Bragging Rights
Short Story
by Kenneth M. Kapp
Kel hurried Daryl along the deer trail that cut across
a corner of the Chequamegon National Forest in north central Wisconsin. “We put
the first one up five years ago. It’s was my uncle Zeke who figured it out –
start to finish. Took a lot of cooperation on the part of the critters but you
know what they say about ‘United We Stand.’”
“Yeh,” Daryl chuckled, stopping to rub an itchy antler
on a convenient tree, “standing united on all four legs.” Then he became
serious. “I seem to remember, it’s up ahead!”
It was Kel’s turn to laugh. “You would say ‘head’ –
it’s a beauty. You know it was Zeke who figured out how to get the squirrels in
on the game. Started a raffle, an acorn apiece. Grand Prize – skull mounted in the tree with your
nest. No one’s going to mess with any squirrel in that tree!”
“How did he get that trophy in the first place?”
Kel coughed, stomped the ground to get his breath
back. “That was easy. Hunting ‘accident.’ Word out was one hunter was boffing another’s
wife. They were supposedly good friends. Never should have gone hunting
together but who knew? Clean shot though. Zeke had one of the black bears twist
the head off, put it out for the crows to pick clean, best parts inside were
cleared out by a pair of escaped minks. No love lost there. The way they’re
raised by people shouldn’t be allowed. Zeke told me it was a ‘righteous
eat!’”
“And there was no search for the body, sans tête? Daryl’s antlers
occasionally picked up a French station from Canada and he was always showing
off.
“Initially, but it was a lean fall and there were some
very hungry coyotes. We’re almost there, just beyond those firs. But to answer
your question, no, the coyotes buried the bones so they’d have something to eat
come winter. The next season my cousin heard another hunting party talking
about the kill and how the surviving friend got divorced, became a vegetarian,
and moved out of state. Said it was some kind of trifecta.”
Kel stopped. “There he be, Daryl. This time of the
year the setting sun hits the skull full-on about 5. Zeke said that when it was
first put up some of the herd thought it was smiling. But the lower jaw dropped
off and now you can’t tell.
“If we hustle, we can get to the grove when the sun
sets. It’s the initiation place for The Society of Elken Equilizers.”
When Daryl looked puzzled, he added, “I’ll explain when we get there. You’ve
probably heard them called S.E.Ers. from the initials.”
Kel picked up the pace. They crossed a fire road and
walked quickly for a minute down another then jumped a ditch and up the other
side, continuing on another deer trail that cut back into the woods. Five
minutes later they approached a grove of aspen. Kel slowed down and reverentially
trod his way through to the clearing on the other side. Daryl followed
silently.
Kel turned around and bent his forelegs. Four
identical young trees had skulls atop their central leaders. Daryl followed his
gaze; his jaw dropped when he saw the skulls riding high on the crowns of the
trees. A hoarse whisper escaped his lips. “Oh my goodness.”
Kel snorted. “I understand; you never get used to it.
I’ve been here dozens of times and still find it overwhelming. That was the time
it was meat for the deers rather than the other way around. Then there was all
hell to pay. Zeke had to get out of town after his picture showed up on a
farm’s trail cam less than a mile from where they found the hunters’ car
crashed around a sharp turn in the road.”
They stood silently until Daryl finally asked about the
skulls. “Was it Zeke that killed them? I mean, they were all armed, probably
itching to shoot anything on four feet that moved.’
“Oh, it was Zeke, all right. Told you he was smart.
Knew that by the time the sun set most of these hunters were six sails to the
wind – never understood that one – just means that after dark most hunters are good
and drunk. But even if they shouldn’t be shooting, they see a big buck when
they’re driving back to their camp, they’ll pull off the road and take a couple
of shots hoping to get lucky. Heck, some roll down the window and start
shooting without stopping the car.”
“But that’s doubly illegal, hunting after dark and
shooting from a car!”
“Yup, that’s what made Zeke so mad. He had an idea.
Said he got it after reading about the Indonesian shadow plays. He set up a
large log around a sharp turn in the road. Front end sticking out of the trees,
ten feet back. He stuck branches on the front to look like antlers if you came
up fast. And then he waits up on the opposite side where there’s an outcrop. Sees
a car coming or gets the signal from a lookout down the road, I forget which,
and at the right moment he rolls a large stump down the hill. Driver doesn’t
have time to think. Boom – into the ditch.”
Daryl started to whistle taps. When he stopped, he asked,
“Still, how did they ID Zeke?
“Another cam, this time on one of the hunters. The hunter’s
body cam was either on or it got bumped on in the crash. Go figure. Anyhow,
they put a bounty on Zeke. He had a broken antler then. Other trail cameras
marked his territory, But still it took two years plus to get him. Really,
people should thank us – helping thin the herd of the dumb ones.”
Daryl smiled. “Going to take a while – the thinning.”
“You could say so. Still, must have been a smart one
that got Zeke.”
Kel coughed into his hoof. “You could say so. But I
heard some of his cousins say that if you come here on a moonless night you can
hear Zeke rallying the troops. But I think that it’s him, puffing his chest
out, claiming all the bragging rights are his.”
Daryl hung his head. Waited silently for two minutes
in case Kel had something to add. Then cleared his throat and said nervously,
“I heard that they got him last year. There’s talk about building a memorial
museum in his honour.”
Kel ignored his remarks. “You know, the joke’s on the
people that shot him if they ever try mounting his head. Zeke showed me how he
practiced skewing his eyes and muscles in his face. He planned to do that if he
was ever shot, claiming his face would eventually twist so he’d be looking out
cross-eyed. Now that’s the Zeke I remember. No question the bragging rights are
his.”
This story appeared 10/1/23 in the Dead Mule School of Southern Literature
Kenneth M. Kapp was a Professor of
Mathematics, a ceramicist, a welder, an IBMer, and yoga teacher. He lives with
his wife in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, writing late at night in his man-cave. He
enjoys chamber music and mysteries. He was a homebrewer for more than 50 years
and runs whitewater rivers on the foam that's left. His essays appear online in
www.havokjournal.com and articles in www.shepherdexpress.com.
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