Wayne in BC
New member
The boy was not sure of what he was seeing. Waves of heat mirage danced up from the prairie like tendrils of smoke, obscuring the form of what might be, or should be a
a human form. He knew little or nothing about using the heavy old 7x50 binoculars that his uncle had acquired some time not long after WW-11 and now in 1957 still were a fixture on the ranch but showed numerous
scratches, dents, and patches of polished metal where once was black paint.
Fiddling with the focus made no difference, occasionally worsening things some, then finally a compromise was struck and as the form continued his way from a rise a full mile away it became clear that the lone creature was not human as
a rare cloud cut the glare and the odd apparition changed course slightly to reveal too much length and what appeared to be extra legs.
The boy had become lost that afternoon. Rushing off after the early milking but being told to eat breakfast first, he had quickly set what he thought was a direct course for the carcass of the old cow some 5 miles away and maybe a mile south east of the lake.
The lure of easy money danced in his head, he kept hearing the words of the neighbor, who while visiting the night before had cursed the Coyotes, who he felt sure had killed the lame old Hereford Cow that had lagged behind as he moved his herd closer to the lake. The lake, known as Kirkpatrick, was mostly only a lake in name. Making up several hundred acres of an
approximate average depth of 18 inches and surrounded by several thousand more acres of varying degrees of packed dry mud interspersed with damp and sucking places. It was the only water source that could handle hundreds of cattle and was used by several ranchers in the community pastures.
Coyotes had become a big problem the past few years, once merely a nuisance and a threat to the occasional newborn calf and ones chickens, they had a population explosion and were now hunting in packs, the Deer and Rabbit population had thinned and they now were said to be taking cattle, the ultimate death sentence for howlers. The ranchers had been getting together in winter for "Coyote drives",
some hundred or more men spread across the prairie to form an ever tightening noose that ended in slaughter by shotgun as the panicked Coyotes found themselves closely surrounded then sped twisting and nearly contemptuously between the slow humans to be slammed down by No 2 shot as they cleared the line. This helped with the Coyote problem but it is a big country.......
The boys ears had gone on full alert when the neighbor spoke of the two dollar bounty on Coyotes. Two dollars! His allowance was only two bits a week and .22 shells were 26 cents a box for Long rifle which every self respecting country kid had to have. No Longs (21 cents) or Shorts (17 cents) wanted, only the powerful ones would do for the kind of murder and mayhem of varmints and old tin cans common to kids in that time and place.
He knew that he was smart enough and a good enough shot to slay at least a couple Coyotes if he could crawl up downwind of the carcass which was described as being next to a line of Wolfwillows in a low area. He knew the area, his marvelous young legs and sometimes those of his horse had taken him that way many times. Today there would be only his legs, horses had a way of being a nuisance and a dead giveaway to a Coyote cause they could not be made to crawl or keep quiet.
He had been nearly halfway to his destination by 9am, heading generally cross country towards the town of Coronation Alberta some 30 miles away. That was his way of telling direction as the points of the compass were as yet a bit vague to a twelve year old and Coronation was more or less north, Veteran east and Consort southeast. It was the b-i-t-c-h Coyote with three pups that was his downfall! He normally did not carry the binoculars,
they were for sitting on the roof of the barn with and spotting varmints, strayed cows and horses or Geese in the fall. Today they were carried to spot the carcass and possible quarry from afar and make planning a stalk easier. They were a nuisance but the money was a true motivator for a lad who thought nothing of taking his horse 6 miles to the closest willow patch and spending several hours with a hatchet, cutting and trimming maybe 10 fence posts
to be bundled, dragged behind the long suffering horse all the way home and redeemed for 5 cents each from his Uncle or one of the neighbors. Fence posts were at a premium in treeless country like this and willows were the best! If one could find them big enough, long enough, and straight enough it was cash time! While sitting for a breather on an abandoned breaking disc and idly scanning with the glasses, a movement some 300 yards away on a rise had turned out to be the b-i-t-c-h Coyote and three pups!
They were just lollygagging along, sniffing gopher holes and doing Coyote things.....he did not remember anyone saying the bounty was only on adult Coyotes and knew that if he could get just one of the young ones that momma and the other pups would be confused, making the chances of another kill very good indeed. Save a few miles of walking too!
When the group of Coyotes disappeared over a rise he set off at a lope to make up distance. The area they were going into was not one of his regular haunts, no homes or buildings for many miles and being poor Grouse hunting also, he had not gone far in that direction. When he crested the slight rise it was on hands and knees. The gap had been closed but the Coyotes were still moving away and onto a level plain which stretched for a mile or more. The answer was to swing to the southeast and take advantage of the long low rise
that paralleled the flat. Some fast footwork may just put him in an ambush position on the other side of the flat!
The boy was much too engrossed in the new plan to think about the original plan now. Missing the fact that this stalk would likely be longer than his original mission, his blood was up and the chase was all his being!
Arriving winded at the spot where he expected to lay the ambush he crawled up and froze for a few minutes with hair and eyes just above the grass on the ridge and scanned. Nothing! Then a movement to his right and the Coyote group broke into view a couple hundred yards away hot on the tail of a Jackrabbit and going east fast! He lay there for a bit practicing the curse words garnered from many hours of farm work next to the hired hand Yody, a hard working hard drinking rounder that the boy thought was a God! Regardless of the disapproval of his Mother and Aunt!
When his quarry, having given up on the way too fast Jackrabbit, again disappeared over a rise, the boy again took off at a lope. The game was on again. Two or maybe more miles and numerous circles until he was so close but not quite in sure range when momma Coyote got his wind and the game was lost. A few more practice curses and back to plan "A". Turning he started to orient himself and came up blank. He did not remember his direction, no familiar landmarks at all and the sun was overhead mostly, his young brain was confused. Not worried as he felt he could come to a road and orient but
upset at the long lag in his original plan, he guestimated the direction and set off. After nearly two hours and some direction changes he was totally lost and po-ed. Sitting on a Badger mound and glassing for landmarks had been futile until he saw what he thought was a man. This was good! A man would tell him where he was and the day could yet be salvaged! Damn horse! He knew of that horse, a wildish old mare that had escaped from a meat herd and had been around all year. Nobody wanted her and she would be a chore to catch without wearing out your saddle horse so she had roamed, now and then
coming near a ranch to cadge a bit of grain or hay. She was for sure not any help at all.
The sun had dropped noticeably now and he knew he needed to head mostly south of it to get home or north of it to go to the carcass. He knew he would be late getting home if he chose to finish the hunt. That was not a real big issue as it would have to be very late before they worried, they were accustomed to his often being gone all day and he would be able to stop at a neighbors and use the phone to either explain or hope for a ride. Back to plan A and at a quick trot it was possibly a hundred yards with eyes on the horizon before the sneaker with the toe torn out slipped neatly into a Badger hole and twisted with a blinding flash of agony........
continued...................
He panted in pain and sweat mixed with tears as he rolled with hands holding his ankle. The hands were necessary it seemed but made the hurt worse, yet he gripped just enough to balance between the comfort it gave and the extra pain.
A few minutes went by as he waited through the nauseous pain, waiting for it to wear off some. He had twisted an ankle a number of times and after the initial pain subsided one could begin to gingerly put a bit of weight on and slowly walk it off. The purple and green bruising might buy one a bit of sympathy and some extra cake at least, maybe even a couple days break from the chores. He nearly smiled as he thought of how much he detested being up at 5:30 am, sitting on a three legged stool with head head against a cow's flank while the crap covered tail flew around and the lice crawled in ones hair. He would much rather throw bales all day in the heat than milk for 2 hours......could he parlay this into a break from milking? Hard to sit like that with a bum ankle, of course he would get relegated to the cream house and separator which was about as bad. The long slow process of getting it up to speed, running back and forth to get more milk pails while heaving on the handle quick like to keep the speed up, not to mention the tedious process of cleaning the unit after, ugh.
The pain was not easing much after 10 minutes of trying to think of other things and a notable swelling had begun, worse this time he thought, may take a while and no fun hobbling home. From the east of home where he was, there was only one road, a 2 mile stretch of sandy blowouts barely navigable for a car and often no traffic seen for a few days at a time. Had he been near the west road it would have been fine but.....
He was hobbling after a half hour, juggernauts of pain came with each step and slight pressure on the right leg, bad enough that he even thought of ditching the binoculars that swung heavily from his neck but not the old Cooey singleshot .22 that was being thumped butt down with each step and acting like a crutch or cane. Besides one needed to be pretty much dead to drop his gun. No, not even the binoculars could be sacrificed, pride would go with them, a pricey commodity.
Now the sun was just above the horizon and no road yet. How had so much time gone? A cooler wind now blew from the west, not the hot moisture sucking monster of the day. West? Of course, right from the setting sun! He had been straying a bit north while trying to take the easiest route but was on track to find the road, soon he hoped. At least he no longer felt lost but the ankle was grossly swollen now and his slow progress became molasses. A few wincing steps and stand on the good left leg fighting nausea. Damn its about dark, going to take all night to get home. Would the Coyotes get him first? The bravado of daylight and a gun was suddenly far away and the injured man was a 12 year old boy again, facing fears that he could never admit to his peers. Hell, everybody knows that Coyotes will not bother people but they are starting to howl from all directions, he had heard them earlier but paid no attention as always, other than as targets........it was dark now though.
He sat in near complete blackness now in an odd position with his injured leg elevated on a Gopher mound while fear gathered strength and visions of the fate of the old lame cow and a lame kid came together in a young imagination and chilled him more than a damp tee shirt and the increasingly cold breeze. There were no lights to be seen, folk in that area mostly did not get electrical power until 1958, this was 1957, no yard lights and coal oil lamps or even the brighter Coleman gas lamp did not show up well in windows of houses miles apart. Not likely any trucks or cars would be around either. A sound nearby had him gripping the .22 hard and wishing he had the old 30-06 from the porch, that would put the fear in those critters! He was not allowed to touch it anyway but it was a good thought. The sound again, coming on the wind, yes! The truck horn! Could not mistake the sound of that 47 Chevy horn and he fired the .22 in the air while yelling as the headlights showed on the road a quarter of a mile away. A shout, his return yell, and the lights began creeping across the prairie, bouncing up and down and welcome as he wondered whether he should lie or cry, maybe both, the pride was coming back and the Coyotes could go to hell now.
a human form. He knew little or nothing about using the heavy old 7x50 binoculars that his uncle had acquired some time not long after WW-11 and now in 1957 still were a fixture on the ranch but showed numerous
scratches, dents, and patches of polished metal where once was black paint.
Fiddling with the focus made no difference, occasionally worsening things some, then finally a compromise was struck and as the form continued his way from a rise a full mile away it became clear that the lone creature was not human as
a rare cloud cut the glare and the odd apparition changed course slightly to reveal too much length and what appeared to be extra legs.
The boy had become lost that afternoon. Rushing off after the early milking but being told to eat breakfast first, he had quickly set what he thought was a direct course for the carcass of the old cow some 5 miles away and maybe a mile south east of the lake.
The lure of easy money danced in his head, he kept hearing the words of the neighbor, who while visiting the night before had cursed the Coyotes, who he felt sure had killed the lame old Hereford Cow that had lagged behind as he moved his herd closer to the lake. The lake, known as Kirkpatrick, was mostly only a lake in name. Making up several hundred acres of an
approximate average depth of 18 inches and surrounded by several thousand more acres of varying degrees of packed dry mud interspersed with damp and sucking places. It was the only water source that could handle hundreds of cattle and was used by several ranchers in the community pastures.
Coyotes had become a big problem the past few years, once merely a nuisance and a threat to the occasional newborn calf and ones chickens, they had a population explosion and were now hunting in packs, the Deer and Rabbit population had thinned and they now were said to be taking cattle, the ultimate death sentence for howlers. The ranchers had been getting together in winter for "Coyote drives",
some hundred or more men spread across the prairie to form an ever tightening noose that ended in slaughter by shotgun as the panicked Coyotes found themselves closely surrounded then sped twisting and nearly contemptuously between the slow humans to be slammed down by No 2 shot as they cleared the line. This helped with the Coyote problem but it is a big country.......
The boys ears had gone on full alert when the neighbor spoke of the two dollar bounty on Coyotes. Two dollars! His allowance was only two bits a week and .22 shells were 26 cents a box for Long rifle which every self respecting country kid had to have. No Longs (21 cents) or Shorts (17 cents) wanted, only the powerful ones would do for the kind of murder and mayhem of varmints and old tin cans common to kids in that time and place.
He knew that he was smart enough and a good enough shot to slay at least a couple Coyotes if he could crawl up downwind of the carcass which was described as being next to a line of Wolfwillows in a low area. He knew the area, his marvelous young legs and sometimes those of his horse had taken him that way many times. Today there would be only his legs, horses had a way of being a nuisance and a dead giveaway to a Coyote cause they could not be made to crawl or keep quiet.
He had been nearly halfway to his destination by 9am, heading generally cross country towards the town of Coronation Alberta some 30 miles away. That was his way of telling direction as the points of the compass were as yet a bit vague to a twelve year old and Coronation was more or less north, Veteran east and Consort southeast. It was the b-i-t-c-h Coyote with three pups that was his downfall! He normally did not carry the binoculars,
they were for sitting on the roof of the barn with and spotting varmints, strayed cows and horses or Geese in the fall. Today they were carried to spot the carcass and possible quarry from afar and make planning a stalk easier. They were a nuisance but the money was a true motivator for a lad who thought nothing of taking his horse 6 miles to the closest willow patch and spending several hours with a hatchet, cutting and trimming maybe 10 fence posts
to be bundled, dragged behind the long suffering horse all the way home and redeemed for 5 cents each from his Uncle or one of the neighbors. Fence posts were at a premium in treeless country like this and willows were the best! If one could find them big enough, long enough, and straight enough it was cash time! While sitting for a breather on an abandoned breaking disc and idly scanning with the glasses, a movement some 300 yards away on a rise had turned out to be the b-i-t-c-h Coyote and three pups!
They were just lollygagging along, sniffing gopher holes and doing Coyote things.....he did not remember anyone saying the bounty was only on adult Coyotes and knew that if he could get just one of the young ones that momma and the other pups would be confused, making the chances of another kill very good indeed. Save a few miles of walking too!
When the group of Coyotes disappeared over a rise he set off at a lope to make up distance. The area they were going into was not one of his regular haunts, no homes or buildings for many miles and being poor Grouse hunting also, he had not gone far in that direction. When he crested the slight rise it was on hands and knees. The gap had been closed but the Coyotes were still moving away and onto a level plain which stretched for a mile or more. The answer was to swing to the southeast and take advantage of the long low rise
that paralleled the flat. Some fast footwork may just put him in an ambush position on the other side of the flat!
The boy was much too engrossed in the new plan to think about the original plan now. Missing the fact that this stalk would likely be longer than his original mission, his blood was up and the chase was all his being!
Arriving winded at the spot where he expected to lay the ambush he crawled up and froze for a few minutes with hair and eyes just above the grass on the ridge and scanned. Nothing! Then a movement to his right and the Coyote group broke into view a couple hundred yards away hot on the tail of a Jackrabbit and going east fast! He lay there for a bit practicing the curse words garnered from many hours of farm work next to the hired hand Yody, a hard working hard drinking rounder that the boy thought was a God! Regardless of the disapproval of his Mother and Aunt!
When his quarry, having given up on the way too fast Jackrabbit, again disappeared over a rise, the boy again took off at a lope. The game was on again. Two or maybe more miles and numerous circles until he was so close but not quite in sure range when momma Coyote got his wind and the game was lost. A few more practice curses and back to plan "A". Turning he started to orient himself and came up blank. He did not remember his direction, no familiar landmarks at all and the sun was overhead mostly, his young brain was confused. Not worried as he felt he could come to a road and orient but
upset at the long lag in his original plan, he guestimated the direction and set off. After nearly two hours and some direction changes he was totally lost and po-ed. Sitting on a Badger mound and glassing for landmarks had been futile until he saw what he thought was a man. This was good! A man would tell him where he was and the day could yet be salvaged! Damn horse! He knew of that horse, a wildish old mare that had escaped from a meat herd and had been around all year. Nobody wanted her and she would be a chore to catch without wearing out your saddle horse so she had roamed, now and then
coming near a ranch to cadge a bit of grain or hay. She was for sure not any help at all.
The sun had dropped noticeably now and he knew he needed to head mostly south of it to get home or north of it to go to the carcass. He knew he would be late getting home if he chose to finish the hunt. That was not a real big issue as it would have to be very late before they worried, they were accustomed to his often being gone all day and he would be able to stop at a neighbors and use the phone to either explain or hope for a ride. Back to plan A and at a quick trot it was possibly a hundred yards with eyes on the horizon before the sneaker with the toe torn out slipped neatly into a Badger hole and twisted with a blinding flash of agony........
continued...................
He panted in pain and sweat mixed with tears as he rolled with hands holding his ankle. The hands were necessary it seemed but made the hurt worse, yet he gripped just enough to balance between the comfort it gave and the extra pain.
A few minutes went by as he waited through the nauseous pain, waiting for it to wear off some. He had twisted an ankle a number of times and after the initial pain subsided one could begin to gingerly put a bit of weight on and slowly walk it off. The purple and green bruising might buy one a bit of sympathy and some extra cake at least, maybe even a couple days break from the chores. He nearly smiled as he thought of how much he detested being up at 5:30 am, sitting on a three legged stool with head head against a cow's flank while the crap covered tail flew around and the lice crawled in ones hair. He would much rather throw bales all day in the heat than milk for 2 hours......could he parlay this into a break from milking? Hard to sit like that with a bum ankle, of course he would get relegated to the cream house and separator which was about as bad. The long slow process of getting it up to speed, running back and forth to get more milk pails while heaving on the handle quick like to keep the speed up, not to mention the tedious process of cleaning the unit after, ugh.
The pain was not easing much after 10 minutes of trying to think of other things and a notable swelling had begun, worse this time he thought, may take a while and no fun hobbling home. From the east of home where he was, there was only one road, a 2 mile stretch of sandy blowouts barely navigable for a car and often no traffic seen for a few days at a time. Had he been near the west road it would have been fine but.....
He was hobbling after a half hour, juggernauts of pain came with each step and slight pressure on the right leg, bad enough that he even thought of ditching the binoculars that swung heavily from his neck but not the old Cooey singleshot .22 that was being thumped butt down with each step and acting like a crutch or cane. Besides one needed to be pretty much dead to drop his gun. No, not even the binoculars could be sacrificed, pride would go with them, a pricey commodity.
Now the sun was just above the horizon and no road yet. How had so much time gone? A cooler wind now blew from the west, not the hot moisture sucking monster of the day. West? Of course, right from the setting sun! He had been straying a bit north while trying to take the easiest route but was on track to find the road, soon he hoped. At least he no longer felt lost but the ankle was grossly swollen now and his slow progress became molasses. A few wincing steps and stand on the good left leg fighting nausea. Damn its about dark, going to take all night to get home. Would the Coyotes get him first? The bravado of daylight and a gun was suddenly far away and the injured man was a 12 year old boy again, facing fears that he could never admit to his peers. Hell, everybody knows that Coyotes will not bother people but they are starting to howl from all directions, he had heard them earlier but paid no attention as always, other than as targets........it was dark now though.
He sat in near complete blackness now in an odd position with his injured leg elevated on a Gopher mound while fear gathered strength and visions of the fate of the old lame cow and a lame kid came together in a young imagination and chilled him more than a damp tee shirt and the increasingly cold breeze. There were no lights to be seen, folk in that area mostly did not get electrical power until 1958, this was 1957, no yard lights and coal oil lamps or even the brighter Coleman gas lamp did not show up well in windows of houses miles apart. Not likely any trucks or cars would be around either. A sound nearby had him gripping the .22 hard and wishing he had the old 30-06 from the porch, that would put the fear in those critters! He was not allowed to touch it anyway but it was a good thought. The sound again, coming on the wind, yes! The truck horn! Could not mistake the sound of that 47 Chevy horn and he fired the .22 in the air while yelling as the headlights showed on the road a quarter of a mile away. A shout, his return yell, and the lights began creeping across the prairie, bouncing up and down and welcome as he wondered whether he should lie or cry, maybe both, the pride was coming back and the Coyotes could go to hell now.
