The Big Hunt (11 page)

“Have Frank's men arrived yet, Dobe?” Kerry asked.

“Come in on the westbound. I've sent them down to Ma Gerhity's.”

“Going to need the skinner and your wagon.”

“You've got trouble here, Kerry,” warned Killem quietly.

“How's that?” Kerry asked.

“Corben's putting it about that you never paid for the last load of supplies and claims he aims to have you held for debt.”

“He does, huh?” said Kerry gently, and dropped from his saddle, drawing the carbine as he landed.

“One moment, Kerry!” barked Lord Henry. “That's no answer.”

“I figure it's a right smart one,” Kerry replied.

“It is—if you want everybody to believe Corben's telling the truth.”

“I've never lied to any man, 'cept about hunting, and that's not lying,” Kerry growled and swung away from the party.

Tossing a leg across the saddle, Calamity lit down on the ground and swung free her whip.

“You just stand fast and listen to Hank, Kerry,” she ordered. “Just try walking away and you'll do it on a broken ankle.”

Nothing he had heard or seen of Calamity led Kerry to believe she might be making an idle threat. That whip in her hands possessed the power to do just what she said and she knew how to handle it so as to achieve the desired result. Even so, he might not have stopped. His eyes met Beryl's and found them quizzical, yet holding an expression which clearly said their future relationship depended on how he acted.

“You've got a right good argument, Calam,” he said.

“That's better,” Lord Henry stated. “
We'll
go and see Corben now.”

“That jacket won't keep the wolves and buzzards off the buffalo forever,” Kerry warned. “Its head might be ruined.”

“Blast the head!” Lord Henry barked. “There'll be others.”

But not many with such a size of horn, as all the party knew. Beryl smiled at Kerry, letting him know that she approved of his decision. “If you wish, dear, I'll accompany the skinner. Perhaps Calam will come along?”

“Sure I will,” agreed Calamity. “I reckon old hot-head here won't go shooting up the whole danged town. Say, where's Mark?”

“Gone to tell his boys they'll be staying on for another day. The town's been giving a party to
honor their distinguished visitors,” Killem explained. “I reckon you and M—Lady Beryl'll attend, Henry?”

“Of course,” Henry agreed. “But let's get this business with Corben settled first, shall we?”

“Yeah,” Kerry agreed. “Let's.”

Just a touch of nervousness crept through Corben as he saw Kerry Barran enter the store. Not even having Berkmyer and Sharpie hovering in the background made him feel any more secure as both had failed to handle the big hunter. Behind Kerry came Dobe Killem and that damned dude Englishman. Worse than that, the railroad's depot agent stood at the tobacco counter being served, and brought the presence of an independent witness into the affair.

“Hear tell you want to see me, Corben,” Kerry said, his carbine under the crook of his arm. “Where's Bernstein?”

“Huh?” grunted the startled storekeeper.

“I paid him for the stores and watched him enter it in your books.”

“The book's right here,” Corben answered, waving his hand to a thick ledger on the counter top. “But there's no record of your payment in it.”

“Where's this Bernstein chap?” Lord Henry put in.

“He left town on vacation.”

“I saw him go, mister,” the agent put in. “Looked like he was heading down track to find a dentist, way his face was bandaged.”

Exchanging glances with his companions and seeing they also caught the significance of the words, Lord Henry turned to Berkmyer. “Have you any interest in this matter, marshal?”

“Only to keep the peace.”

“Including serving a warrant on Mr. Barran?”

“If I have to,” Berkmyer agreed.

“Which also entails gathering all witnesses?” Lord Henry went on and the marshal nodded. “Then you must arrange for the speedy return of this Bernstein chap.”

“I don't know where he's gone,” objected Berkmyer.

“Telegraph the police in each town along the railroad,” suggested the peer. “If that does not bring results, hire the Pinkerton Agency.”

“And who pays for it all?”

“The one who loses the case, if I know anything about the law.”

Apprehension bit into Corben at the words. He knew that the Pinkerton Agency possessed the means to locate and return Bernstein, no matter where he went, even if some town marshal along the track did not pick him up. Once returned the reason for his facial bandage would be learned.
Toothache did not make it necessary—as Corben well knew.

“One other thing, marshal,” Lord Henry said, having watched the storekeeper's expression and chosen his moment perfectly. “Could you tell me the name of a general store in the next town along the track. I wish to buy supplies for my hunting expedition.”

“I've everything you'll need, sir—my Lord,” Corben pointed out in his most ingratiating manner.

“Under the circumstances, I hardly feel it advisable to do business with you,” Lord Henry answered. “I might discover that payment for my goods was not recorded by your clerk.”

Give him his due, Corben knew when to call a game quits. Nothing he could say or do would induce Kerry Barran to work for him again. He decided to give up his efforts and forget revenge, if doing so brought him the Englishman's business.

“Waldo!” he called to his second clerk. “You were here when Mr. Barran paid for his stores?”

“Yes, Uncle Cyrus,” Waldo agreed, catching on with remarkable speed. “I remember Bernie didn't mark it in the book. Told him about it, too, and he said he would. He must have forgotten to do it.”

“That's what he must have done,” beamed Corben. “I'm sorry about all the trouble this has caused, Mr. Barran.”

“We all make mistakes,” Lord Henry remarked, jabbing Kerry hard in the ribs before the hunter could raise any objections. “Of course, Mr. Corben will make a public announcement that gives the full facts.”

“Sure I will,” Corben agreed, willing to do anything if it brought him a sizeable order.

“And I think you'll admit he can supply us with everything we'll need for our trip, Kerry?” the peer went on.

“Sure he can,” Kerry answered grudgingly. “Maybe better than any other store closer than Chicago.”

“Then here is where we'll buy the supplies,” decided Lord Henry. “Dobe, if you'll stay here, I'll send Wheatley along with my list and you can attend to it.”

“Sure enough,” grinned Killem.

“That will leave you and I free to make the final arrangements, Kerry,” the peer said. “I know Mr. Corben wants to make an adjustment to his books and we'll not prevent him from doing so.”

“Huh?” grunted Corben, then the light glowed. “Oh, sure. These darned young clerks. You can't rely on them to do anything properly.”

Not until Corben had recorded Kerry's payment did Lord Henry offer to leave. Outside the store, Kerry swung to face the Englishman.

“Damn it, that bandage around Bernstein's face could mean that he was the one Calam caught with her whip last night.”

“It could also mean that he had toothache,” Lord Henry answered. “Which is how we'll leave it. There's nothing we can prove and the marshal wouldn't want to try. Come on, let's see that chappie with the hounds. With luck we can pull out tomorrow afternoon.”

A
FTER A BUSY AFTERNOON SELECTING AND LOADING
supplies, followed by a hectic evening at a dinner and ball thrown by the citizens of Otley Creek for their distinguished English visitors, the party managed to roll out the following day. Calamity felt a few pangs of regret at separating from Mark Counter, but sustained herself with the knowledge that their paths would most likely cross again.

For the first two days they passed through country well, if not over, hunted by the Otley Creek men. From the third morning animals began appearing in ever-increasing numbers. While used to the variety of animals offered on the plains of
Southern Africa, Lord Henry found no cause for complaint at what he found. Although not yet gathered in their vast seasonal migration herds, buffalo roamed in fair numbers. Hunting pressure had not yet driven the wapiti back into the high country which eventually became its home. Mule deer offered sport and a handy alternative source of meat. The presence of buffalo wolves and the two species of bear did nothing to detract from the pleasure of the trip and gave promise of additional hunting.

And there were pronghorn antelope.

Of all the animals Lord Henry saw, none attracted him as did these gaily colored, hock-horned, dainty creatures, which showed characteristics of the deer, antelope and goat families, yet belonged to none of them. From his first sight of the jet black horns, black and white face, tan and white ears, tan body striped with bars of white along the neck, and turning to white on its underside, and pure white rump, Lord Henry wanted to add one to his collection.

As Kerry warned, that did not prove easy. With its grass grazed down short by the enormous herds of buffalo, the rolling, open land of the Great Plains offered an ideal habitat for the pronghorn. Living in such country, possessed of a keen sense of smell, sharp hearing and probably the most far
sighted eyes of any animal, the pronghorn proved a worthy adversary in a battle of wits.

During the first two days' travel Lord Henry practiced with his Remington and could achieve accuracy at ranges of up to a quarter of a mile. Getting into even that distance proved to be anything but a sinecure. No matter how far a herd scattered while feeding, at least one of its members always seemed to spot the approaching hunter. Once seen, the pronghorn gave warning in a manner unique to its kind. The large white patch on the rump covered muscular discs which contracted when the animal was disturbed, causing the hairs to rise abruptly and reflect the sun's light. After one animal gave its warning flash, accompanied by a powerful aroma from scent glands along the discs, others saw and repeated it until every pronghorn in the area had been alerted. Any further alarm sent the entire herd speeding off, running at a pace the best horses in the remuda could not equal.

For ten days Lord Henry tried to take a pronghorn—not just any one, but the biggest and best buck available—and met with no success. Once, on the fifth day, he carried out a fine stalk and then made the mistake of peering cautiously over a rim to take a final survey of the situation. Although the nearer animals missed spotting him, a buck half a
mile away saw his head and knew it had not been there when last studying the rim. Instantly the buck flashed its warning and the herd went racing off to safety. Twice, after abortive stalks, Lord Henry tried to shoot one of the escaping animals on the run, only to miscalculate their speed and see his lead strike well behind the big bucks which invariably brought up the rear.

Kerry and Lord Henry tried to improve the peer's accuracy on moving targets, spending a whole day with the hunter galloping by at varying ranges and dragging an empty kerosene can behind him on the end of a thirty-foot length of rope. While Lord Henry soon developed the knack of swinging the rifle, leading the can so that the bullet met it, he found doing the same on a speeding antelope far harder.

All the camp watched and waited, although Frank Mayer's crew and the old hound-dog man wondered why Lord Henry went to so much trouble when he might ambush a waterhole, or use a relay of horses to run a herd into exhaustion so as to make picking off one of its members easy. Such an idea was not acceptable to the peer's sense of sportsmanship and fair play. To make up in a small way for his disappointment with the pronghorn, Lord Henry took a very good, six-point mule deer after a careful stalk, and from a range of three hun
dred yards, the closest he could get without being detected. He also dropped a large dog buffalo wolf as it stood tearing flesh from a buffalo calf dragged down by the pack.

Before the first week ended the party had settled down into their routine. Each morning after breakfast Kerry and Lord Henry took their horses and Shaun to ride out in search of sport. Killem handled the breaking of the camp, following a predetermined route to the next stopping place. Depending on their luck, the hunters would join the rest of the party either on the trail or at the next camp.

Although it might be far different from the life she led in England, Beryl found little difficulty in settling down. Experience in India and Africa helped, and she had the very able hands of Calamity Jane to guide her in the business of living on the Great Plains. It became a convention that Beryl kept the camp supplied with meat. When available, Kerry took her out. If not, she went with old Sassfitz Kane, the hound-dog man, and never failed to return without bringing something suitable for the table. In addition to hunting, she overcame the cook's aversion to having women around his fire and learned much about his trade.

Wheatley took the new life in his stride. On the first night out, the wrangler—a brawny but far
from bright young man—cast doubts about the valet's manhood. Requesting the insulting young man to walk into the bushes, Wheatley peeled off his jacket and demonstrated a knowledge of fist-fighting which left the other sprawled flat, dazed, sorry and much wiser. After that, Wheatley had no further trouble and became very popular with the other members of the camp staff.

“We'll be off the Plains soon, Henry,” Kerry remarked as they rode far ahead of the party on the early afternoon of the eleventh day.

Already the ground tended to rise in higher folds and trees scattered here and there instead of rocks and bushes which had been the feature since leaving Otley Creek. Both men understood the full significance of Kerry's comment as they studied the changed scenery. The pronghorn lived in open country, not among the wooded land of the hills which drew nearer with each passing mile.

“It looks that way,” the peer agreed.

“We could make camp for a few days to let you make a try at taking a pronghorn,” the hunter suggested.

“I'll leave it to you, old chap. But I thought you wanted to get into the hill country.”

“I do,” agreed Kerry. “Out here on the Plains we can be seen for miles and Indians have been known to attack even when they're supposed to be at
peace. Besides, the elk'll be starting their rut soon and that's the best time to get a real big buck.”

“And we do have a long way to go yet,” Lord Henry said, thoughtfully. “If we stay here even for a few days, we'll miss some of the other stuff I want.”

“Sure. Only I'd sure like to see you get a pronghorn.”

Almost as soon as he spoke, Kerry saw one of the antelope appear from a distant valley and halt to snip off leaves from a bitterbush. Instantly Kerry halted his gray and Lord Henry brought his mount to a stop. Without needing a word of command, Shaun dropped to the ground and lay still.

“What is it?” asked the peer.

“Over there,” Kerry answered. “Almost in line with that biggest hill. Can you see him?”

“Only just,” admitted Lord Henry and slowly eased the field glasses from his saddle-pouch.

Moving just as slowly and cautiously, the peer raised his glasses, focused them and studied the enlarged view of the pronghorn. Over the past few days he had studied many antelope and could tell the good from the average.

That buck browsing in the distance was more than good, being the finest specimen Lord Henry had yet seen. One sure way of estimating a pronghorn's trophy value was to study its head. If the
horns' length appeared to equal that from tip of nose to base of skull, then it was a trophy well worth trying for. The buck that Lord Henry studied carried horns which looked even longer than the head. Nor were they narrow freak growths but massive, with well-developed prongs and a matching pair of rear-pointing tips.

“Do you want him?” Kerry asked.

“Do I want my right arm?” demanded the Englishman, showing more emotion than usual. “Where're the rest of his herd?”

Eagerly both men scanned the surrounding area, but could see no sign of other pronghorns.

“He's alone,” Kerry finally stated.

“An old buck run off from the herd, like the buffalo,” Lord Henry agreed. “That could make things easier, only having one pair of eyes to watch for.”

“Don't sell him short on that score,” warned Kerry. “He might be alone, but he's still as keen as ever. Maybe more so, having to depend on hisself. This's going to take some mighty smart figuring if you're going to get him.”

“I could make a circle, come in through that broken country,” Lord Henry said, studying the land with the eye of a tactician.

“There's no cover within five hundred yards of him,” Kerry pointed out.

“Except for that tree,” Lord Henry answered, even before Kerry could say it.

“Yeah. Happen you can keep that between you and him, you might be able to either walk or crawl up close. If you reach the tree, you'll only be around a hundred and fifty yards from him. It won't be easy.”

“What would be the pleasure if it was?”

“Leave us try to even the odds just a mite,” Kerry drawled. “I've found a lone buck'll not take to running unless he figures he's in danger. Happen he sees a man in the distance, he'll go on eating, but watch him and not run until the feller comes closer. Now if I edge into sight, he'll likely watch me and let you move in behind him.”

“It's worth a try,” Lord Henry said and slipped from his saddle. At the left of the saddle hung the Remington Creedmoor in a boot, the big eight-bore double riding on the right. Taking the single-shot, Lord Henry gave Kerry an excited grin and moved off.

As soon as the peer disappeared into cover, Kerry rode forward, leading the other horse. Three quarters of a mile away, the buck antelope's head jerked up and it stared in the hunter's direction. Immediately Kerry halted the horses and swung from the saddle. He sat down on the ground, Shaun flopping at his side, and saw to his relief
that the buck behaved in the expected manner. After studying Kerry for a short time, it resumed feeding but continued to dart glances in his direction.

Slipping into the bottom of a draw, Lord Henry strode along it for a time. On reaching a point where it swung away from his desired direction, he climbed the side and peered very cautiously over. Everything appeared to be going according to plan. The pronghorn still browsed on the bitterbush, and in the distance Kerry sat by his gray like a statue, Shaun at his side.

Lord Henry crawled over the draw's rim and advanced to the next cover on his belly, the rifle resting across his arms. Moving from rocks to bushes in a fast run if possible, or crawling on his belly when necessary, Lord Henry managed to put the trunk of the tree between himself and the pronghorn. For a few seconds he paused, catching his breath, then walked forward. Not even when stalking a Cape buffalo or African elephant had the Englishman taken so much care or felt such anxiety. If he could reach the tree undetected, he would be within a hundred and fifty yards of the buck, a mere spitting distance for such an accurate rifle as the Remington.

Sweat ran down the peer's face and he raised his left hand to wipe it from his eyes. Each foot tested
the ground before taking the weight of his body on it. He reached fifty yards distance from the tree and wished he could see what the prong-horn did, but it stood hidden by the tree trunk. However, Kerry remained immobile on the rim, so all must still be well.

At that moment the pronghorn came into view. Having finished its browsing, it moved around the bush in search of shade. Only for an instant did it stand and stare at the man, then whirled and raced away. Bounding forward, Lord Henry tried to reach a position from where he could take a shot. He dropped to one knee at the bounding white ball which the buck's rump resembled, but he did not fire at such a poor target when to do so might result in nothing more than a wounded, lost animal, doomed to a lingering death.

Up on the distant rim Kerry cursed the luck and moved his gray forward. Shaun came to his feet with a lithe bound, but at that instant not even a sight-hunting dog like the wolfhound could see a moving object. However, the pronghorn could see and made out a wolf-like shape alongside the man and horse. Whirling around in a tight turn, the buck raced off in the opposite direction and on a course which carried it across Lord Henry's front at a range of two hundred yards. The antelope's speed made it so difficult a target, for it ran
smoothly and in a manner far different from the bounding, leaping gait of a fleeing whitetail or mule deer. Lord Henry sighted carefully and swung his rifle ahead almost two and a half times the speeding buck's length. Still swinging, he squeezed the trigger. Flame erupted from the Remington's barrel and smoke momentarily hid the buck from Lord Henry's sight. Although the recoil of the heavy rifle was not small, the peer felt nothing of it.

Bullet and pronghorn sped along their converging courses, the first invisible in its speed, the second almost so. Vaguely through the dispersing smoke, Lord Henry saw the pronghorn bound into the air and, when it landed, go crashing to the ground.

Leaping to his feet, Lord Henry forgot his habitual calm, or even to take the basic precaution of reloading his single-shot rifle. He let out a yell of delight and raced forward. On the rim, Kerry sent the horses galloping in the direction of the antelope, waving his new Stetson over his head and whooping his pleasure. Even Shaun appeared to catch the excitement and wagged his tail on approaching Lord Henry.