GUIDING THE WEST

by Pembroke Sinclair

Brian leaned his six foot, two hundred and fifty pound frame over the hood of his 2000 red Chevy and brought the binoculars up to his eyes.  The sun was thirty minutes away from falling behind the mountains to his left and splashed orange and pink highlights into the sparsely clouded sky.  Streaks of faded green and dark brown rushed before him as he scanned the horizon.  A tan and white blob broke up the monotony and he stopped, turning the focusing wheel until he brought the animal into focus.  The antelope looked up and around briefly, chewing a mouthful, before ducking its head back down and getting more food.  He moved slowly and inspected the herd; most of the individuals were preparing to bed down for the night.  He found the large male he was looking for and focused his attention on it.  It was lying with its back toward him, unaware of the certain doom it would inevitably meet.  Brian brought the binoculars down and squinted into the distance.  The herd was nothing but tiny dots on the landscape.  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw dust rising from the road he had pulled off of and turned to his right to face the oncoming vehicle.  The cloud of dust reached him before the green Nissan rolled over the hill.  The tires skidded on the rocks as the truck stopped.  Placing his binoculars on the hood of his truck, he walked around the front end, keeping his eyes on the two men inside as he approached the driver's side of the vehicle.

“Can I help you two?”  He stood about four feet from the car with his hands in his pockets.

The driver was a thin man with a few days of stubble on his pale face.  He wore a faded Raiders ball cap that was pulled low over his brow with a few wisps of sandy blond hair poking out the bottom.  The passenger was just as thin but had a darker complexion.  He wore a new Wyoming Cowboys hat that sat too high on his head.  Brian noticed that both men's clothes were bright and freshly pressed, as if they had just bought them and put them on.  The driver smiled at him.

“No.  We're all right,” the driver said.  “We're just checking out the herd over there on the public land.”  He pointed toward the horizon, his hand resting on the top of the steering wheel.

Brian gazed briefly at where the man indicated before turning back to the truck with a sour expression on his face.  “There isn't any public land over there.”  He pulled a hand out of his pocket and waved at the landscape.  “Everything around here is private.”

The driver glanced at his passenger briefly.  “No, it's not.”  He pointed to the horizon again.  “The fence line is right there.  It separates the public from the private.”

Brian shook his head and shoved his hand back in his pocket.  “Fence lines don't mean anything around here.  You have a map sitting right there,” he nodded toward the folded paper sitting on the seat next to the man. 

The driver looked at his friend, again.  “What do you mean, the fence lines don't mean anything?  We were told they separate the public and private land.”

Brian furrowed his brow.  “In some places.  But out here, they don't mean anything.  A lot of these ranchers buy grazing rights from the BLM and put up fences to secure their herds, or they put it up on their own land to separate different grazing fields.  The only time fences really mean anything is when the land is all private, not a mix of BLM, State, and private like here.  Again, you have a map.  If you look at it, it will tell you exactly where the public and private land is.  Orange is BLM, blue state, and white private.  Now, if you don't have any business here, you're trespassing on private property.”

The sun had started to creep behind the horizon and a gray veil covered the landscape.  The driver picked up the folded map and barely glanced at it before setting it back down.  “Is there public land over there?”  He pointed over Brian's head.

Without turning around Brian nodded.  “Yeah.  And I suggest that is where you focus your hunt.  I don't want to be an asshole, but if I see you two over here again, I will call the sheriff.”

The driver fumbled to put his truck in gear.  “Oh, we don't want no trouble.  We're sorry.  We just got turned around.  You won't see us again.”  He backed the truck up and made a three point turn to head back the way he came.

Brian stepped back to his vehicle to avoid being covered in dust and watched until the men were out of sight.  Night crept in as he grabbed his binoculars off the hood of the truck and climbed into the cab.  Shaking his head, he turned the key and sped off toward camp.

The fire was already blazing high in the middle of the open roofed cabin and the other guides were sitting around the flame.  Brian stopped by the mess tent and grabbed a plate of steak and potatoes before making his way to his chair next to the ring of men.  He nodded at the other men, who acknowledged him before turning back to their own food.  They had just finished their meal when a voice boomed a “Hello” through the cabin.  Brian looked over his shoulder and immediately noticed the familiar green coat and pants of a game warden.

“Hello, Bill,” Brian offered the man his hand, who shook it firmly, then motioned for him to sit.

Bill managed his portly frame into the folding chair next to Brian and sighed.  He smiled as he took off his green cap with the pronghorn emblem and placed it on his knee.  A distinct line started at the corner of Bill's eyes and separated his white forehead from his red, wind-burned cheeks.  He unzipped his jacket about half way and exposed the red shirt underneath.  He stared at the fire for a long moment before speaking.

“How's everything going?”  His voice was low and rumbled with bass.

Brian shrugged.  “Not bad.  Tips could be a little better.”

“I got a call from the sheriff's department to keep my eyes open for a green Nissan.  Apparently it's been trespassing on deeded land.”

Brian nodded.  “Yeah.  The driver said they were watching the herd on the public land.  When I told him there wasn't any public land over there, he looked at me like I had lost my mind.  He said, 'but the fence is right over there.'”  Brian shook his head.  “The dumb bastard had a map sitting right next to him on the seat.  God, it pisses me off when they do that.  I don't understand why these tourists feel like they can bend the rules or just plain ignore them.”

“Did they look suspicious?  Any worries they might try and shoot an animal up there?”

Brian shook his head.  “I didn't see any guns in the vehicle, though they did say they were following a herd.  They had a map sitting right next to them on their seat but were confused about where the public and private land was.  I know sometimes it's iffy, but they were in the middle of a big white section.  It irritated me, but they didn't cause any trouble and turned around when I told them to, so I didn't really think too much about it.  We'll keep our eyes open.”

Bill nodded and grabbed his hat.  “I would appreciate it.  You know how to get ahold of me or the sheriff if you need us.”  He settled his frame deeper into the chair and pulled the hat down on his head.  “Any new stories?”

Brian chuckled and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.  “You're never gonna believe this one.  Last week, Chuck and I had these clients from New York.  They were friends, so we decided to keep them close together and take them to the same area to hunt for elk.  Chuck had two and I had this one guy.  He wasn't bad.  Really nice, liked to talk.  Anyway, we're tracking these animals on private land and see a huge herd down in this ravine.  Chuck had already filled his clients, and mine was still looking for a shot, so Chuck and I decide that our best chance will be to try and work them out the other side.  He takes his guys and moves around behind the herd while I take my guy and head toward the end of the ravine.  We get in position, pretty much right across from one another and wait.  We're crouched down, laying on our bellies, when one of the elk steps on a branch.”  He stopped to laugh.  “Then clear as day I hear from across the ravine 'Hey, I think they're down there.'  I brought up my binoculars and watched Chuck shake his head and signal for his guy to be quiet.  Needless to say, we didn't get an elk that day.”

Bill laughed with the other men.  “I don't know how you do it.  I probably would have smacked the guy along side the head.”

Brian shrugged.  “If it had been my shot, I would've.”

The other men nodded their agreement.  They spent the rest of the evening talking about the animals they had scoped earlier and the clients coming in the next day.  By eight, Brian was struggling to keep his eyes open, so he bade his comrades goodnight and made the trek to the guide house and crawled into bed.

The next morning, he was back up at the main cabin with the other guides before the sun was up.  The purr of diesel engines filled the background and a stiff wind blew down from the open roof, swirling the flames in the pit.  Brian ducked his head into his coat collar and tried to protect his cheeks from the pinpricks of cold.  He shoved his right hand as deep as possible into his pocket and cradled a cup of coffee in his left.  He nodded at the other guides as they entered the room.  No one spoke until they had finished their first cup of coffee, then it was to say goodbye as they piled into their trucks and headed out to pick up their clients.  Brian was the only one who hung back; he didn't have any hunters coming in.  He finished his cup of coffee, did some chores around camp, then decided to drive around the property, checking out what herds were in the area.

At noon, he was about a mile from camp when movement caught the corner of his eye.  He glanced out the window to his left and skidded to a stop on the side of the road.  He grabbed his .45-caliber pistol and clipped it onto his belt as he stepped out of the truck.  The wind howled around his cheeks and ears and he ducked his head into the top of his coat collar as he made his way across the dirt road and walked for twenty yards across the flat, sagebrush covered land.  The ground crunched under his boot and he inadvertently kicked a rock, causing the magpies and crows that had gathered over the carcass to scatter into the sky.  Brian stopped and placed his hands on his hips, shaking his head.  He grabbed the radio affixed to the right side of his belt and tuned the channel to the Fish and Game frequency.

“Bill, ya there?”  He held the speaker close so the wind didn't distort his voice.

The static clicked and he heard Bill respond.  Brian continued, “I need you to meet me, I think our friends in the Nissan finally struck.”  He gave him the GPS coordinates then re-attached the radio to his belt.  Looking down at the dead antelope, he felt the heat rise in his chest.  He scanned the horizon, hoping he would see the two men returning for their kill.  He crouched next to the animal and waited.

Thirty minutes after finding the kill, Bill met him in the desert.  Huffing from the hike and the wind, he took off his hat and slapped it against his thigh.  “Sons of bitches,” he muttered, almost inaudibly.  “We have hunting regs for a reason.”

Brian pointed at the ground and Bill's eyes fell upon the distinct trail of crushed plants and disturbed sand.  “I followed the mark back to the initial kill site,” Brian rose from the ground as he spoke.  “They found a fence that separated private from public land fifty yards over there,” he pointed to the horizon, “and drug the animal under it to here.”  He placed his hands on his hips.

Bill placed his hat back on his head and stared off to his right, scanning for the kill site he couldn't see from his vantage point.  After a few moments, his gaze dropped to the animal at his feet and he bent down, fishing for something in its ear; he pulled out a shell casing and smiled.  “Lucky for us,” he pulled a rolled up piece of paper out of the shell, “our boys aren't that smart.” 

Brian pushed his eyebrows together and stepped forward to get a better look at the paper Bill was unrolling.  He smiled when he realized it was their tag.

Bill rolled it back up, stuck it in the case, then placed it in his pocket.  “There's nothing else you can do, Brian.  I got my boys coming out and we're opening an investigation.  I'll let you know what happens.”

Brian nodded and headed back toward his truck.  He slammed the door and threw his sidearm on the seat.  Throwing his truck into gear, he threw rocks and dirt as he headed back to camp, cursing under his breath.  He shook his head, “Looks like they finally learned how to read their map.”