In the beech forest, just beyond Tumbling Run, a buck so young that
budding antlers did little more than part the coarse hair on its head
stamped a front hoof and snorted. Old enough to have a vast admiration
for himself and his own powers, but too young to have any sense, the
little buck snorted again and tried to sound as ferocious as possible.
Nosing about for any apples that might remain under the trees near Ted's
camp, he had stood his ground gallantly when Ted and Tammie approached.
Not ten minutes before their arrival, he'd chased a rabbit away from the
trees and he was so impressed by that feat that he thought he could
chase anything. But when Ted and Tammie refused to run, he'd trotted
into the forest to do his threatening from a safer place. He snorted
again, more hopefully than angrily, and when he did not regain
possession of the apple trees, he looked sad. Ted grinned at him.
"Junior's almost decided he can't bluff us, Tammie. Poor little guy!
He'd just about convinced himself that he's a real ripsnorter of a buck.
Oh, well, it's a hard world for everybody."
Ted continued to string clotheslines between the apple trees. He pulled
them tight, tested their tension with an experimental finger and turned
thoughtfully back to the camp. It might be a hard world for adolescent
bucks, but if it weren't for the fact that his father was still laying
out in the Mahela, right now it would be a pretty good one for Ted.
True to his promise, George Beaulieu and his six companions had arrived
the day before woodcock season opened. In his mid-fifties, Beaulieu was
branch manager for an insurance company. Of the six men with him, only
twenty-six-year-old George Junior, an insurance salesman who thought his
father was the greatest man in the world and who wanted nothing more
than to follow in his footsteps, had been less than middle-aged. The
other five were a filling station owner, a dentist, a toolmaker, an
electrical appliance dealer and a printer. Their party had been
complemented by two dogs, an English setter and a springer spaniel.
There had been nothing sensational about any of them, including the
dogs. Except for George Beaulieu, his son and the printer, none of the
men had been even fair hunters. The three, far and away the best of the
seven gunners, had averaged three shots for every woodcock brought down.
The worst gunner, the electrical appliance dealer, who appropriately
enough was named Joseph Watt, had fired at least fifteen times for every
woodcock he put in his pocket. Yet Ted felt that the happy man had lived
through an uplifting and a near-sensational experience.
Although unpretentious, his guests had definitely not been meek or
demure. Whoever missed an easy shot, which practically all of them did
at least twice a day, was needled mercilessly by the others. Not one
among them, under the best of conditions, could have made even a meager
living as a professional hunter. Yet they represented the best type of
present-day game seekers.
They had come to shoot woodcock and they would have been disappointed
not to shoot some. But they did not pursue their quarry with the
calculating coldness of a Smoky Delbert or, for that matter, with the
intense concentration of an Al Harkness, when Al was after a pelt he
wanted. They were out for fun and they had fun, and although game
mattered, meat did not. There were so many woodcock that everybody, even
Joseph Watt, got some. But considering the shells they shot, the camp
rental, food, transportation and licenses, their game probably cost them
at least fifteen dollars a pound!
After the first week ended and there seemed to be more woodcock than
ever--the flight was still coming in--they had decided that another ten
years might pass before they saw this again and stayed the second week.
They'd left only this morning, promising to be back next year if there
was another flight of woodcock, or for grouse if there was not.
Ted hummed as he started toward the camp. The Beaulieu party had been
wonderful guests and certainly they were welcome back. If the Mahela was
good for them, they were just as good for the Mahela.
Ted gathered up as much bedding as he could carry. He'd been a little
worried about it because he'd provided neither sheets nor pillowcases.
But lack of them hadn't seemed to worry the Beaulieu party in the
slightest. Most people who hunted all day were too tired by night to
care whether their beds were formal, or anything except comfortable.
Next year--always supposing his father and he still had the camp, Ted
thought that they would have to provide linens, too. Summer campers
spent more time in camp than hunters did, and they were apt to be more
particular.
Ted hung the blankets and quilts on the lines he had strung and pinned
them securely. If they aired all day long, they'd be fresh by night. The
grouse hunters--Ted had corresponded with an Arthur Beamish--were due
some time after supper and there would be ten in the party.
The small buck, that had been lurking hopefully near and awaiting a
chance to come back, snorted his astonishment when the bedding began to
blow in the wind and ran away as fast as he could. The little fellow
thought he was fully capable of dealing with anything natural, but
wind-blown bedclothes smacked of the supernatural. Ted lost himself in
thought.
The camp was completely rented, except for the third week of small game
season, and it would return a little more than four hundred dollars in
rent. Added to that was the money he'd certainly get from John Wilson,
and the total was more than it had cost to build and furnish the camp.
Some of it would have to go for food and John Wilson probably would
expect good things to eat, but he'd get them. Ted had six woodcock, a
gourmet's delight, in the freezer, and he would add the legal two days'
possession limit of six grouse. He'd need more than that, but even after
buying whatever was necessary, he'd still have enough money to put up a
hard legal battle for Al when his father finally had to surrender. There
would be at least twice as much money as Ted had told John McLean he
would have. If more was needed, and it probably would be, he'd sell the
camp.
Ted gathered up the dirty towels and wash and dish cloths, put them in a
bushel basket brought along for that purpose and replaced them with
fresh, clean laundry. The Beaulieu party, another proof of their
sportsmanship, had left the camp in fine shape, with the dishes washed
and stacked where they belonged and the floor clean. Tammie came in the
open door and Ted grinned at him.
"Guess we can go, Tammie, and you'd better rest a bit. You're going into
the hills tonight."
Tammie wagged an agreeable tail and trotted out to the pickup with his
master; Ted eased the little truck onto the road.
He'd sent Tammie, with a load of food, the night before the Beaulieu
party arrived and everything had gone without a hitch. Tammie had left
shortly after midnight and returned two and a half hours later. The pack
was empty save for the note Al had thrust in it.
Dear Ted: Tammy cum al rite. This works good, huh? I got enuf to
last me anyhow 2 weeks mor. Don't send Tammy befor. The les you got
to send him, the beter it is. Good luk and thanks.