Old Hugeth

Old Hugeth By O. S. Johnson I was trailing a band of ten white-tails one Autumn after- noon, and their trail led me through the rolling clay hills that lead southward from the wonders of Bryce's canyon toward the Grand Canyon of the Colorado. I had neglected to read all the record left by them, be- cause of the other wonderful things about me, and as a result I "jumped" the quarry when I was least expecting it. They scattered at first, but I had hunted them before, and knew that they were only breaking away in order to make a more puzzling trail and incidentally to make better speed. I therefore took the general direction in which most of the trails pointed, and kept on regardless of whether I was on a trail or not. And, walking more for speed than for direction, I climbed hill after hill within the first two miles after I had scared them. Reaching the top of an unusually high one, I threw my rifle into position and fired four shots in quick succession, and then did the only thing that a man could do under the circum- stances: squatted upon my heels and felt out of sorts. And who would not have felt the same way? Not over a hundred yards away, I had missed the biggest white-tail that I have ever seen. He was so large that, after seeing him, my younger brother said he could not have missed him with his eyes shut. But he is only fifteen, and claims to know more than all the old hunters could put in an encyclopedia on hunting. The morning after I had missed him, there were dark clouds upon the horizon, which predicted much rain. However, there seemed to me no imminent danger for the immediate section in which I wished to hunt, so I set out again. It was not more than a half hour's walk from the ranch to where I had made my four trials for old "Hugeth's" life, for such he was immediately named by my brother who was always thinking of the most original names for uncommonly pretty or large things which nature placed in great abundance about my father's wonderful ranch. Then, too, he had but recently acquired the word huge in his vocabulary. I had not trailed the deer more than a mile before T

OLD HUGETH 331 noted that he was making for some definite point known only to himself; and, fearing that that point might be rather dis- tant, I quickened my pace, but kept carefully upon the plain trail which his sharp feet had left in the soft, damp clay. When that country was formed, often something must have been lacking, for there are many freakish places about it. It changes abruptly from a clay formation to a sand and gravel one, and then back to the clay again, without seeming to have done anything out of the ordinary. Between the two formations of sand and clay, lies a wall of plaster-of-paris cliffs, varying from five to fifteen feet in height, and underneath the whole lies the hard pan, which is not very hard in places, as* is shown by the deep gorges cut therein by the small but frequent streams of water. It was down one of those plaster-of-paris topped gorges that the trail finally led me, and, using the glass from the top, I could plainly see the trail leading down toward the mouth of the miniature canyon which might be ten miles distant, or only one. It seemed to me that the thing to do, however, was to stay upon the rim and follow the gorge until there were evi- dences of the trail leading out upon the opposite side; or else, until the mouth was reached, which generally means that the gorge has emptied into another gorge and become a canyon of goodly proportions. It was the last proposition that became real in this instance, and after a three-mile tramp upon an unmarked trail of white plaster, I reached a point where two gorges merge into one, and a good sized one it was. Five hundred feet below me, with the aid of a good glass, I could make out that the trail turned down the canyon, which would necessitate my turning back in order to find a place where I could descend and follow it, for I was on the wrong side of the gorge to follow the canyon. It proved but a short journey, how- ever, and I found myself eagerly pressing forward upon the fresh trail. The canyon was new to me only in its smaller markings — a shelf, perhaps, that I had never noticed before, or a sloping side that would allow one to reach half way to the top but no further. The sandstone lay in sloping sheets; that is, sloping from the bottom toward the top, varying from an inch to six inches in thickness. The whole gave an appearence of having been once a giant bridge that had been broken in the middle, and left standing. Occasionally there was a timber that had broken apart and sprung almost out of the mass of regularity. In such instances there would be a shelf, varying from three feet to

332 IMPROVEMENT ERA twenty, and perhaps one in thickness, sticking abruptly out of that rock wall from a few feet from the bottom to one-third of the way up, where it would disappear among the regular grain of the wall. Leisurely I examined that wall as I walked forward. [ knew that I had only to keep cool and I would get my buck. Two miles down the canyon was a fifty-foot drop that reached from one wall to the other. Not even the nimble coyote dared descend that slippery wall. For it sloped not as ordinary canyon walls slope, slightly outwardly, but inwardly enough to make the wall seem more than straight. About^that fall, however, there was much good food for the buck, but it was not likely that the food had drawn him. More likely it had been the excellent salt licks there. For the saleratus had gathered there for perhaps centuries, and lay like a thick flakey blanket, over the canyon floor. I had traversed half the distance when I noted a tiny breeze coming from down the canyon. It cheered me even more. Certainly luck was with me it seemed. And then far away 1 heard the rumble of thunder. It warned me that I would have to hasten or get caught in a flood. And then I recalled that 1 had noticed black clouds earlier in the day. Even then the protector of the animal kingdom might be sending an angry torrent of mud, water and slime to the rescue. Almost as if I could hear the raging mass at my heels, I rushed forward. And then, just as I felt the triumphant cry of victory from all my pulses, I heard it! Low at first, like the deep roll of an ocean, stirred by an angry God. Then slowly it seemed to grow louder, until just as I caught sight of the smooth, rippling body of the buck, there was almost a deafening roar! The buck saw it, too, and seemed to fear it more than me. He sprang past me, almost close enough to have touched him with my hand, bounded up one of those misplaced slabs, reached a place of safety, and stood trembling, looking toward his res- cuer and pursuer. Frantically I looked at him, but felt the uselessness of killing him then. He would only float down that mad river of mud into some unknown cave or sand bed. Then I followed him. Together we watched that snake-like mass of rolling mud race past. As brothers we watched the day grow dim, saw the first stars come out, stared at the moon, as it rose and painted the muddy torrent a ghastly black. Silently, as a company of stars rising, we became ac- quainted. Not friendly, but just enough to understand that

OLD HUGETH 333 there were dangers that both feared. Not once during that long, dreary wait, did that magnif icient body change its position while I was watching. Always I met the wondering stare of two yel- low balls of light. Not cold light, but soft, warm light, like that which a new born babe first gives to its surroundings after it has become accustomed to its new life. And when the cold dawn began to roll forward with the first announcements of day, he left me. Left me slowly, and almost as if he would have stayed. And I never raised any- thing but my hand to wave him good bye. I felt a little sad, somehow. Perhaps it was because my father would worry. It may have been that I was disappointed. But after he had reached the bottom, and had started slowly to wade up the sticky coating of mud left by the flood, he stopped for a farewell. It reached my ears, in little jerky sounds, like each note hesitated to follow its predecessor. Just a short, trembling "Ba- a-a-a," and then he swiftly faded away in the dim light of the dawn. Granger, Utah Real or the Reflection? Two roads doth Life show to each person. Which one of the roads will you take? The rough one leads up to the highlands; The smooth one to Stagnation Lake. The Lake reflects wonders to lure you; Reflects what the highland contains; The wise ones will know they're reflections — That real on the highland remains. The soul that is low declines effort; All see it's an ease-loving soul; Its lips like mudwash to low levels, With Lazy Stagnation its goal. The ones who delight in a struggle Find obstacles help them to rise Like incense from dewdaden blossoms, Their goal is the limitless skies! Satella Jaques Penman San Diego, California