunting coat, and then the young man fell into a light sleep. A large plop of snow fell from a limb of the tree above him and woke him. The young hunter looked up in time to see a six-point buck run straight up a deer trail toward him and break on all fours not more than 50 feet away. For a full second Charlie forgot all about his gun and just stared at the deer. The deer stared back at him, frozen. For that second the animal and the young man were suspended in shock and surprise. Slowly, Charlie raised his rifle and pulled back the hammer. It clicked. The deer jumped and the weapon fired simultaneously. The buck ran 100 yards flat out through the snow and collided head-first into a large oak. The animal fell over on its side, thrashing and blatting in the snow. Charlie ran to the deer and, as it made an effort to get up, the young man lifted his rifle as the deer fell back, blatted once, and died. Blood streamed from a small hole in its side and collected in a puddle on the fresh white snow. Charlie heard footsteps, turned, and saw his two uncles and cousin walking toward him.
"A six-pointer," Uncle Art said. "I'll be darn!"

Dazed, Charlie watched his cousin kneel in the snow and began to dress out the deer. Ray cut the incision. The warm guts streamed out of the opening and onto the snow. The smell of bowels rose in the air. Charlie began to feel weak and nauseous.

"You shot him straight through the lungs and heart," he heard his cousin say. "Good shot."

Vaguely, Charlie heard his uncles agreeing. He looked at the streaming entrails and dizzily turned away.

"Take a look," his cousin said.

Charlie, the hunter, turned nauseously and leaned against a tree. He had seen enough for one day.

Those interested in reading more about Charlie Steel's work may visit www.condorpublishinginc.com.