Seth's Two

“Yes, I hunt. Earlier this season, I shot a four-point buck at five hundred and seventy yards. That wasa good shot.”

“How many were with you in your hunting party?” the interviewer asked.

“Just me. I usually go up into the hills on Monday or Tuesday morning eight-ish. That gives me enough time to get back into the rough country by nightfall. I set up camp, get a decent night’s rest and get up the next morning early enough to scout before most things are up and moving.”

The interviewer queried, “Seth, aren’t you concerned about sleeping out like that alone way back in the hills? I mean, some of that country has some weird stories, you know.”

“Yeah, I know; I’ve heard all kinds of fairy tales. But look at it from my point of view. First, let me ask you a question. Have you ever seen or even heard of a deer or any other animal hunting a hunter? What kind of rifle could they shoot? You ever notice any wild beast anywhere with opposable thumbs to hold a rifle? No, you haven’t and you never will. It ain’t gonna happen.

“Another thing, I do a vlog and I post my adventures from every camping, hunting or fishing trip I make. How would it look to my followers if I started going on about silly superstitions or unfounded fears? I’d lose just about every one of them.”

The interviewer responded, “I suppose you’re right. It could be awkward, huh?”

“Yes, it would be,” I answered.

“So, when is your next adventure?” the interviewer asked. “Where do you plan to go and for how long? And when do you post your vlog from your adventures? Do you do it while you’re in the hills or wherever?”

“I’ll work my way backwards up your list of questions,” Seth started. “Usually when I’m out I don’t have any cell service, so what I do is record the story and post it when I get back to town. There can be up to a two-week delay in getting them posted depending on how long I’m gone an how tired I am when I get back to my den.

“As far as where I’m going and when, I’m headed out to the Gila Wilderness Saturday so, with my vacation time next week, I’ll be gone up to nine days. That will provide lots of vlog material and maybe a hunting or camping article or two.”

“So, what are you going to hunt this time?”

“This is going to be kind of an exotic hunt. I’ve heard rumors about an albino buck whitetail deer somewhere in the area of the corrals up in the Wilderness.”

The interviewer spoke, “Wait, I know this story. My grandfather’s father talked of this when I was a child. The range of this beast goes south to the caves of Geronimo’s birthplace and north and west throughout the Wilderness.

“He spoke of three of our hunters trailing a white deer for days until it just vanished. And, then, their dreams started. Each of the three hunters told their families and our holy man the same story.

“In their dreams they were back in the forest tracking the great beast. One by one the others would disappear leaving the dreamer alone in his hunt. The beast would appear in the distance standing and staring at the lone hunter long enough for him to draw his bowstring back to full length. Just before release, the beast would evaporate. This puzzled the hunter but did not deter him.

“The confusion of the vanished hunters was replaced by excitement of the direct sight of the beast.Any doubts generated by the disappearance of the beast were overridden by the lust for the hunt, for the bagging of this mythical beast.”

“Hold it! Are you telling me that each of those guys had the same dream? Are you sure your great-grandpa wasn’t pulling your leg? I have a hard time believing all this,” I interjected. “Did anyone of them get the beast in real life or in their dream?”

The interviewer answered, “No, none of them got the beast. And, yes, each of the hunters had the same dream two nights in a row. I’ll get back to that.

“My ancestor would not lie. He was the holy man they all talked to. They would not dare lie to him; his magic was very powerful, and all of our people knew it. No one would think to deceive him.

“In their dream, each dreamer went to the little clearing the beast had stared from. When they got to that place, they found a silver shed as if the beast deliberately left them a gift of all his antlers as a sort of consolation prize for his efforts. They each bent over to retrieve the shed, touched them and the sheds came alive as if they were silver spider creatures. The sheds chased the hunter deeper into the forest. At a distance from the clearing, the antlers leaped on the hunter’s back and stabbed at him until he died.”

I could not stop myself from asking, “So what did Great-Grandpa say this dream meant?”

“He told each hunter this was a forest spirit. Because they did not honor him as the sacred beast he was, they forfeited their lives.The hunters each died after the second night of the dream coming to them.”

“How did they die? Was it some kind of psychosomatic stress thing that caused some kind of heart failure? Did they catch the flu?”

“My ancestor said the beast came and snagged their souls. That’s all I know,” the interviewer concluded.

“No offense, my friend, but that sounds a bit far-fetched. I’ve been hunting since I was a kid and I’ve never seen or heard of some ‘forest spirit’ or ‘woodland fairy’ or whatever you want to call it. That’s nuts!

“At any rate, thanks for talking with me and, of course, I look forward to reading your article about me. I’ll give you a call when I get back before I post my vlog to tell you about my success story.”

“Thanks for your time, Seth. I look forward to seeing you again and to hearing about your success hunting the white beast.”

Three days later, on my scheduled Saturday, I hiked about two miles on the trail then cut across to a clearing a mile farther on. I arrived at my site, a sweet place I had visited before. It was a clearing next to a stream fed by snowmelt.

A flock of turkey moseyed through close to dusk and I heard a crashing in the brush about a hundred yards upstream. The turkeys calmly kept feeding so I felt no alarm after the initial start. On the off chance that whatever made that racket was my quarry, I slipped my rifle out of its scabbard.

It sounded like whatever it was was picking its way downstream toward me. At about fifty feet upstream on my side of the creek, he stopped and stared at me. A four by four point white deer. Magnificent!I raised my rifle to my shoulder, sighted, and he disappeared!

What the heck? He was right there. Then he wasn’t.

Nuts! It would be dark too soon to track him. I would find him in the morning after breakfast.

“Hi, everybody! Seth here out at my favorite spot in the Wilderness. Listen carefully and you can hear a flock of turkeys chattering away in the background.

“I had a relaxing hike back into here, set up this camp and had one of the wildest experiences of my life. All I can say is the white buck stories are real. I saw him less that a hundred feet from where we’re talking right now.

“He is every bit as magnificent as the stories tell. He is a four by four and as white as snow. I will track him in the morning and keep you posted on my progress. For now, good night!”

I gathered up pine needles and set them out for my cushion under my bedroll. The excitement of seeing a legend, a myth, kept me awake longer than it should have, but, oh well.

Seth’s first of two dreams came to him just before dawn. The silver shed spider creature chased him, too.