A Visit to an Old Friend

The brown hair is now thin and gray. And he's not ramrod straight and slim anymore but he's still my shipmate from the Vietnam era. Clad in a plaid shirt and faded jeans he holds a .22 Hornet rifle.  " I brought home lotta deer with this gun," he says in a low voice. Kenny never spoke in a loud voice. He held the little rifle with the scratched and dinged stock a few minutes  and  then gently placed the gun in it's place and retrieved another. Then then handed me a rifle with a telescopic sight. It was a beautiful example of the gunsmith's art. The American walnut gunstock was checkered elegantly. There was not a scratch on the wood or metal parts of the gun.  "I bought this Ruger at a good price. This guy I knew was having a little money trouble and offered it to me for two hundred dollars. It was almost brand new. I bought it right away. It was a great deal," he said. He spoke matter-of-factly. Kenny always spoke in what could be described a quiet semi-monotone.

"Nice gun," I said caressing the fine sporting arm, feeling the weight  and imagining seeing a big bull elk or buck in the sights.

He continued.  "Yeah, it 's a nice gun. But I can't forget the first time I hunted with it. When I got it, I took it out to the range and adjusted the sights.  It was about the third day of deer season in November before the early snow when I got to hunt with it. I was watching this path where I had seen deer before. A big hemlock was providing me with cover, when I saw movement behind some small trees. A few minutes later a small doe entered the clearing. She stopped. I eased the safety off that rifle."  He nodded toward the gun in my hands and continued.  "I pulled the trigger and all I heard was "click!" I ejected the cartridge and slammed the bolt home ramming another cartridge into the chamber. The little doe was sniffing the air. The rifle misfired again. I ejected the cartridge and loaded another. But  she was gone. Once I got back to the house, I put up a target on the side of the barn. The rifle performed perfectly."

"What did you do then?" I asked as I slammed the action closed.

"I went back the next day. I opened a new box of cartridges and took those with me.  The big hemlock provided the perfect place for me to hide just as before. The first snowflakes of winter appeared. Snow has never kept me from hunting. Would you believe it ! The same thing happened again. It even looked like the same little doe. I was really pissed. I couldn't believe it. I wished  I had carried the little .22 Hornet. It always brought the deer down. When I got back to the house I went down to the barn an put two more shots in the target on the side of the barn. I was desperate and carried the gun down to Mack's Sporting  Goods and he shipped it off to Ruger.  Ruger had made the gun."

"Did Ruger fix it?" I wanted to know.

"They said some little spring was bent or something. I had to make sure it was fixed though. As soon as I could I went back to where I saw the little doe. It was now early December and the clouds were low and there was about four inches of snow on the ground. The brilliant crimson color of the sugar maples was gone. The hardwoods didn't have any leaves on 'em and their tree trunks were stark and motionless. The quietness was almost deafening. I was sure that if a snowflake had fallen I would have heard it hit the ground. The temperature was falling as the light was waning.  It would soon be dark. There was a little tickling in my throat. Lately I had been plagued by a hacking cough proceeded by a tickling in my throat. Now was not the time to cough. I had sat there about three hours when I saw some movement behind some  small birches. Pretty soon a deer walked into the clearing but it wasn't the little doe. It was a big  eight point buck. That was his rack I showed you in the garage," he said  and the corners of his mouth turned up a bit.  That was about as close a Kenny ever got to a smile.

I remembered the antlers with the skull attached.  There must have been well over a foot between the tines.

"I couldn't believe it but that guy knew about the problem with the gun when he sold it to me. It kind of pissed me off but I did get a good rifle cheap. Ruger didn't charge anything to fix it either.  I guess they didn't want to admit they made a gun with a defect."

It was great visiting Kenny and his mate. You know your friendship is genuine when you can pick up a conversation just where you left it fifty years before.