THE LAST DEER by Ralph Bice 1973

This is a true story. It happened quite a few years ago and there are still a few around who remember that it did happen, though noone seems to be able to tell the exact year. Since both of these old people are long gone the time really does not matter. But it is somewhat unusual that way it happened. So I am going to tell it just as it was and even use the first names of the two people concerned though the lady had a very small part.

Harvey, the man I will tell about, came to this area some years before the railroad was built. The house and barn his father built or had built is still standing. Hattie, his wife, was born at Ravensworth and her family were there even before there was a road wide enough for real heavy vehicles. They lived in a small house just east of Kearney. There were no children.

I worked with Harvey in the saw mill at Kearney and later in different work in the woods. Though he was more my father’s age we were very good friends. As he grew older he developed arthritis or some such trouble and did not get around too much. I visited him at his house not as often as I should have and had many nice chats about early days.

One thing I noticed was that his rifle hung on pegs over the kitchen door. Jokingly I asked if he was still afraid of Indians and had it explained that in the early days the rifle was kept close to the door in case some animal appeared close by and it would be necessary or wise to shoot it. So the rifle with a few shells was always handy.

An Aside – Pioneer friend Henry Taylor whose family farmed the Conroy told me that once his father spied a deer in their garden. Readers should understand that there was no nearby grocery store and the garden provided many wholesome necessities. So, Henry’s father got his rifle and from the open doorway shot the deer. He said if the deer was going to eat their food then it was only right that they eat the deer.

On another note a father told me that he kept a gun handy because one time a red fox was headed towards his children who were playing in the yard in broad daylight. Sensing that this was not normal he shot the fox and sent it away for testing. Turns out it was rabid.

Harvey, like nearly all the early settlers, liked to go deer hunting in the fall and one of his deepest regrets was that his condition did not permit him to go with his usual crowd for the fall hunt. He was always so interested in the success of other parties and for weeks after the hunt he wanted to talk about deer.

This particular fall had been milder than most during the deer season. In fact the last morning of the hunt was more like a day in early October than mid November. When he first opened the door to enjoy some of the bright sunshine he perked up his ears and remarked to his wife that he could hear hounds running. Listening closer he said that they were headed for town and as he had hunted many times in that area he thought the deer would take water near the saw mill and cross the lake to the Jarvis Farm.

But the chase continued and he began to get excited. “Hattie,” he said, “it looks like the deer are crossing Harry White’s back field and will go behind the Catholic Church and might even cross near here, like they did years ago!”

So, he reached up while still standing in the doorway, took his rifle down, put a few shells in the magazine and got a real thrill as the dogs came closer. Then, as if it had been a planned script, out of the bit of woods at the edge of the little field, stepped a small buck that stood listening and watching for the dogs. One shot ended the hunt. And Harvey had his deer.

There were lots of friends to clean and cut up the deer and the two of them enjoyed many meals from this deer that had arrived so unexpectedly.

Harvey did not see another fall but I do know from talking to him that his last few months were made a lot brighter because of that deer. Coincidence? Luck? Just as things happen? Perhaps. But the fact remains that one thing Harvey wanted to do was to have a deer hunt and even shoot a deer and there are some of us with just enough Irish to think that it could be that the Deity or Being who sits away out there on the outer edge of beyond and sort of looks after the destiny of old woodsmen and hunters knew his wishes and planned it to happen just as it did.