Chapter 3 – The Voodoo Queen of Oklahoma –

Shotgun and Ray had been camping immediately off the K-Trail on Tombstone Mountain. This was their base camp; they could go for many miles east and west on K-Trail looking for Bigfoot and still be able to return to base camp each night if they so desired. If they found a hot trail and didn’t want to return to base camp, they had provisions and sleeping bags to camp on the trail.
While Tim was taking his other worldly journey, Shotgun and Ray had investigated many miles up and down K-Trail. A good bit of their searching was done from dark to sunrise. They had one tent for sleeping and an old, canvas army tent for food storage and equipment and cooking if the weather turned inclement. The weather in these mountains is variable and difficult to predict. It can be the fourth of July and ninety-two degrees, then a storm rolls through and the temperature can drop to sixty-five degrees for the rest of the night. The weather can change quickly, and when it rains, water gushes from the mountains in all directions and from every rock.
It took three trips on Shotgun’s scooter to haul all the supplies and tents. His scooter was equipped with both rear tires pulling, positive traction and a gear shift lever which he could engage to make his front wheel pull. He had a three-wheel drive scooter, custom made and given to him by the Masons of the local Masonic Lodge. Until he got this scooter, Shotgun went everywhere in a little cart pulled by a miniature burro named, Bill. When Shotgun was about eighteen years of age, Shotgun’s father and mother were killed in a car accident. Shotgun’s real name is Willard Frank Scott. The Frank was for his great, great grandfather, Frank James, brother to Jessie James on his mother’s side of the family. Shotgun’s father was a watch and clock repairman part of the time. Part-time he cruised timber, walking through the forests and mountains measuring trees and counting them for logging companies and landowners. When Shotgun was a child, his father would bring him along to cruise timber. That’s when Shotgun (Willard) got his first glimpse of a Bigfoot. From that point, he became obsessed with capturing one and learning more about them. His father had received Ray from a chimpanzee rescue shelter in Oklahoma City when Shotgun was about fifteen years old. Ever since Shotgun’s parents died, it had only been him and Ray. They were like brothers and took care of each other. Shotgun had learned to repair clocks and watches from his father. People would send Shotgun broken clocks and watches through the mail from all over the United States, and he would repair them and mail them back.
The first three days of searching had produced nothing except a few distant “whoops” and a couple of footprints on semi-rocky soil. The fourth day Shotgun decided to arise early and do some daytime surveillance. As Shotgun and Ray puttered along K-Trail, scanning the ground for any sign of footprints or broken twigs, Claude was preparing to cross K-Trail about three-quarters of a mile ahead of them. Miss Cherie had told Claude about the green crystal being in the possession of Shotgun and Ray.
As Claude neared the top of the mountain range and started to cross K-Trail, he heard Shotgun’s scooter at the same time he felt the energy from the crystal. He paused and looked in the direction of the crystal. The Indian’s believe that the Bigfoot people have a strange sense of humor. They like to play tricks on people and pull pranks. They have the ability to imitate all the sounds of the forest animals, and they can throw their voice like a ventriloquist.
Claude paused as Shotgun and Ray got closer, and closer. When they were about eighty feet away, Claude stepped into the middle of the trail and stopped. Ray noticed him first and went crazy, screaming and slapping the side of his side car! Shotgun looked up and with one motion reached behind him and grabbed his miniature tranquilizer gun, pulled the trigger and missed Claude by a foot!! Shotgun chambered another round and Claude began to run straight down K-Trail in front of them!
Shotgun yelled at Ray, “You drive, I’ll shoot!”
At that command, Ray grabbed the throttle with his left foot and gassed the scooter. Shotgun was standing on his small running board, trying to steady his aim as they bounced down K-Trail at twenty mph. Claude could do sixty mph with no problem, so this was a jog for him. Ray was screaming, pointing and gassing the scooter and gripping his tranquilizer gun, trying to take aim.
“Get me closer Ray!” Shotgun shouted.
Ray twisted the throttle harder. Claude looked over his shoulder a couple of times just to make sure they were keeping up with him. Shotgun was about to squeeze off another round when Claude took a hard left onto another trail going down the mountain. When Ray turned left, he twisted the throttle even harder and did a bootleg turn like the Dukes of Hazzard! (Ray loves that show). Ray did not see the log across the trail until it was too late! They crashed into the log. Shotgun pulled the trigger, the tranquilizer dart went straight up into the air, the scooter flipped over and Shotgun was tossed into the air and hit a pine tree. Ray landed face down at Shotgun’s feet, with the tranquilizer dart stuck in his butt. Shotgun shook his head and regained his bearings. He saw Ray lying face down with the dart stuck in his butt. Shotgun jumped up and pulled the dart out. (He had enough juice in these darts to put down a large horse, it could kill a chimpanzee.) Ray was wearing a pair of overalls and the dart had hit a flask of Fireball that he had stashed in his back pocket! Fireball had saved Ray’s life! Now there’s something you don’t hear every day! Shotgun rolled Ray over and patted him on the face.
“Hey buddy, are you okay?” Shotgun softly asked.
Ray blinked his eyes a little, then sat up. Ray looked all around and checked his pistol to make sure it wasn’t damaged; he spun the cylinder and thumb cocked it once or twice. They both got up and dusted themselves off.
“Well, I guess he got away again,” Shotgun said sadly. Ray pointed at the log and shrugged his shoulders. “I know, I didn’t see it either,” Shotgun told him. “Let’s flip this thing back over and hope its ok.”
They turned the scooter right side up and it fired up with no problem. “Let’s go back to camp and get some grub,” Shotgun told Ray as they picked up the tranquilizer gun and Ray’s pipe. Ray was shaking his head in agreement.
When Claude heard the crash, he stopped and hid in the brush, until he knew the duo were unhurt. Claude didn’t intend to hurt them; he only wanted to have a little fun with them.
Upon returning to base camp, they noticed some of their things had been moved around, as though someone had rummaged through everything. Shotgun and Ray dismounted their gas steed and immediately started putting everything back in order. Ray was pointing and waving his arms as he made monkey screams in disapproval of the situation.
“I know, I know,” Shotgun told Ray. “It makes me mad too, it must have been some of those folks who live up here and don’t like strangers coming near them. They want to be secluded. Its either that or some meth heads up here cooking meth, but they don’t usually roam very far from the trail. The only way you can get here is on foot, with a horse, or in a mule or a four-wheel 4×4.” As Shotgun finished his sentence, he saw a familiar sight, a footprint in the soft earth—a human looking footprint about ten inches long and six inches wide. In this sandy, soft spot of earth, he could see three distinct footprints. One in front of the other, like a tight rope walker. This appeared to be a juvenile bigfoot.
“Look Ray!” Shotgun shouted as he pointed at the tracks. “We’ve been looking everywhere for a Bigfoot and they’ve been right here at our camp! Come on, I know the ground’s rocky, but let’s see if we can pick up the trail,” Shotgun commanded, as he slung a tranquilizer gun over one shoulder and shotgun over the other.
Ray spun his pistol cylinder, packed his pipe with tobacco and grabbed a canteen of water. The tracks went northeast down Tombstone Mountain and headed toward Dead Mule Creek. The ground was rocky and left little sign to decipher, but Shotgun and Ray were expert trackers if a trail was fresh enough. They were making their approach to Dead Mule Creek when they picked up another set of tracks. It was evident that two creatures had met and then traveled together down the creek. As Shotgun and Ray studied this new set of tracks, they stared at each other in awe. These tracks were huge! These were the biggest bear tracks they had ever seen.
“This bear has got to be eight-hundred pounds.” Ray said softly in amazement. “Black bears don’t get that big, The Arkansas state record is a little over six hundred pounds, and that thing was a monster. I can’t believe what I’m seeing! I’ve been studying and tracking animals all my life and I know without a doubt what this is,” Shotgun went on explaining to himself as much as to Ray. “It looks like he is hunting or tracking this huge Sasquatch. He may have bad things on his mind,” Shotgun said as his mood went from tracker-hunter to protector. “I hope this little fellow can run fast or is able to find a place to hide from the monster that’s trailing him,” Shotgun said referring to the huge, black bear that had switched places with the pair that had previously been the pursuers.
They followed the tracks along the banks of Dead Mule Creek slowly and carefully. Shotgun held his leather pouch with the crystal in it in one hand, while it hung from around his neck. In the other hand, he had traded his tranquilizer gun for his sawed off .20-gauge shotgun. There was only one problem. In his haste to purse the juvenile Sasquatch, he had failed to grab any more shotgun ammunition. He only had one shell, double aught buckshot. This would kill a normal, black bear at close range—very close range, but the chances of killing the one they were tracking was slim to none. Even if he did get a good shot at the monster bear, it would take time for him to bleed to death and die. Enough time for the bear to maul and mutilate Shotgun and Ray. Ray’s .22 caliber pistol would be almost useless against this huge bruin. It would be like stabbing him with your granny’s sewing needle. Dead Mule Creek ran through a very narrow passage in the mountain range and to travel the small pass would be too steep of a climb.
“I wish we had some high ground that was easy to travel. I don’t like all this brush and boulders that a bear could use for cover. He might have quit tracking the Sasquatch and be laid up, hiding, waiting for something to come down this trail. That something be US!” Shotgun pointed out to Ray.
Ray begin shaking his head in agreement and paused to extinguish his pipe. He didn’t want the pleasant smell of Captain Black to give away their position. Remember, Shotgun was not afraid of much, but this situation unnerved him. They stood on the bank of Dead Mule Creek and looked around at the steep mountains and ridges above them. Shotgun broke open his single shot .20 and shook his head.
“I can’t believe I ran off and didn’t get more ammo,” he commented in disapproval of himself. Ray patted him on the back and held up his pistol. “Yea, I know, but that’s not much use against this guy we’re trackin’,” he told Ray.
Shotgun kicked a couple of rocks into the creek. He looked around again at the mountains around them. “Well, Ray, this is a fine predicament we’ve got ourselves in. I don’t know what to do. If we keep going, we might get eat by a bear, if we don’t get eat, we can’t get back to camp before dark. If we don’t keep going that little Sasquatch might get eat by the bear. My dad told me that the one invincible gift from God to man was prayer. Bow your head Ray, we need to pray,” Shotgun told Ray as he got down on his tired little knees. Then Shotgun began to pray. “Dear God, please watch over us and keep us safe. We’re goin’ to press on and see if we can help this little creature that is one of Your creations. Please keep me and Ray safe and show us what we should do. I’m not doin’ this for my personal gain anymore, it’s because I’m concerned for the little Sasquatch’s safety and I feel like it’s what we should do. In Jesus name, I pray. Amen.”
Shotgun rose from his knees with new energy and confidence. He took the canteen from Ray and took a drink of water. Ray pulled a can of Garrett’s Sweet Snuff from one of his overall pockets and held it up with a smile. “Sounds good, give me a dip when you get through,” Shotgun agreed with Ray’s gesture. Ray uncapped the powdery, sweet tobacco snuff and poured a little into his bottom lip, then passed the can to Shotgun. Shotgun did the same and slapped the lid back on.
“OK, let’s get moving,” Shotgun told Ray with a new demeanor. They pushed on along the creek bank for two more miles, watching and listening to every single movement and sound around them. All the sudden, they heard what sounded like a monkey scream and a bear roar! It wasn’t too far in front of them. They made their way through the brush trying to make sure they were hidden and not making much noise as they walked. It was slow moving, but they couldn’t afford to rush into a situation that could get them killed. As they got closer to where the screams and roars were coming from, they could see brush moving and trees shaking. They moved to their left and climbed onto a steep ridge above where the commotion was coming from. Once on the ridge, they could not believe what they saw and would probably never see again. About ninety feet below them was a huge, black bear weighing between eight to nine hundred pounds. He was reared up on a pine tree that was about ninety feet tall, and in the top of the pine tree was a young Sasquatch about four feet tall, covered in reddish brown hair except for its face. It looked like a human child except for all the hair. The bear would lean against the tree with all its weight and roar as the tree shook. The little Sasquatch would scream with terror. Shotgun and Ray sat there with mouths open, staring in amazement. Then Shotgun spoke, “Well Ray, what are we going to do? There’s a million dollars up that tree, but my tranquilizer darts will probably kill it since their loaded for a huge animal. If I did tranquilize him, the bear would get him when he falls. I can’t get close enough to the bear to kill him with one shot from my shotgun. If I did get close enough to tranquilize the bear, it will take several minutes for him to pass out and he would attack me before I could get away.”
They sat there on the ridge above the scene, watching what no human had ever witnessed. Shotgun rubbed his face and eyes trying to come up with an idea. Then Ray tapped him on the shoulder. Shotgun looked up at Ray. He was holding a rock the size of a baseball in his left hand. “Throw rocks at the bear?” Shotgun asked. Ray nodded his head and pointed at the steep ridge where they were sitting and then the bear. “Throw rocks at the bear and get him to climb the steep, rocky ridge to attack us?” Shotgun interpreted. Ray nodded ‘yes’ and smiled as he held up his pistol and pointed it down the ridge and pretended to shoot. “Ok buddy, I get it! The steep climb will slow him down, and we can kill him or tranquilize him before he gets to us!” Shotgun said excitedly. Shotgun laid his guns beside him and began gathering rocks into a pile. Within seconds Shotgun and Ray were raining down a barrage of stones and screaming at the huge beast. The bear’s attention turned to his attackers when a rock beamed him square on the head. The monstrous beast spun around and looked up the ridge at Shotgun and Ray as they pelted him and yelled. Shotgun could have sworn he saw the fires of hell burning in the bear’s eyes as he began to scramble up the steep ridge. Ray seemed to be having a big time with the whole situation. He was throwing rocks, screaming and jumping up and down like a short stop at a ball game.
The little Sasquatch stopped screaming and looked toward Shotgun and Ray when the volley of stones and shouts started. He and Shotgun made eye contact for only a few seconds as both stared into each other’s eyes and faces with amazement. The bear was taking a brutal pounding as he made his ascent up the ridge. Stones, the size of baseballs, were bouncing off his head and shoulders as he scaled the ridge like it was a castle wall in a medieval siege. The bear was about twenty feet from reaching the two defenders when the little Sasquatch decided it was time to make his exit. Shotgun and Ray watched the Sasquatch slide down the big pine like a fireman down a firepole. Ten feet from the ground he jumped and landed on his feet in a dead run. He disappeared into the brush along the creek bank. Then all the sudden, he reappeared and ran to the bottom of the ridge below the bear. The bear was caught in a crossfire of stone throwing and getting angrier by the second. He was getting pelted from above by a monkey and a midget, while below him a small Sasquatch was beaming him in the head with every throw! (Sasquatch are excellent rock throwers!)
Shotgun began waving his arms and motioning the Sasquatch to run away. “No! No! Run away! Run away!” he shouted at the Sasquatch. The little Sasquatch paused with a rock in hand and looked at Shotgun waving his arms. He leaned his head to one side trying to decipher what Shotgun was trying to tell him. When the big bear turned to look down the ridge the little Sasquatch was no more than a streak of reddish-brown disappearing though the brush. The bear turned his attention back to Shotgun and Ray. Shotgun raised his tranquilizer gun and pulled the trigger, hitting the black beast square in the chest. Not a good hit, considering it struck in the breast plate, but still it was contact with the target. The second dart hit him in the right shoulder. “Good, a muscle shot,” thought Shotgun. The bear was within ten feet of clearing the ridge and being on the same level spot with Shotgun and Ray when Shotgun realized he one had one tranquilizer dart remaining and this bear wasn’t slowing down yet. He shot again, hitting in the left shoulder. He could feel the bear’s hot breath with every roar. The bear shook the whole forest every time he opened his mouth and released his primal, nerve-wrenching rage. Eight feet and closing fast, the bear looked like an Olympic swimmer coming up the ridge after them. Five feet away and Shotgun shouldered his sawed-off .20-gauge and thumb cocked it on one motion. BOOM! Right in the face. The fictional-looking beast tumbled back down the ridge, ninety feet below. He made one last roar mixed with the sound of gurgling blood, and he was dead.
Shotgun and Ray fell to their knees, shaking with exhaustion and adrenalin. “Let’s give it a few minutes until we go down there, I want to make sure that thing is dead before I get around it,” Shotgun told Ray as they both laid back against a big rock.
“Thank you, Jesus!” Shotgun said as he stood up and gathered his guns. Ray nodded in agreement and although he was not a Roman Catholic, gave the sign of the cross. He had seen this in a movie once and thought it was appropriate.
They worked their way down the ridge and circled the monster bear a few times, looking over in amazement. Ray was standing way back and poking it with a ten-foot limb, while holding his pistol in the other hand.
“Well, the sun’s going down fast, it’s almost dark. No moon tonight! It would be almost impossible to get back to base camp in the dark, not to mention one wrong move and you could fall off the mountain or step on a rattlesnake. We might as well build a fire and cook some bear meat for supper. I’ll find some flint rocks to start a fire,” Shotgun said. Ray shook his head and began rummaging through his pockets. Presto, he pulled out a box of matches and a Bic lighter. “What was I thinking, I forgot about your pipe,” Shotgun laughed at himself. “All this excitement has my mind spinning,” he went on to explain.
As the sun sank behind the mountains, Shotgun and Ray roasted bear steaks over a hardwood fire. They filled their canteens with the clear water from the rocky bed of Dead Mule Creek. After supper, they sat by the fire and looked up at the stars. These mountains were peaceful and soothing most of the time and made one feel as though they were magical. That is, when you weren’t getting attacked by a giant bear.
“OK, open that flask of Fireball and let’s celebrate surviving this ordeal,” Shotgun told Ray.
Ray reached into his back pocket and pulled out his flask. He inspected the small dent where the tranquilizer dart had hit, then he unscrewed the top and took a swig. He handed it to Shotgun as he pulled out his pipe and began to pack it with Captain Black tobacco. Shotgun took a drink and handed it back to Ray. Ray fired up his pipe and gazed up at the stars. “Give me a puff off that pipe,” Shotgun told him as he held out his hand. Ray handed him the pipe, and Shotgun took a couple of puffs and handed it back.
“What a day this has been, huh buddy?” Shotgun said to Ray. Ray arched his eyebrows and nodded his head as he puffed his pipe. “It’s going to be cold tonight” Shotgun said as he scooted close to the fire and tossed another chunk of wood on it. “You got your pistol handy?” he asked Ray. Ray nodded and showed his pistol as he laid down in a pile of leaves he had gathered.
They were tired but their minds were still racing. They lay still and quiet, looking at the stars, then an owl hooted. Not just any old owl. This owl had to have lungs like he weighed five hundred pounds. This was followed by two more hoots from different directions. Shotgun heard movement in the brush around them, he sat up and threw some wood on the fire as he poked Ray with the barrel of his shotgun. Ray sat up quickly with pistol in hand.
“Something in the brush circling us,” Shotgun said in a whisper as he pulled out his skinning knife and got a good grip on his shotgun. He was out of ammo, but it would make a good club if necessary. “I hope it’s not more bears,” Shotgun whispered again. Ray thumb cocked his pistol and grabbed a stick that he had sharpened like a spear. Shotgun threw a few more sticks on the fire and the glow of the fire revealed a set of eyes in the brush about four feet from the ground, then another set of eyes about six feet from the ground. Then, two more sets of eyes eight to ten feet from the ground.
Shotgun and Ray stood up, they were certain they were about to be attacked by more bears or who knows what. Shotgun threw several sticks of bone-dry blackjack onto the fire which quickly blazed up hot and bright. It illuminated the faces that went with the eyes that were glowing. It wasn’t bears, it was a family of Bigfoots, Sasquatches, Forest People, Ancient ones or whatever name you prefer to call them. As the flames leapt higher, the Sasquatches backed into the shadows again. The one that was four feet tall, stepped into the firelight and laid three fish on a flat rock. It stepped into the shadows and returned with some blackberries, a rabbit and a watermelon, plus some bull needle seeds. It stood behind the pile of food in the firelight until a huge, hairy hand reached and grabbed it by the shoulder and pulled it back into the shadows. They all backed away slowly until their eyes didn’t shine anymore, then they turned and shuffled off into the darkness.
Shotgun shouted at them as they left, “Thank you! Thank you! Goodbye!” Ray waved and blew kisses.
Shotgun walked over to the food gifts and looked at Ray. “Ray take that tether off your pistol, use it for a stringer for these fish. Put them in the creek, and we will have them for breakfast. This rabbit, I don’t know, it’s still a little early to be eatin’ rabbit, the weather ain’t cold enough. I thought it was too late for blackberries, but these look fresh. The bull needle seeds are prickly outside but inside is like a peanut kinda’, they’re good, I like ’em. I have no idea where this watermelon came from as we are miles, and miles, and miles from any watermelon patch or anyone’s garden. Nothin’ out here but forest and timber,” Shotgun rambled on in amazement. They ate the blackberries and tried to sleep. “Wow! I can’t believe what happened today! Do you think this crystal had anything to do with it?” he asked Ray as they gazed at the stars again.
Ray held out his hands, as though he was presenting the sky to Shotgun. “You’re right buddy, God’s in control!” Shotgun agreed with the gesture Ray had made. Sleep came, but it was a restless sleep. They tossed and turned and awoke at every sound. The sunlight was starting to fill the mountains, when Shotgun got up and pulled the fish from the creek. He wasn’t feeling well. He had a funny taste in his mouth and his stomach was doing flip flops. Ray got up and drank a gallon of water from the creek.
“I don’t feel too good, Ray,” Shotgun groaned. “I think I may have messed up; we shouldn’t have eaten the bear meat after I shot it with those tranquilizer darts. You’re not supposed to eat bear that’s been tranquilized until forty-five days to a year after they’ve been tranquilized. Ray was feeling woozy too, but they cleaned the fish and cooked them for breakfast. They ate the bull needle seeds and the watermelon while the fish cooked. After the meal, they felt a little better and began the long hike back to base camp. Several hours later, they were within two hundred yards of camp when Shotgun abruptly stopped.
“Listen Ray, I hear music!” Shotgun pointed toward base camp at Tombstone Mountain. “Let me have your pistol. If some meth head is in our camp, I’m going to shoot him in the kneecap!” Shotgun exclaimed as he began to walk faster. As they got closer, they could hear Merle Haggard singing Okie from Muskogee. They peeked through the brush at their camp. Shotgun breathed a sigh of relief and burst from the brush.
“What in the world are you doing here, Harold? I almost shot you!” Shotgun said.
“Well, hello to you, too,” Harold replied. “I was getting worried about you boys. We been here since about midnight last night,” Harold told them.
“I’m glad to see you, Harold, I just didn’t know who could be in our camp,” Shotgun explained as he handed Ray his pistol.
“We’ve been tracking a huge bear for two days,” Harold started to explain his presence there. “It all started when old man, Frank Dollins, saw a huge bear tear into his chicken pen one morning. You know old Frank; he lives like a hermit down on Little River at the sharp bend. He ran into his shack and grabbed his rifle. All he had was an old, black powder .54 caliber muzzle loader. He was out of lead for bullets, so he had cut a piece of rebar into three inches projectiles. He shot the bear but missed his mark and hit him in the gut. This bear went ‘kill crazy’ with a belly ache made of cold, rolled steel. He charged old Frank, but Frank jumped inside his old stock trailer and slammed the gate. The bear turned the trailer over but couldn’t get to Frank. The bear left roaring and growling with his gut full of iron. Next, he was spotted at Mr. Scott’s ranch a few hours later. He killed three of Mr. Scott’s yearlings and two steers. The next day he broke into the Vaughn’s goat pen and killed four goats that belonged to the FFA kids for their ag projects. A few hours later, he killed a horse on Jacobs’ meadows. He was last seen heading up Black Jack Mountain toward the old Military trail. That’s where my hounds picked up the trail. Everybody in the valley is in an uproar and looking for this bear. Folks are afraid to let their kids outside. All the ranchers pooled their money and are offering a three-thousand-dollar reward for whoever kills the bear. My dogs wouldn’t stop runnin’! I drove the loggin’ roads and trails, trying to listen and keep up with them. Then after a day and a half, I was tryin’ to call ‘em off. I parked on a log road south of K-Trial and tried to catch ‘em as they crossed, but they kept goin’. I followed ‘em for hours on foot ‘til we crossed over K-Trail and down Tombstone mountain. They came to your camp and stopped, I guess they smelt food or you and Ray. Anyway, they milled around your camp long enough for me to catch ‘em. I got ‘em chained under that big oak tree. They hadn’t slept or eat for a day and a half, almost two days. Their feet are sore and bleedin’, so they gotta’ rest—like it or not. I found a case of Vienna sausages in your supplies and divided it up to them. I’ll pay you for it. I cooked me up some of your victuals, too. They tracked the bear right through the middle of your camp. When I got here, everything was a mess, stuff scattered and strewn everywhere. I was worried about you boys. I didn’t see any blood, and I didn’t know which way to look for you. Figured ya’ll would show up sooner or later. I straightened up your camp and put things back where I thought they belonged. As bad as I need the money, I don’t think my dogs can go any further, whether they like it or not. You boys look tired, let me cook ya’ll something, it’s the least I can do. You got lucky, the bear didn’t touch your ice chest with the can biscuits, bacon and eggs in it. You boys sure know how to camp.”
While Harold was rambling on about the events of the last few days, Shotgun and Ray were looking at each other and listening. “I might see which dogs are in the best shape and try to pick up the trail again. Ya’ll ain’t gonna believe this, but everyone who saw this bear said it had to weigh eight hundred pounds. From the tracks I saw, I would agree with that. The size of those tracks was unbelievable, but I seen ‘em with my own eyes,” Harold rambled on.
Shotgun finally spoke up. “That bear is about six hours ahead of you, down Dead Mule Creek.”
“Ya’ll saw it?” Harold asked
“We killed it,” Shotgun said with no emotion.
“Bullshit!” Harold said. “You shittin’ me?”
“He’s dead, I shot him with three tranquilizer darts and blasted him in the face with a round of double-aught buck,” Shotgun explained, and then told the story about what happened. Ray sat on the ground nodding his head and smoking his pipe as the story unfolded. Harold was in awe of the whole situation.
“We’ve got to go get that bear!” Harold shouted when Shotgun finished telling the story.
“No way,” Shotgun said. “He’s in the narrows on Dead Mule Creek, a six-hour hike from here. We can go skin him with your help Harold, but we can’t pack him out, he’s too big and the trail’s too rough and steep. He’s the size of a cow! Besides you can’t eat the meat, it’s tainted with tranquilizer juice.”
“I think the Sasquatch was watching our camp when the bear came through and ransacked it. The bear either saw or smelled the little Sasquatch and started trailing him or chasing him. That’s my theory,” Shotgun said.
Harold was squatted by the campfire, sipping his coffee and staring into the flames. It was around one in the afternoon and the breakfast they had for dinner was filling and satisfying. Shotgun walked over to the radio and turned it down. He stood and listened with his finger to his lips as a sign for everyone to be quiet. After a few seconds he spoke, “Did ya’ll hear that?”
“Hear what?” Harold replied.
“Gun shots, a long ways off, further up K-Trail toward the old fire tower. Lots of gunshots,” Shotgun informed them. Ray was standing, looking toward the direction where the shots came from, holding his pipe in one hand and cupping his ear with the other. Ray nodded. His big ears were like radar, he could hear and see things that no one else could.
“We’re in the mountains, there is always gunfire here and there,” Harold said as he continued to stare into the fire and contemplate retrieving the bear carcass.
Shotgun put his hands on his hips and looked at Harold. “You numb skull, it’s October! Bow season starts and that was a lot of shots from at least three different guns!” Shotgun insisted.
“I know it’s bow season. I’d be huntin’ deer and bear right now, if I hadn’t been tryin’ to make some money by killing this bear,” Harold snapped back.
“Well it was a lot of gunfire all at one time, like someone was having a shootout or trying to kill something or somethings that were really big or fast,” Shotgun explained.
He was still thinking about the Sasquatch family that had brought them the food. His was immediately concerned that they might be the ones being shot or shot at. He had a whole new outlook on the creature that he had once intended to capture or harvest for science, fame and fortune. Ray climbed a huge, pine tree all the way to the top to try and listen for more shooting. He knew what Shotgun was thinking. As Ray sat in the tree, smoking his pipe and listening, Harold poked the fire and looked over at his pack of exhausted hounds that were all laying under a big, oak tree.
Harold walked over to the big, canvas tent and came out with six cans of Spam. “Put these on my tab too,” he told Shotgun as he opened the Spam and gave each dog a whole chunk, straight from the can. Harold tossed the empty cans into the trash bag and sat down by the fire. “I have an idea. I know you boys are tired. My dogs are worn out. It’s ten miles down K-Trail to the Indian highway. My truck is about three miles from the trailhead on a log road. Let me ride your scooter to get my truck. You boys stay here and rest. I’ll drive my truck back down to Little River and ask Jack Finley to bring me back in his 4-wheel drive pickup along with a small trailer. We’ll stop and load your scooter on the trailer and bring it back to you. I can put my dogs in his truck and get them back to my house. By the time I get back, it’s gonna be late. Jack can spend the night here with us and in the morning we can all go down to Dead Mule Creek and skin that bear. Jack won’t want any of the reward money, he’s always happy to help folks out. But I think we should give him somethin’ for his trouble. We can’t get up and down K-Trail without a 4×4 or your scooter, and your scooter can’t handle enough at one time,” Harold suggested.
“That’s fine with me, we can split the reward however you want,” Shotgun said.
“Well, you killed the bear, ya’ll should get the biggest cut,” Harold told him.
“Ok, me and Ray will take fifteen hundred dollars, and you and Jack split the rest,” Shotgun suggested as he laid back on his rolled sleeping bag and put his arm over his eyes.
“Sounds like a plan, I’m gonna get going. You boys take a nap and rest. I’ll be back as soon as I can. Give my dogs some water, please—that Spam’s a little salty,” Harold said as he mounted Shotgun’s scooter and fired it up.
Harold’s plan worked well. With Jack’s help and his 4×4 pickup, they transported dogs back to their home and the next morning the bear was skinned, and the head, hide and paws were retrieved for proof of the kill and collection of the reward. Jack brought his camera and took pictures before the giant beast was skinned. Shotgun and Ray posed behind the giant, holding their weapons, looking serious as Jack took pictures. Shotgun refused to sit on the beast as Jack suggested. “That would disrespect the bear. I killed him because I had to, but I do respect him. He was a magnificent animal,” said Shotgun.
. . .
It was a big ordeal in the Little River community when Shotgun and his entourage showed up at the store to show off their kill. They were treated like heroes, and when the local ranchers saw the size of the bear, they were more than happy to pay the reward.
“We found the piece of rebar stuck in his right rear, inner thigh. It went through his intestines but didn’t hit any vital organs. He had to be in a lot of pain. That’s why he was killing everything he met,” Harold told the crowd who had gathered to see and touch the famous beast.
“You gonna make you a rug outta’ that hide?” someone in the crowd asked Shotgun.
“I’m going to give Harold one paw with the claws and Jack one paw with the claws. I’m going to make a necklace for Ray, and one for me from the other claws and yes, a rug outta’ the hide,” Shotgun replied as he stood on the tailgate.
Ray still didn’t like to be near the dead bear. He sat on the cab of the truck, while the sightseers and well-wishers circled around to touch the bear and shake Shotgun’s hand.