The Deer Stalker

by Zane Grey

  First Skyhorse Edition 2017 by arrangement with Golden West Literary Agency

  Copyright © 1925 by Curtis Publishing Company

  Copyright © renewed 1953 by Lina Elise Grey

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without the express written consent of the publisher, except in the case of brief excerpts in critical reviews or articles. All inquiries should be addressed to Skyhorse Publishing, 307 West 36th Street, 11th Floor, New York, NY 10018.

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  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available on file.

  Cover design by Tom Lau

  Print ISBN: 978-1-63450-264-1

  Ebook ISBN: 978-1-63450-084-5

  Printed in the United States of America

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER ONE

  THAD EBURNE rode slowly down a trail through the forest of Buckskin Mountain. It led from his lonely cabin to one of the ranger stations called V. T. Park. He had blazed and trodden it himself—a winding trail, made to dodge the automobile roads that during recent years had extended too far, he thought, into the wilderness of his beloved deer sanctuary. He loved the great herd of deer on Buckskin, and though he did not hate civilization, he feared its encroachment into what should always have been kept virgin forest.

  Afternoon was far advanced, and the warmth of the early summer day was fading. Shafts of golden sunlight slanted down through the giant pines and spruces of the open forest. Big blue grouse flew up from the thickets along the trail and sped away in noisy flight; and every open glade showed at least one of the squirrels peculiar to that forest plateau. They were black as coal, had tufted ears and huge furry white tails.

  Eburne paid more attention to these than to the deer that he encountered everywhere along the trail. It hurt him to look at them because of late he was always taking stock of their leanness or counting their ribs. For the deer of Buckskin Forest were starving and that was the deer stalker’s great concern.

  In a way, Thad Eburne had sacrified himself to the cause of forest conservation. True, he had first sought the ranger life to regain rugged health, but having achieved it years ago, he had not returned to the home and advantages he had left back in New England. A life in the open had always been his dream, and the West had claimed him. He was past thirty now. His ambition had been to work himself up in the service to the point where he could travel from one national forest preserve to another, fostering his ideals of conservation. But that long since had become only a dream. His very love of the wild animals, his antagonism to the killing of even wolves and wildcats, and especially cougars, had incurred the enmity of men above him in the service. Besides that he had fought the building of roads and the overtures of lumbering and mining men who would have exploited the beautiful preserve for their greedy ends. There were cattlemen, too, who hated Eburne for sternly holding them to their prescribed grazing permits. Graft had not worked with this ranger, and men of little brief authority found him a hard nut to crack. Wherefore he had remained merely a ranger, and had been advised that even his present situation was none too secure.

  Thad had not worried himself by dwelling upon this implied threat; still, as he rode down the trail, on his return to V. T. Park, where he knew he must encounter one or more of his enemies and deliver reports that he knew would be disliked, his thoughts were far from pleasant.

  Next to the great herd of deer, he loved this vast plateau, upon the level summit of which Buckskin Forest stretched its dark growth of virgin conifers. He felt that probably no living man, certainly none in the service, knew this vast, silent place so well as he. For eight years he had ranged it, sometimes alone for months, exploring, mapping, studying the deer, the snow, the water, the timber, the grass.

  The wonder of that plateau country never lost its enchantment for the deer stalker. It was Grand Canyon country. Buckskin Forest occupied the highest eminence for many miles around. To the north the dim round dome of Navajo Mountain peeped above the red ramparts across the intervening desert; to the south, equally distant, the sharp San Francisco Peaks notched the azure sky.

  The plateau itself was geologically a fault—an abrupt crack and upthrust of the crust of the earth. A hundred miles and more of its southern edge formed the wild and sublime north rim of the Grand Canyon. Its long black-fringed line, sloping imperceptibly, extended almost to the Pink Cliffs of Utah. On the desert side it broke, and its yellow wall and dark-spotted slope gave way with a wonderful and majestic concord to the gray level of the barrens.

  “It’s made me well, changed me, gripped me, yet it’s not a home,” mused the ranger as he rode along the shadowing trail. “I’ve let the years roll by …. Still, what does that matter? I’ll drift to another forest preserve, I suppose, and to another until—”

  But he did not conclude the wandering thought. Morbid self-pity never abided long with him. Material success in life, so often worshiped as a false ideal, did not mean much to Eburne. His wants were few and his needs simple. Moreover, he had a strange undefined faith in his destiny, in something that was going to happen to him. Failure to advance in the forest service had not killed his zest for life nor the latent love of romance in his soul.

  The forest was growing dark when Eburne rode into V. T. Park. Troops of deer, as tame as cattle, showed indistinctly in the gathering dusk. They had come down to water. A light shone brightly from the cabin. The hum of a motorcar droned out of the woods, gradually dying away. The ranger reflected that he must have missed someone, but whether tourists or service men, he had no regrets. The roads, though soft in spots, were already open to the summer traffic, an increasingly growing factor in a ranger’s life. Most of the rangers welcomed the coming of the tourists, but Eburne did not care for it. He had no self-interest, and he had a clear vision of what the opening of Buckskin Forest would bring. To his reflective mind, the day would come when automobiles must inevitably prove fatal to the wild life and beauty of the forests. Snow had not yet melted off the north slopes of the woodland ravines, yet the influx of tourists and travelers already had begun.

  Eburne attended to his horse and then entered the log cabin, burdened with saddlebags, pack, and gun. The big rude room was bright with the glow from blazing red logs in a stone fireplace. Blakener, a companion ranger, one of his few friends in the service, was the only occupant, and manifestly he had been interrupted in the process of eating supper. He was a mature man from the Middle West, rather stout, and of genial aspect.

  “Howdy, Thad, you’re just in time for grub,” was his greeting.

  “I’m hungry, all right,” replied Eburne as
he deposited his burden. “Who’s been here? I heard a car.”

  “Cassell. Judson was with him. They came yesterday mornin’. ’Pears like Judson is gettin’ in with the boss.—Better come an’ eat while it’s hot—an’ before what I have to tell you spoils your appetite.”

  “Ahuh.—Any mail for me?”

  “A lot this time. Papers, magazines, letters. But you come an’ eat before I throw it out.”

  Blakener was indeed full of news, the first of which pleased Thad immensely. The day before, Jim Evers had passed by V. T. Park on his way to see how his herd of tame buffalo had fared during the winter down in black Houserock Valley. Jim had once been a Texas ranger and later a predatory game hunter for the government. He was another one of the deer stalker’s few friends. They had been much together in former years during that period when Evers had been hunting cougars along the canyon rim.

  “Jim was sorry to miss you,” said Blakener. “But he said he’d stop in on the way back to Fredonia. He talked a lot about the starvin’ deer an’ blamed the government a lot for killin’ off the cougars. Jim recalled his old friend Buffalo Jones, who you know hunted an’ lassoed cougars here some fifteen years ago. It was Jones who Jeft Jim the pack of hounds an’ the herd of tame buffalo. Well, Jim was talkin’ about how true old Jones’ prediction had come. Kill off the cougars an’ deer would multiply so fast they’d eat off the range an’ starve to death. Or else die of disease.”

  “That’s just what’s going to happen,” declared Eburne. “This last trip convinced me of that more than ever. The deer have had a hard winter…. Yes, I remember how Jim and I used to talk about it. But we never expected the calamity so soon.”

  “Deer multiply like sheep,” returned his companion. “We know that. When I told Cassell we’d estimated around twelve thousand increase this year, he didn’t believe it. Fact is only us rangers who live on the ground know anythin’ about the numbers of deer. I say there’s fifty thousand in the forest.”

  “I wouldn’t wonder,” assented Eburne thoughtfully. “Something must be done to save the herd.”

  “Cassell said there was a movement afoot to permit hunters to shoot deer this fall.”

  “Oh, no!” exclaimed Thad sharply. “Surely they’re not thinking of that?”

  “Humph. They just are. Judson was keen about it. He has a lot of friends in Utah an’ he’d like to see them drive their cars down here to hunt. ’Pears to be some feelin’ between Fredonia an’ Kanab about this.”

  “No wonder. Fredonia is in Arizona and Kanab in Utah,” replied the deer stalker.

  “Sure. But just the same they’re most all Mormons on both sides of the line. Funny they’d clash.”

  “Blakener, we don’t know all we’d like to,” said Thad bluntly. “But it’s a fact that this Buckskin preserve—the Grand Canyon National Forest—lies in northern Arizona yet is actually governed by Utah.”

  Eburne learned presently that during the coming summer an investigating committee was to visit Buckskin to inquire into the condition of the deer herd and to make a report to the Secretary of Agriculture in Washington. Among the organizations from which representatives would be sent were the American National Livestock Breeders Association, the Boone and Crockett Club, the National Parks Association, the Audubon Society, and the American Game Protective Association.

  “Well, I’m glad to hear that,” declared Thad. “Surely, good will come of it.”

  “Sure sounds O. K. to me,” went on Blakener. “You an’ I have been detailed to guide that committee an’ co-operate with them. Suits me better than entertainin’ a lot of tourists.”

  “Suits me too. We can help that committee. Any fair-minded man will see how the deer have overmultiplied and have eaten all the forage off the range.”

  “Thad, I’ll bet other orders Cassell left won’t suit you so well,” returned Blakener dryly.

  “And what are they?” queried Eburne sharply.

  “You’re to trap deer alive,” responded his comrade deliberately. “Fawns, does, bucks. You’re to trap deer alive an’ study how they react to captivity.”

  “Trap deer alive! Fawns, does, bucks!” exclaimed the ranger. “For Heaven’s sake—why?”

  “They want to see if deer can be captured an’ shipped.”

  “Ahuh! They want to deplete the herd that way—I think it’s impossible, deer will kill themselves in traps.”

  “Well, there’s your written orders,” rejoined Blakener. “Cassell was pretty sore that you hadn’t got in. He waited till near dark for you. Then he wrote these. You’ve got a job on your hands.”

  Eburne disliked the idea so thoroughly that he forthwith dismissed it from his mind; and after finishing his supper and sharing the chores with Blakener, he devoted himself to a perusal of his mail. Letters from home were rare, and when cheerful and full of good news, as were these, they were exceedingly welcome. His sister expected to be married sometime near Christmas—a bit of information that was hard for him to realize. She had been twelve years old when he had left home. How time flew by! Then his mother wrote at length, and some of her statements were thought-provoking. “You should come home to visit us. I am getting along in years and your father is ailing…. After your sister is married and settled we’d like to move to a milder climate—California, for instance, where we could see our son occasionally…. Your father has retired from active business…. And when, pray, do you intend to get yourself a wife?”

  This last query roused both mirth and a slight edge of irritation in Eburne. Nevertheless, it made him think. How far indeed had he drifted from the old normal ways of life! Yet he had never definitely settled for himself the question of marriage, except to avoid dwelling upon it. But confronted by it now, in his mother’s letter, he suddenly realized how futile and useless his future must appear in the eyes of his family, who had not understood him even when he was at home. Marriage, considered as an actuality instead of a dreamy possibility, seemed not for such as Thad Eburne. Where could he find a wife? His acquaintance with marriageable girls was absurdly limited. He knew several Mormon girls at Fredonia, and Clara Hilton, a young woman employed at the El Tovar Hotel across the Canyon. She had left no doubt in his mind as to her eligibility and willingness; in fact during Thad’s several visits at the El Tovar, she had rather embarrassed him by her too obvious interest. Clara was good-looking, vivacious, but the idea of her as a wife was just plain ridiculous.

  “It’s funny,” he declared, thinking aloud.

  “What?” queried Blakener, rising from his task of replenishing the fire. “You don’t look funny.”

  “My mother writes I should be getting a wife,” replied Thad with a laugh. “And I was thinking about all the desirable ladies of my wide acquaintance.”

  “Thad, that’s not funny,” returned his partner seriously. “You’re still a young man. Now, I never entered the service until I lost my wife. That was years ago. You’re surely not goin’ to stick to this rotten job forever?”

  “I don’t think it’s a rotten job,” said Thad soberly.

  “But it is, all the same, an’ especially for a well-educated man like you who could get somewhere.”

  “Blakener, I consider forestry as a splendid calling for any man who loves the open,” protested Eburne. “The future of our forests is a mighty important thing. It must develop. Some men of brains have got to devote their lives to conserving the timber and wild creatures.”

  “We’ve argued that out before,” rejoined Blakener. “It’s true. But you can’t ever get anywhere in this forest service. You’ve made enemies. An’ I’m givin’ you a tip that even your ranger job won’t outlast the year.”

  “That’s true, too,” replied Thad with a sigh. “Well, sufficient unto the day! My failure to succeed in the service makes it just that much easier to dismiss the idea of a wife.”

  “Eburne, you don’t do yourself justice! Everybody knows you’re the best forest man in the whole service.”

  “Th
ank you, Blakener,” said Thad in quick and grateful surprise.

  “No thanks cornin’ from me,” replied his comrade gruffly. “But there ought to be some from the government. You get all the hard jobs. Cassell really took pleasure in the idea of makin’ you trap deer. He said you’d have them eatin’ out of your hand. An’ say, he grinned like a chessy cat. He sure hates your guts.—Thad, I’d chuck the job if I was you.”

  “It’s a temptation. But for the sake of the deer I’ll stick as long as they let me.”

  “You’ve saved money, haven’t you?”

  “Yes. Perhaps half of what I’ve earned here. But you don’t get much in the service! Why did you ask?”

  “Well, I’d chuck this trappin’ deer job an’ beat it,” replied Blakener with slow earnestness. “Things are bound to get worse. An’ this fall they’ll sure let hunters in to kill these tame deer.”

  Eburne thoughtfully turned his friend’s advice over in his mind. He was bound to confess there was a good deal of sense in Blakener’s words. On the other hand he knew that if deer had to be trapped he should be the one to do it; and if an investigating committee was really coming to Buckskin, in the interest of the great herd he was the ranger best qualified to show them the true situation. He eliminated his personal feelings and fortunes and sat there watching the fire and pondering this new task that had been assigned him.

  Outside, the night wind began to rise and mourn through the pines. It brought the faint yelp of a coyote. A branch swished against the roof of the cabin. The fire blazed and crackled, lighting the room with a ruddy glow.

  “I’ve more news,” spoke up Blakener presently as he removed his pipe and thoughtfully gazed at the fire.

  “Out with it, then,” retorted Thad, startled from his reverie. “It never rains but it pours.”

  “Well, several days after you left I rode over to Quakin’ Asp,” began Blakener slowly. “But I didn’t ride in. I happened to get a glimpse of some horsemen actin’ rather suspicious. So I got off an’ slipped ahead through the woods an’ hid where I could see. Well, sir, I’ll be darned if I didn’t fall into somethin’ queer. I’d been right about the horsemen—Bing Dyott an’ four of his outfit—an’ my instinct to spy on them had been right, too. For it wasn’t long till Judson an’ Settlemire rode in. The meetin’ had been planned. That was as plain as the nose on your face.”