Hunting Elk

I awoke to the first ping of the blacksmith’s hammer and the last pang of the evening’s whiskey. The sun was already up. I had intended on leaving at dawn, but the remaining diminutive embers in the fireplace had managed to keep the hotel room warm. A long ride up into the hunting grounds of the icy northern mountains kept me up to my chin in stale blankets. Beyond the frosted window the sucking sound of boots and hooves in the mud of the main street made me realize that it must be even later than I thought.  

The wagons sloshed and creaked at the whip snap, hollers and calls. 

‘G’mornin. Did ya sleep well?’ asked the hotel owner as I stomped down the wooden staircase.

‘As well as can be expected around here.’

‘Well, glad to hear it. The evening’s rowdiness can take a toll on a weary ear, but it’s mostly confined within the walls of the saloon.’

‘Mostly,’ I replied, moving to the door.

‘Was sorry to hear about Arthur. A scourge, a scourge that can afflict even the mightiest among us. God save us all.’

Suddenly I remembered the previous night, the whiskey drinking, the cards. I could feel the eyes of the hotel owner and wanted to put one of my fists into them. I moved in the fuzz of my collar and grunted in response as I stepped out and trudged through the muck to the general store. Coffee was needed and definitely more whiskey. 

The store front looks as if it’s all been chopped from a single piece of wood. Chipping slats painted with bread, fruit, tobacco, and soap. Barrels piled with potatoes, the bench with suspendered beard and caked mud. Loops of rope over the hitching post swaying like clock pendulums, hay in the mud beneath, pans and coffee pots dangling from the porch front, bushy mustache smiling, I think, so I focus, say, ‘Morning,’ and touch the rim tip. I buy up the coffee along with a few tins and some carrots for Ghost who will be dancing to get out of those stables. She’s rested and rearing. She knows where we’re headed. The stableboy says, ‘Sorry for you loss, Mister.’ as I swing a muddy boot over Ghost and slip snug into the puzzle piece. 

‘Thanks, kid,’ I sigh out and toss him what settles up.  

Ghost and I slosh up the main street, past the false fronts and spitting faces following us with furrowed brows. They all seem to remember and there’s always danger in that.

A man mending the fence of the church that rises up from the hill at the end of the street, does so out of kindness. I’m all out of that stuff. It slipped away with all the things I’ve done and no amount of mending fences will erase my wrongs. But none of that matters where I’m headed - the frozen north.

———

Entering the Cumberland Forest at dusk was a pivotal moment. I heard the howls in the distance at first and then they seemed just beyond the nearest trees and coming from the rustle of grass fields. I thought of a gentleman had met in Montana long ago who said that they do the howling to draw out their prey. There is something alluring about it, those mournful calls. They put your hairs on edge. Sends shivers like something ancient that terrifies and electrifies at the same time through your body. And then you find your hand creeping toward the double barrel and sliding it out easy. Don’t want to scare Ghost, is the thought just before that bark from behind. It got my leg, but I reckon just my boot, luckily. I tried to swing around in the saddle but couldn’t get a shot at the blurs of fur so I yanked the trigger at the ground and with a great ‘boom!’ everyone leapt to. Ghost hopped a half a man and the wolves the same. They yelped and ran in every direction. I had a bead on one for a second but was late on the trigger, and Ghost was doing a hell of a dance. All I saw was smoke. It took a while for us to calm down from that one. They were gone but Ghost thought they were around every bend for a bit. 

———

Ghost clambered up the narrow winding path with those powerful lunging leaps that get you leaning with her until your back on the cantle and the horns in your chest with each leap. She’s still got some spring in her. At the crest of the trail she rounds a large crag and through a few pines is the source of this spurious idyll. That something so pastoral could simply be in this simple world makes me wonder at its design and how delightfully sophisticated it really is. 

The sunlight just over the ridge reflected in a lovely diamond like dance over the ripples of mountain water, a large basin of turquoise that wound its way through the mountain. An island of rock and two pines sat like a boat with rowers in the middle and the water rushed as it tightened nearby through the boulders. The rush roared of a waterfall close downstream. Snow bulged like pillows on the rocks and clung to the tops of limbs that hung with icy fringe. And centered in this scene, silhouetted by the sun streaking through the mist and the winking gems was a grand old Elk. It stood by the edge of the stream and when it raised its head the antlers lifted like oak trees. Massive it was, and like a titan commanding its harsh kingdom it ruminated in a lordly manner. 

‘What luck!’ you whisper while patting Ghost. ‘We’re eating Elk tonight.’

———

Quietly, I slipped from Ghost and led her to a nearby pine with some burdock root to dig into. That should keep her from making any noise. I pulled a bow and a few arrows from my pack. A well placed arrow will not ruin the hide like a gunshot and I’m going to want to sell this one. I’m good with the bow and very accurate. We had a fortuitous arrival, being downwind of the Elk, and I was certain I could get close enough for a single kill shot despite the size of the beast. Indeed, as I snuck closer and closer through the trees I could see it was almost double the size of Ghost. This truly was a legend of the forest. It drank from the rushing river and surveyed the scene regally. I managed to get behind a boulder only a short distance away and with learned stealth nocked an arrow and drew it back slowly while moving to clear the rock for the shot. Full tension, quiver and shudder, my white fingers began to loose when a hawk screeched and the Elk jumped. The arrow let fly and missed the mark. The Lord let out a horrible howl. I nocked another arrow as quickly as I could but in one frantic move it had already plunged into the icy waters of the rushing river. Hurrying to the waters edge I saw the massive animal struggling in a halo of crimson that was striking in the icy blues of the rapids. I ran with and then into the water trying to get a grasp of the tree of antlers as it passed, splashing down the limited shoreline. I can save it! Pushing my legs with every whoosh of nightmarish running and splashing I could see terror in the globe of its eyes as it labored to keep its head above the surface. It was staring directly at death — at me. With one last lunge I desperately reached for him. I’ve got you! I yelled into the emptiness of winter, managing to get a hand on a thick limb. But I was too deep. I lost my foothold with the lunge and was swept into the shocking rush of the river. The Elk was against me as we swirled downstream like dancers spinning. The icy waters sucked life from me quickly and I knew there were only seconds. The flailing of my dead arms managed to find a felled tree branch which I grasped with all of the strength I had left and turning I watched the crown of antlers downstream sink below surface. I’m sorry, so sorry.  

After pulling myself onto the mud of the shore I realized I couldn’t even purse my lips to whistle for Ghost. Using flint and some nearby pine I caught my life before it rushed away, before it dipped below the waters, before I was just another dead character in a game. I believed I had saved earlier anyway.

So, I pressed the button long to shut down the gaming system and then the remote to turn off the screen. I stand up with a groan and yell upstairs to Laura, “You feel like a drink? Think I’ll have a whiskey.”