Stories from the Middle of Nowhere

Hunting, Guns, and Outlaws

By Budgie

(Changed the names of everyone!!!)

   There were not many diversions of entertainment in this little town.  We had our basketball, football, baseball, and track teams…strange how all the players were the same students.  We even had town-team softball for a while.  But in the fall, when the weather was getting cold and damp there was hunting….deer mostly, antelope occasionally, a cow secretly.  The wealthier of the townspeople or nearby ranchers also went elk hunting, but that was very special.  Deer hunting was eagerly awaited.  You could tell it was deer season because the smell of venison being smoked or jerked, or cooked, or grilled would fill the air.  Although I never participated, I did learn how to make venison stew and very well, too. Where do you hunt when you live on the dry side of the Rockies where the wind blows 363 days a year, there is only ocotillo cactus, sparce grass, and no deer?  Why, you do what everyone does, you drive and drive and drive until you get to another little town in the hills (It was only years later that I learned that this little village had the same name as a famous brand of beer) where there are deer.  Now, the deer know this.  They know hunters come in cars and trucks and are only dangerous in the day time for a few hours.  It all works out in the end for the deer and the hunters. Yes, a few ignorant deer end up on the grill or in the pot, but most do not.  The hunters have a glorious time and come home with dirty clothes and huge hangovers.  This is because there is a system.  You, the hunter and your buddies, pack up all your hunting stuff which includes lots of beer, a tent, your guns, some food, some lanterns, warm clothing and sleeping bags and drive.  Before you actually arrive at the little town in the hills, you pitch your tent by the side of the road.  You stay far enough away from the road to be safe, level enough to be dry, and not too near the barbed-wire fence.  Tents are not pitched next to one another. There must be lots of room, perhaps within shouting distance in case you run out of beer, but not any closer.  Tents can be pitched for miles this way on either side of the road. What is interesting is that the deer are not afraid of tents.  They congregate in small herds—several animals to maybe a dozen-- between the tents, their shining eyes very visible to drivers and passengers of cars rolling by the miles of tents.  You can hear radios blaring, see lanterns shining, but fortunately no shooting occurs.  Each tent has one herd of deer…it’s a rule.  By morning, when the hunters arise at the crack of dawn, trying to see in the darkness through bleery eyes, the deer have melted into the tracks of land beyond the fence.  They will be back with nightfall. I think they like the companionship.

   Now you must realize that every male in the little town owns a gun.  Many own pistols, but rifles are preferred.  Many own more than one.  Each one could bring down African game at a mile away, and you must be prepared.  You never know when you might need your gun.  Like the time when Max got a call from his wife, Sarah.  Sarah ran a motel on the east side of town at the northern most edge.  It was the first business you spotted when driving into town, well, perhaps the second, the motel on the west side, it was slightly higher in elevation.  One afternoon, a pair of those criminals, the kind that vie for the dumb & dumber awards, robbed Sarah in the motel lobby.  They piled into their van and took off northward.  She called Max at the bank.  Max raced toward his wife and the motel.  Max had his pistol ready when the criminally infested van returned to town.  To this day, no one knows why they returned.  Maybe they got lost in the wide lonesome.  Maybe they got confused at the highway junction just outside of town.  Maybe they realized that they had driven the wrong way to begin with and turned around to head toward Mexico,  Maybe they just needed some gas? They returned at normal speed into town and had to slow down…after all the speed limit was 35 mph starting at the blinky light--don’t want to get stopped for speeding!  But Sarah had watched the van as it took off from the motel, saw it come to the junction, saw it turn around and start back toward her---what luck! Sarah, jumping up and down and pointing at the van; Max, arriving at full speed, got out of his car with his gun.  Holding it before him in true Wild West tradition put 5 shots into the van as it whizzed past.  I believe the robbers were very impressed at the line of holes appearing in their van, front to back.  Now obviously rattled, they scooted on down the road.  Did they go on out of town? No, they careened down the main drag and where it started to curve out of sight of the screaming gunman, they pulled around the corner at the Catholic church.  They quickly turned into the driveway of the rectory, sat and waited.  Very understandable how much attention a bullet-riddled van parked at a rectory can generate.  

   I have told you all this because I want you to understand the following events.  The men and a few of the women of this town in the middle of nowhere had no one to rely on except themselves most of the time.  Remember that.  Several months had passed since I had moved out of the little teacherage house and into my home.  It was vacant and would stay that way until the following fall when new teachers would be hired.  It would be painted and fixed up during the summer, but in the cold wet of fall, it was empty.  Next door, in a slightly larger house lived the business teacher (Leroy), his wife (Shirley) and young son (Pat).  Now in a town of this size, in 1975, you got your news from TV, if your antenna was high enough, FM radio, if your radio was big enough, and the post office—the center of town news.  On the news everyone had heard of an escaped convict from Oklahoma. He was heading south. He was in our state. He had disappeared.  Saturday morning was going to the post office day for me.  It was a new red-brick building and very neat, tidy, except for the city light pole from hell.  Everyone had a dent in the rear fender of their car or truck.  It was a mark of bravery or something. If you had more to do than to get your mail, you always talked a bit with the post mistress or her assistant.  They were sweet and helpful, very kind and knew everything.  I learned the latest exploits… They almost had him in a small city up on I-40, 40 miles from our little town.  He was armed. He had killed a homeless guy. He was no longer alone.  He had acquired a partner maybe two. Where could they be? 

   Later that day, Shirley called up to chat…’Hey Budgie, did you know if Pete has rented out your old place?’ ‘No, hadn’t heard anything.’  ‘Well, I sent Leroy over there to get some light bulbs.  We need some and since no one is living there, I told him to get a few. Didn’t think Pete would mind, after all you paid for them.’  Money was tight for everyone raising a family on just one income.  ‘Leroy came back with the porch bulb and I was going to send him back to get some more, but he said there are some guys living there.’  ‘What??!!’  ‘Yeah, they opened the door while he was unscrewing the lightbulb and they talked for a bit. Leroy says it stinks in there. You know the utilities are turned off and they were cold, so they had burned some of that old rug of yours to keep warm last night.  They said they were renting it from a little old lady.’  Leroy's going back over there...maybe they need some food or something. ‘Shirley!!!!, don’t let Leroy go back over there! You know that story is a lie! I bet those are those two guys are those convicts!!! They killed an old man. I heard about it all at the post office this morning!  Call the police, right now!!!!’  Shirley practically hauled Leroy back into the house and called the police. Well, she called their office…. 

   You must realize that 911 did not exist here.  The town had two cops, one for the night time and one for the day time.  It was lunch hour. No answer to the phone call.  So, being resourceful, Shirley started calling restaurants around town; 30 minutes later she finally found him.  Remember, it’s cold-damp-windy and these guys had no transportation.  They could have robbed Leroy and Shirley, taken their car and made a run for it.  But, I think, because no one showed up after Leroy’s visit, they felt safe and just stayed put.  OK, about 20 minutes from the light bulb to calling me, 30 minutes to find the day cop, more time to get the news out to every male in town.  You didn’t think the cop was going to drive up in the town’s only cop car and confront them all alone, did you?  A mighty roaring herd of trucks, vans, and cars rushed up the teacherage cul-de-sac, spewing gravel and making a great traffic jam.  The outlaws did not make a brave stand. I think I remember that their gun was empty or broken.  They took off running up the hill.  They did not see what awaited them.  One fell down and just lay there and the other just reached for heaven when he got to the hill top.  They were surrounded.  Every rifle in town was aimed in their direction.  When hauled off, one of them was heard to say, ‘When I get to jail, I’m telling everyone to stay away from this town. You guys are nuts. Does everyone in this town own a gun?’  Well,….yeah….gotta hunt those deer, ya know.