Ghost Editor

Richie has been cleaning out the Junque Room and this turned up - it's a 3-page letter my Dad wrote to a friend about a hunting trip.  He was a mechanical engineer with an engrossing interest in science and flying - viewed various rocket tests - and I know he would be amused at now having one of his works in cyberspace for all time (as far as anyone knows...)  27 years after his death.   And as you read and  note the style, you will know that the apple didn't fall very far from the tree.

(no date)

Dear Bill:

After I left you to drive out to the hunting lease, I nearly froze.  After I got through the first gate south of the creek, two nice bucks crossed the road about 200 yards in front of me and went up the mountain.

I got four nice, clean misses with my .257 and, attempting to reload, I succeeded in generating a jam.  The deer were very co-operative,  They stood on top of the mountain and watched until they saw that I had it cleared and then went on. 

When I arrived at camp, no one was there and I started up the mountain back of the camp.  I had just gotten out of "puff" the first time when I heard someone call me.  Went back to camp to find it was Brice.  We got a fire started and Williams rolled in -- then Dirks.  No one had done any killing.

About 9:45 a.m. Williams looked up on the mountain across from camp - there were two bucks going north, right on the skyline.  Brice and I started shooting.  As you remember, this is quite a long range for shooting.

One of the bucks dropped and struggled on his front legs into some brush.  The other buck also hid. 

I failed to get any volunteers to climb the mountain so, unlike political bosses, I had to do it myself.  When I was about half way up, the unwounded deer started back to the south.  There was quite a bombardment from the fellows in camp shooting at him -- and shooting right over my head!  But I consider us just lucky since neither the deer nor I was hit. 

The buck I went after was a nice 7-pointer.  It was pretty easy to get him down that steep mountain.  Just before I got to camp with him, Cresswell and Chastine arrived at camp, dragging Cresswell's 4-pt. buck that he had shot at 7:15 that morning.  Neither Dirks nor Williams was feeling up to par and I think it was about the same for Brice.  In his case, we think it was that second can of beer. 

Chastine and Williams hunted in the afternoon in the mountains back of camp.  The rest of us drove the car along the canyon roads, but didn't see anything.  Chastine killed a little yearling doe.

Just about dusk, Chastine, Brice and myself (me driving) almost ran over a big cactus buck.  Chastine and Brice unloaded, started blasting in the gloom and the buck dropped.  When we picked him up, there were two spots of blood under him.  We supposed since both boys had fired that both of them had scored hits and that the buck would therefore be a split deer.  Anyway he was certainly a source of contention.  Chastine gave his interest in him to Brice and that about ended hunting on the 15th - six men and four deer.

I wanted to bring the deer to Meeker (probably a nearby town) that night but was over-ruled.  You know, "You so-and-so cream puff; you are going to stay in camp tonight!"

Not having transportation, I had to agree.  Boy, you were sure right about that being a poor place to camp.  The wind was bad and you didn't need to pepper the fried eggs as the dust took care of that.

To Be Continued/Ended tomorrow.