The Huntin' Camp

'Course as everyone knows, in the hills huntin' season is the most celebrated time of the year. Boys get edgy, elder folk get nervous, and girls know sparkin' is over till spring, after rabbit season has gone out. In case I'm talkin' over your head, sparkin' is goin' to see your girl, when time and her folks allow.

Three or four days before season opens for deer, we load up the truck and head for camp, that's a few counties away. That is, me and the fellars I hunt with. There's Tate, Chuck, Dick, Chad, Mark, Dad, me, and Ol' Man Hobert who's been around so long, him and Moses are on a first-name basis.

Now, there's only two rules at the camp: One, NO WIVES. Two, Hobert is boss, and what he says goes. All these ol' boys are cops in one place or another, with the exception of Dad, Hobe and me. Needless to say, we had enough guns and ammo to hold off a Russian horde for month. As Hobe would say, "let the fat keistered, vodka snortin' &**#%^* try. They ain't never seen a drunk hillbilly with a high powered rifle." (Hobe never was much on keepin' his peace, when it come to communist or city folk, tryin' to drink shine with country boys. They just don't fit.)

The camp is settled by a pond, in a high mountain valley. Real pretty that time of year, with the hills changin' color. The pond's got fish, and all around is plenty of critters for a man to hunt. Far enough back, where nobody bothers anybody. The house was an ol' pump house for the miners years ago, an' we just kept addin' on rooms. It sleeps about twenty, if we was so inclined to have company over. The porch goes all the way around the house on one side, and is about two feet from the pond. Makes for real comfortable fishin', when you're done huntin'.

Well, this one particular year, I was catchin' it pretty good from the other fellers, especially since I'm the youngest in the camp every year. The ribbin' was mostly chores to do, but ol' Hobe just kept on and on about me bein' smaller than what I was huntin' and bein' wet behind my ears and such. It just got under my hide for some reason one day, and I promised myself, I'd get the ol' fart back. Besides, he had it comin' for a while from everybody else, too, 'cept they wasn't brave enough to mess with the "Ol' Man".

Openin' day was the worst I'd ever seen in the hills. Let me tell you, it was bad! Temperature dropped to 5 degrees below zero, and snow over night left about a foot 'n a half on the ground. It was cold! You could tell Hobe was feelin' bad, by the way he was movin' come sun-up. Slow an' easy, like he was walkin' on eggs. A little bent over, and cussin' under his breath, he went out with the rest of us to hunt.

Since it was so cold, Hobe said the deer would lay down in the thick pines and bed 'til it got warmer in the day. His plan was, he'd walk the pines with Chad, while everyone else was to wait on the sides towards the hard woods. Well, durin' the night, the deer must've moved down into the fields to graze on the grains, when light came. We only seen one doe. Hardly worth the trouble, so Dick let her go by. A real disappointin' day for everybody.

We got back to camp about dark, and you could tell Hobe was bad off. He was cold, wet from sweat and snow, dog tired, and his feet was killin' 'im. I seen my chance shinin' like a diamond in a goat's butt! I walked over an helped him down into his big easy chair by the fire.

I said, "Hobe, let me help ya with them boots." I took his boots off for 'im and massaged his feet a little. Then I said, "Hobe, let me get you a blanket for your legs, and I'll get ya a cigar, while I'm in there." I did and even lit it for 'im.

After he was real comfortable, I asked 'im, "Hobe, you want me to make you a drink before supper's on? I know just how you like it."

Hobe looked up with big, tired eyes from under his bifocals and said, "would ya, boy? That'd be awful nice of ya."

By now everybody in camp is watchin', wonderin' what's gotten into me. Dad even thought about callin' the doc.

I went about my business and brought Hobe his drink. He tried it and smacked his lips and said, "boy, you the only one here that knows just how I like it. I thank ya kindly."

I said, "it's my pleasure Hobe, and I hope you're comfortable. Here, let me massage your shoulders a little bit." I went around his chair and bore down on his shoulders, and by this time ol' Hobe is about ready to fall asleep. I put his paper on the table and pulled his blanket up around his neck. I leaned down and asked real soft, "Hobe, is there anything else I can do for ya?"

Hobe said, "no son, that's plenty. You're a good boy."

Here it come!

When he finished, I drew back and whacked 'im square on the cheek with an open handed slap, that sounded like a rifle shot. Then I took off on a dead run for the door, with that ol' man hot on my tracks. He stopped only long enough to grab his .270 off the rack. It wouldn't have hurt nearly as much, if the whole house hadn't exploded into gut-bustin' laughter.

As I was toppin' the hill, I could hear Hobe cussin' an' shootin' everything in God's creation. I made it to Grant's Place, the local hunters' place to talk over old times, and when I walked in, here's all the boys from the camp.

Bumfuzzled, and lookin' for Hobe to jump me any second, I looked at Chuck and asked, "what happened?"

Chuck shrugged and said, "after you run out, we couldn't quit laughin', so he throwed us out, too. We figured you'd come here. You only hurt his pride, and boy is he mad. But what really hung it is, that when he come back in the house, he picked up that cigar you brought 'im."

I asked, "So what?"

Chad spoke up and said, "that's the one I bought for him, and it exploded on his next drag. It was supposed to be my pay-back to 'im. Now he thinks you done it on purpose!"

It took 'em three days to talk Hobe into lettin' me come back. 'Course I had to work it all off. Hobe still don't believe that the cigar was from Chad, but that don't really bother me. It's the knowin' that one day Hobe was gonna put his foot in that boot, I put the raw liver in.

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