Time for another story by Dean Reynolds
Dean calls this one......... The Water Bucket
It was first light as I turnedd off of the main road at the head of Deep Creek. I was heading for the cabin on the face of Lake Mountain. As I went through the Jensen gate and started up the crooked winding road through the Sage Brush flat, I couldn't help but notice that in spite of all the many rocks we had moved out of the tire tracks and thrown to the side in the Sage Brush how rough and bumpy the road still was. As I got to the padlocked gate leading into the Reynolds property I got out of the pickup and as I always had done, I took my field glasses with me. I liked to look at the mountain to see if there were any deer or elk in sight. As was most always I could see a little bunch of deer moving out of the cedars and working their way up through what we call the Rock Pasture which is mostly Cedar and stunted patches of Quaken Aspen. There are also numerous rocks many of which are as big as a house. I watched the deer as they made their way up onto the skyline and then disappeared over the top. I then slowly moved my field of view in the glasses to the left. Then as my view took in the last large rock, I could see that on top of it was what looked like a Mountain Lion laying flat. I hadn't looked at it for more than ten seconds before sure enough I could see that it indeed was a Cougar. Then in one motion, he stood up and hopped down off the rock and disappeared into the Choke Cherry bushes. I hadn't been over three hundred yards from where I was and well within range of my 30-06 rifle which I had with me along with a 220 Swift. Now I figured why that lion was where he was because a week before that I had been in the trees looking for the remains of the shelter the feller stayed in while he attemped to dig a hole in the side of the hill trying to locate a vien of copper. I found a pile of rocks in the trees that looked like they may have been part of a fireplace. I also found the remins of a calf elk that looked like it hadn't been dead but for a few days. I reasoned that the lion was staying in that area while feeding on the carcus of that calf.
By now the sun uas coming up over the top of Saw Tooth mountain and splashing sunshine through the Quakies. I hurridly closed and locked the gate behind me and bounced up over Donna's Cliff and arrived at the cabin fifteen minutes later. Most of the guys will park their vehicle right in front of the cabin but to me that is a no no. So I park on the East side of the cabin where there's a level spot so as not to block ones view as they set on the porch looking South.
As I write this story it reminds me of the time dad and I had the sheep wagon parked right where I park my truck in that level spot. Instead of the tongue of the wagon sticking out straight in front it was so you could either swing it up straight in the air or leave it hanging down on the ground. We always left it hanging on the ground so as it acted as a block to keep the wagon from rolling forward. Dad would sleep in the sheep wagon and I would sleep in the house where all the Weasles and mice were. This particular day Dad was resting on the bed in the house and I was cooking dinner in the wagon. It sure had a dandy cook stove. I had the Venison and fried taters cooked and the biscuits in the oven were about done and I was pouring the milk in the pan to make gravy. I stepped to the door and hollered to dad that dinner was ready. As I was finishing up the gravy he came in and spread a piece of canvas on the bed to act as a table cloth. We always ate on the bed. He then spread a half dozen sticks of firewood on the canvas then sat on the edge of the bed. I turned and lay the frypans on the sticks and pulled the bscuits out of the oven and placed them on the edge of canvas. Then just as I sat down on the bed, the wagon started to move. One of us had swing the tongue of the trailer up in the air and now, we were moving. As the wagon moved up over the lip of ground in front it gave a lurch and the jar caused the wagon tongue to swing down to the ground and start digging into the grass. Well, that stopped the wagon but our dinner was all over the floor. I guess you could say that the memories of now are sweeter somehow when see through the glass of years.
Well, after I had parked the pickup I got out and started to go around the back of the house and come in the back door. As I rounded the corner I heard a commotion up around the spring. I thought I knew what had caused the noise as I had seen several deer beds amongst the trees and bursh North East of the spring. But, as I walked up there to investigate, I was startled to find out that if hadn't been a deer that I had heard but that it had been a Moose. I could tell by the tracks and feces and smell. It was easy to see why the Moose liked it there because of the shade and water. I could also see where he had wallowed in the wet grass below the spring. I had retuned back to the cabin and went in the back door.
As I was about to enter the front room, I could see a Weasel asleep on the bed. I slowly backed out and got my 22 rifle out of the truck and sneaked back in and shot the Weasel. Why I did that I don't know. I have been sorry ever since. They make better mousers than a cat and heaven knows that there were plenty of mice in the cabin. Several times during the night as I lay awake in bed I could hear mice running around squeaking as they wre being chased by a Weasel.
Then, I got busy. During the previous winter and spring quite a few older Quakies had fallen down around the cabin. Especially on the North side. For hours I cut the fallen trees into short lengths so I could carry them to a place just East of the spring and pile them up. The worse part of it was the numerous limbs and branches that also had to be gathered up and piled on top of the tree trunks. Each spring for years I had to do the same thing. The first trip to the cabin in the spring I always had a ax with me because invariably a tree would have fallen across the road. One spring I found that the roof had caved in and so I replaced it. Then several years later my son Bill installed an aluminum sheeting on it. The I repaired the fence I had built around the cabin to replace the old Quakie pole fence that had since rotted and fallen down. The fence was to keep out the cattle and horses as it wouldn't do the same of deer or elk. Numerous other things had to be do to tidy up the area. Nedless to say, I was very tired at the end of the day.
After supper, I sat on the front porch and watched the evening shadows creep across the meadow in front of the house. A half of a mile back of the cabin is where Lake Creek canyon is. On the North slope it is covered mostly with Quaken Aspen but on the South slope facing North it has a dense growth of pines. Most of these pines are Balsa with a gray bark and the most pleasant smell you can emagine. And in the Evening after the sun goes down and the air cools, a fragrant breeze comes down bringing with it the Balsa Pine smell that once you smell it you never forget it. Its enough to end a perfect day. And it did for me that day..
As I sat there in perfect bliss, a male grouse slowly came out of the trees and stopped a little ways in front of the house. I knew that bird as I had seen him many times and had listned to him thumping his wings sometimes during the day time. I knew that when I heard him doing that he was showing off for the ladies. He was so close that I didn't move a hair so as not to scare him away. As I watch him, a couple of hens come out of the trees and circled around him. He seemed to be talking to them, at least in my emagination that was what he was doing. Then he lowered his right wing until it touched the ground while he sidled up to one of the hens which caused her to fly up into a tree. He then done the same thing to the other one and she also flew up into a tree. Now, he was alone so he slowly melted back into the trees.
Next, I could hear a Wipper Will sing out with his sad and lonesome call down in the flat below the cabin. His call starts out with a slow tone and ends in a higher note. Its very easy to mimic his calland I have done it many times and when you do he will slowly come towards you in short flights until he lands at your feet. I called him in that night and after he had flown away I got up and went inside and crawled in bed under the bloody quilts.
I slept soundly that night. I didn't even dream about bears or even prety girls. When I finally woke up the next morning the sun was already up and shinning through the window making the room pleasantly warm. The Blow flies were buzzing in the window. I felt so good just laying their enjoying being just where I was.
Suddenly I realized what had awakened me. I could hear sheep bleating and they seemed to be all around the cabin. I realized that they had come through the gate I had left open after I had repaired the fence. I felt angry, they were not supposed to be there. They were trespassing and I ment to do something about it. I hurriedly got dressed and stepped out onto the front porch and gave a yell and as sheep will they rushed together and strung back thrugh the gate. I grabbed my bridle and went down over the hill and caught up "Savage" my horse and rode back to the cabin and threw the saddle on him and rode down to where the sheep were bunched up and drove them down over the hill South toward the fence that enclosed the horse pasture which was a 350 acre piece of ground that enclosed the area around the cabin. We hadn't yet built the fence that took in all of the homestead. That would take place a couple of years later. Anyway, when the sheep reached the horse pasture fence they began to file through several at a time until they had all gotten through. I swung off my horse so as to repair the fence where they had passed through. I was dumb founded and angry to see that the fence had been deliberately broken by some one who had taken a couple of rocks and pounded the wire flat so that by bending it back and forth it would come apart.
I knew this had been done on purpose and it made me mad. Then I got on my horse and went thru the gate and around the trail for about half a mile to where the old dipping corral used to be. This is where sheepmen had years ago hollowed out a trench in the ground and installed a wire enclosure around it. They would then take the water from a spring nearby and fill the hole and add some greasote so that when they drove the sheep through the water it would kill the lice in the sheeps wool. Only traces of the old trench could be see as one rode by. However, right by the same spring I could see the sheep herders wall tent.
Both herders were inside eating breakfast. I hollered both of them out and cussed them up plenty for cuttng our fence and letting the sheep through. One of them was a very large ugly looking guy with long black hair and needing a shave real bad. I told him that the sheep they were herding were trespassing on our land and that I knew he had deliberately cut the fence to let them though. He looked up at and said. "Lew della me take em all." I said. "I don't care what Lew said. I'm telling you to keep your sheep off our land."
He looked at me and said "Ha." Then turned and both of them went back inside the tent. I rode back to the cabin and cooked my own breakfast and ate while all the time getting more angry by the minute. Here I was up her to enjoy the solitude and then to have those guys do what they done. Well calm down Reynolds and enjoy the day. This I tried to do. The Quakie leaves were fluttering in the breeze. The grass was so green and the yellow dandilions wee poking up everywhere. I walked back of the cabin over to Lake Creek and among the rocks I found Lark Spur and Indian Paint Brushes and along the creek bed out in the sage brush I could see Eagle Claws and Clover. As I walked down through the tall sage brush a Cat Bird flew out of a brush. I kneld down and by looking real close I found her nest with four tiny gray eggs. How could anyone feel angry after that? I did feel better so lazied around the rest of the day.
The next morning after breakfast , I still couldn't get those herders off my mind so I saddled "Savage" and strapping my pistol around my waist rode south around the trail. I passed by where the herders tent was and a half a mile further came to Indian Springs. There I met up with both of them. They rode close to me and I felt a little tug of fear as he big one who was on a tall black horse and seemed to tower over me. His long hair poked out from under his hat and almost hung to his shoulders. He still hadn't shaved and seemed to have a smirk on his face. He stood up in the stirrups and looked to weight at least 300 pounds. His partner sat on a little mule close by not looking to happy. The big one said. "I see where you have had your Tent pitched here at Indian Springs. That makes you a trespasser." I countered with. "That's a lie, I haven't had my tent pitched anywher around here. Why would I?" "Oh yes you have because I can see where you had it pitched." I felt the adrenalin turn over in my stomach and throat. "Who does he think he is?" He may be twice as big as I am but, I'm the one with the gun." So, I drew it out of the holster and pointed it at his head and said. "If I were you, I wouldn't move an inch because I'm going to shoot off part of your right ear." His head reared back and his silver hat band flashed in the sun. I held my aim six inches from his head and pulled the trigger. The loud boom of the gun smashed against the side of the mountain. His mouth flew open and his horse rared nearly throwing him. He jerked the reins to the left and spinning his horse he dug in the spurs and rode down the trail toward their camp in a cloud of dust.
The little guy onthe mule went down the trail kicking with his heels trying to get the mule to break into a lope but all the mule would do was ring it's tail in the air and go at a fast labored trot. Yes...My heart was pounding. How did I ever have the nerve to do such a thing? Well, it's done and I hadn't better ride past their camp getting back to the cabin because most every sheep camp has a 30-30 rifle and the big one might use it on me as I ride past. So, I rode on West through Indian Springs and then up the side of the mountain then across Wild Horse Basin past Hornet Springs then down off the top to get back to the cabin. You know, after I got back and had a cool glass of water and lay on the bed thinking about it, I felt good. You just can't let people run over you.
Next morning I saddled Savage and taking my 220 Swift rifle rode up the draw south of the cabin. When I came out on top of the mountain I was directly above the herders tent. It was about 10 oclock in the morning nd I knew that was the time sheep herders come back to camp for breakfast. The tent was plain to be seen as it was shining white in the morning sun. I kept back off the skyline and out of sight and tied my horse to a Service berry bush. Then looking through the rifle scope I couldn't see any one around the tent, but as I watched I seen the little guy come out of the tent with a water bucket. He dipped it full out of the spring in front of the tent then turned and hung it on a snub of a Quakie limb and went back inside. Down below me I could see a lone little cedar tree so taking my rifle and keeping low, I sneaked down and hid behind it. After a few minutes and no one came out of the tent, I kept looking at that water bucket. Then. I had an idea. I'll just put a hole in it knowing that when the bullet hits the bucket it would explode because of being full of water. I took a dead rest and putting the cross hairs squarely on the bucket, gently squeezed the trigger. The boom of the rifle was loud in the quiet air and the echoes rushed back from the trees back of the tent. The bucket still hung there. I had missed it which wasn't too surprixing as the distance was nigh on to 300 yards. I put the cross hair back on the tent as the little guy threw the tent flats and cautiously stuck his head out looking all around before ducking back inside. I could feel a breeze coming from my right and I reasoned that it had drifted the bullet to the left. So putting my sights the width of the bucket to the right of it, I squeezed of another shot. I was able to keep the scope on the bucket and I seen it explode and hang there by the handle like a sheet of tin. Again the tent flaps flew open and a head ome out and with one look at the remains of the bucket went back in. I turned and shinnied back up the side of the mountain to where my horse was. Taking my binoculars, I took a look down at the tent to see if anyone was outside. Nobody showed so I rode back to the house.
The next day I rode around the trail to where I could see that the tent was not there anymore. Riding on further toward Indian Springs I could see the sheep herd at the head of Smelter Hollow. I spotted a rider a quarter of a mile below me. Looking in the glasses I could see that it was the little guy so I rode down to where he was.
"Howdy." I said. "Where's your partner?'
"He quit and went to town yesterday."
"Oh, hows the sheep doing?"
"Fine, ok I guess."
"Good deal. I'll see you later." Then I rode off.