The Old Man
A Short Story
by Jim Taylor
The kid had been on an extended trip to the Orient courtesy of Uncle Sam when his Dad (whom he affectionately called "the Old Man") had the little dust-up. The Old Man had not told the kid about it until more than a year after he returned to the States.. He did not want to worry the boy since, at the time, he was in a place where he needed to keep his mind on what was going on around him.
Seems the Old Man decided to make a trip into the Superstition Mountains. He and the boy had been going in to the rocky recesses for a number of years, prospecting and poking around. Usually they went together. Rarely did anyone go in by themselves. But at this time the boy was doing his duty in a far-off country and was not available to go with him. He knew the dangers, having been in the mountains when individuals had lost their lives or been seriously injured. Some were by stupidity, some by bad luck and some by bad people. He also found out (some time after the fact) that the boy had been in a gunfight and had been shot through the arm when he was by himself in these very same mountains. (that little fact having been concealed by the kid so as to keep the Old Man from worrying, or so he said. Likely it was to save his own hide from further punishment) In any event, the Old Man understood the risks.
And he knew the kind of people who lived in the mountains. Just earlier that year he had been in a prospector's camp when one of the men came back in, handed a .30-30 to the camp leader and said, "That red-headed SOB won't bother us anymore!" The Old Man never asked any questions or even let on like he heard anything. Some things were best forgotten.
One dark morning he loaded his backpack and his gun into the truck and set out for the mountains. Light was just breaking in the east when he parked near the base of what is called Battleship Rock. He strapped on his gun, settled the backpack, and started out. He wanted to get up off the desert floor before the heat came on.
The climb was uneventful. The trail winds up the side of the mountain on a series of ledges, sometimes only feet wide. To one side is a drop-off of varying height. To the other side a cliff. Often the ledges are yards wide, in some places nearly 30 yards, and fairly thick with brush. Cattle, wild critters, and humans have made a trail that is easy to follow up the rocky slopes. Winding around through the brush and rocks each turn gives you a fresh view of the land and the wild mountain interior. As the Old Man made his way up and the sun climbed in the sky the country unfolded below him. He later related to the boy, "I was standing on a ledge looking out over the country, enjoying the view, when below me a few miles out, an airplane went by. It made you feel like you were on top of everything."
It was after noon by the time he reached the top and he stopped in the shade of a large outcropping rock for some lunch. After eating a bite he began to make his way across the top of the mountain. There were some Indian markings he wanted to check out and he wanted to see the view from several places. He spent several hours poking around and as he told the boy, "The time nearly got away from me." When he saw how late it was getting he immediately started his return trip down the mountain. He was not afraid to do it in the dark - he carried a flashlight as normal part of his gear. But he knew how easily a trip in the hills can turn bad and he did not want to risk more than was normal.
The Old Man always went armed. Everyplace. Today was no exception. His gun was an well-worn Ruger flat-top .44 Magnum 6 1/2" and he had it loaded with his standard load using the Keith semi-wadcutter bullet. The Old Man had used that bullet for years, over a dose of 2400 powder, and he was good with it. He had been carrying that same gun and load when some young punks pulled up alongside his truck one day and pointed a pistol at him. That they lived to regret doing so was due only to his kindly nature. He figured a good scare was better than hurting them. Besides, it was less paperwork.
Coming down off Battleship the Old Man took his time, not wanting to rush things and possibly have an accident. The first part of the trail down was fairly easy. Then there was a section that was heavy with brush. This area was fairly expansive. As he made his way through it the Old Man began to realize he was being followed.
He told the kid later on, "I was coming down the side of the mountain in that area after you go across the ridge tops. The ledges there are 20 - 30 yards wide and one section is maybe a quarter mile long going down the mountain. It's rocky and cut up some, but easy enough to handle. As I was going along I began to realize I was hearing someone behind me, moving through the brush off the to side. Well, I slowed down and so did they. When I would stop I would hear some movement and then they would stop. They did not move until I started moving again. You know how hard it is to be quiet in that brush, what with the catclaw grabbing at your clothes and scraping on the twigs and stuff? Well, they could hear me and I could hear them."
The boy wondered aloud if it was maybe a cow or some critter following. The Old Man said it could have been, but he was not sure. He did not think it was a Mountain Lion for they just don't make that kind of noise. And it "..seemed as if it was a 2-footed creature.." though he could not be positive about that. But one thing he did know. Every time he moved, it moved. And whenever he stopped it stopped.
Whoever or whatever was following him, they had no good intentions in mind. If it was a human you just do not do that kind of thing in that type of country! If it wasn't human it had no business stalking him.
This game went on for a few minutes until the Old Man had it fixed in his mind where the follower was in the brush behind him. Then, he told the boy, "I started to walk and as I did I slipped the .44 out of it's holster. When I heard the movement behind me I turned and fired at it." He said he aimed the gun so as to hit about waist level and that he fired 4 shots, moving the gun from left to right ever so slightly so as to cover an area about 6 feet wide as he fired.
He reloaded quickly and waited a bit, crouched down by the trail. After some time, and not hearing anything he then made his way on down the trail. He said he never heard anyone or anything behind him the rest of the way down the mountain. He got back to his truck after dark with no problems.
The boy asked him if he ever thought about going back to see if there was anything in the brush there on that mountainside. The Old Man was brief but absolutely clear in his reply. "I would rather not know." he said.