The Game

It had been three weeks since the avalanche hit, and Cyrus Beverly was beginning to wish he had never met that drunk Irishman. The two men glared at each other, a cedar table being the only thing separating them. A bead of sweat fell from the brow of Cyrus. Kale Moore, the Irishman, had a look of determination in his eyes. He was not a man to back down from a fight. Cyrus had seen this when they first met all those years ago.

While drowning out some memories with the help of whiskey, which is the only real reason to drink the stuff, Cyrus heard a scuffle outside the small, mountain town saloon. If it weren’t for the liquid encouragement in his veins, that fight would have gone on ignored. Deep down, Cyrus knew that something had to be done. He grabbed his rifle and rushed outside to see that three men were beating on some poor fellow. Two of them held his arms, while the third took great pleasure in working his stomach. Anyone could see that this man got in a few licks of his own from the bruised and battered faces of his assailants.

Against his better judgment, Cyrus raised his gun towards the men. It didn’t take long to realize that they wanted no part of this. The attackers fled with their tails between their legs. Cyrus held out a helping hand to the injured stranger.

“Thanks, but ye didn’t have to do that.” His Gaelic accent combed through his thick black beard. Cyrus grabbed the man by his arm and hoisted him to his feet. The Irishman didn’t seem to weigh more than a bale of hay and smelled of a sour still.

“Sorry friend. When I saw them beating on you, I couldn’t just stand by and let you be outnumbered.”

“Outnumbered? Ha! I had those gobermouches right where I wanted them. I was just taking a breather from the whipping I gave them before ye showed up.”

Now, Cyrus looked Kale directly in the eyes and said: “Well, what’s it gonna to be, friend?” The word friend was a hard punctuation on his question. Cyrus had had it with him. He was tired of seeing that smirk on his face. This time things were going to end differently. Still smiling, Kale scribbled a note into his little black book. He slowly raised his eyes,

“Call.” He laid down his cards showing a Jack-high straight.

“Horse shit!” Cyrus threw his cards on the table. Kale let out a loud laugh before grabbing his leg in pain. Cyrus took notice of how roughly splinted it was. Old furs wrapped around broken limbs, he felt for his friend. These two had been through a lot over the years. They both liked to joke that fate cruelly stuck them together, but it had become truer recently. Placing the blame on anything, in particular, was hard. Was this an act of God? Had fate really cursed them to be snowed in together? Or was it the more likely factor of Kale’s stubbornness?

The accident had happened just a few weeks ago. It seemed like an eternity had gone by since then. The pair was struggling to find signs of any beaver. They had checked their traps with no luck, and there didn’t seem to be any tracks anywhere. This was starting to get frustrating. No beaver meant no furs to sell. No furs meant they would stay in debt to the Missouri Fur Company longer. It appeared something had spooked all the critters away. They must have sensed the storm blowing in and taken up shelter somewhere. Who could blame them?

It had been a harsh couple of days. The wind howled, and the snow seemed to come down in sheets. If it weren’t for their low running food supply, the men would have turned back at the first sign of bad weather. But, as fate would have it, Kale had seen the creature that haunted these woods. The beast in question was a buck that had eluded these trappers for years. It had the distinguishing marks of what the men started calling the Demon Deer. Kale had been determined to get him this time. It was for survival. It was for pride. Nothing was going to get in his way. Cyrus had wished they had never seen the deer in the first place.

Cyrus began to get up to check on the fire in the wood stove. The cabin they were in was sufficiently insulated. The men made sure of that having built it themselves before they decided to start working for the Missouri Fur Company in 1814. However, the snow had packed them in, and the heat was trying to escape from every exit it could find. Kale grabbed the cards and placed the deck on the table in front of him.

“Where do ye think yer going? It’s loser’s deal.” That smug look crossed his face.

“The fire needs tending to. You don’t want to freeze to death, do you?”

“Don’t be changing the subject. I’ve got me a hot streak going, and I ain't losing it. I aim to get me from under the company’s thumb. Deal.” With that said Kale lifted himself up using his rifle. He stuck the butt under his arm and limped over to stoke the fire. He was not one to ask anyone for help. Even a broken leg couldn’t keep him down. Cyrus respected that.

“I almost had him this time.” He winced at the pain in his leg as he sat back down. “Do ye remember the first time we saw that stupid pox?” He wiped the sweat from his forehead and started narrating his version of their first encounter as the cards were dealt in front of him. Cyrus remembered the day well.

It had been a rather warm winter day. The sun had melted a fair portion of the snow in the valley. Through the trees, the magnificent Rocky Mountains could be seen stretching across the horizon. If it hadn’t been for such a bright day, they might have never seen it. Out from behind the trees wandered a buck more massive than any they had ever seen in all their years as trappers.

The men crouched down slowly as Kale raised his rifle and took aim. The woods were surrounded by an eerie silence. The shallow breathing of the hunters and a faint rustling of grass as the deer ate were the only things heard at that moment. Kale took in a deep breath. The silent woods erupted with the blast from his firearm. It was hard to tell through the smoke, but it looked as if the animal had dropped to the ground. Cyrus was the first to stand and see that, in fact, the buck had been hit. As they approached the fallen creature, Kale was marveling at the size of his kill.

“Aye, this is gonna go down in history as the largest stag killed in these mountains. It takes a real keener to take a shot like that.” He had always had a sharp eye and was not shy to talk about it. Towards the end of his boasting, the deer began to move, startling the experienced hunters. It only took a few moments for the animal to be back upright. The buck towered over the men and glanced at his attackers, its face covered in blood. Quickly, it spun around and darted back into the thick of the woods. The forest was alive again. The men could no longer hear the deer in the distance. There was a small pool of blood where the animal had initially laid. Following the droplet path, Cyrus and Kale were led to a stream, where the trail went cold. They searched for over two hours. Kale insisted that it had to be close by, but they couldn’t find a single sign of it anywhere.

Around a year later, during the next hunting season, the Demon Deer was spotted once more. Again, it seemed to appear out of the trees from nowhere. Kale had been skinning that day’s kill when Cyrus spoke up.

“You’re never gonna believe this.”

“Yer actually gonna start helping? You know if I ran things…” Cyrus cut him off and pointed towards the woods. There was no mistaking its identity. It looked as though there was a long deep scar across its snout and eye. Kale’s ball had clipped it. Without thinking, Kale grabbed his gun and aimed it at the animals broad chest. Cyrus knelt down next to him, rifle primed and ready. The men looked as though they were steadying their shots for war. Kale let out a low breath and squeezed the trigger slowly. The stag stood there admirably tall as if to say, take your best shot. The bullet missed. There was a small explosion and splintering on a tree stump, to the right of the beast. Still, the deer stood proudly.

Cyrus stared in awe of this creature. It held itself in the line of fire, daring them to take another. Kale did a double take between Cyrus and the deer,

“What are ye waiting fer? Take the bloody shot!” The deer turned and started heading back into the forest. Cyrus fumbled to his senses just in time to fire off a round. This time, the shot landed. The buck’s head was flung forward, but it stayed standing. Slowly, the deer raised its head back up, and one of its antlers had been hit. Without looking back at the men, it dashed off into the woods. This time there was no sign of blood from the deer. Nothing that they could track. The only thing left was the Demon’s broken horn laying on the ground.

Cyrus finished dealing and started rubbing the antler that now hung from his neck. He needed all the luck he could get at the moment. Just one hand could get him back in the game. He held a pair of 9’s and 4’s. He placed his bet and Kale tallied it in his head. Of course, Kale dropped three 7’s on the table. Kale had been taking down each other's bets in that little black book of his. Chuckling each time he wrote down his winnings.

“That $100 ye owe me now.” His laugh was drowned out by a coughing fit. Cyrus’ stomach turned over on itself. He couldn’t tell if it was from the amount of money he just heard or that they hadn't had anything to eat for over a week now. Without saying a word, Kale grabbed the deck and started shuffling. It was the only thing that was keeping their mind out of their situation. The betting had begun innocently enough. A few cents here and there. The men could afford to lose a few pennies to keep their minds occupied. It wasn’t until their food ran out that the bets increased. The hungrier they got, the higher the stakes went. Cyrus knew they couldn’t afford this kind of betting, but Kale insisted on keeping track. He guessed a big payday was the only thing keeping the Irishman going.

Cyrus could hear his friend mumbling something about how he always thought of himself as a great poker player. The faint sounds of cards being shuffled had become the white noise of the cabin for the past week. It was oddly soothing. He glanced at the light snow falling outside the window and wondered if it would ever stop. Outside it seemed that the entire forest had been brought down by the avalanche. The only thing left standing was their cabin. Firmly grasping the antler in his hand, he cursed the Demon Deer under his breath.

Cyrus was following behind Kale as he trudged through the snow deeper into woods. Nothing was going to stop him from getting his kill. Every time the deer was seen, it was as if it were taunting the men to try again. Kale would not back down from a fight, especially one that threatened his pride. Not even the driving snow would slow him down. The wind whipped the tiny needles into the faces of the hunters. Kale continued to push forward. The Demon Deer could be seen wandering through the storm, occasionally looking back to see if the men were still following. This only fueled the fire alight under Kale.

Cyrus was cautiously following close behind. His mind battled with thoughts of retreating. There was the concern of their dwindling food supply. If they got snowed in, it would be days before they could go out to hunt again. If they didn’t make it back tonight, then there wouldn’t a tomorrow to be hungry. The snow stormed through his mind. It was getting darker out. They would have to navigate their way through this storm, back to the cabin, at night. Cyrus called out in vain. Either the blowing wind drowned out his cries or Kale’s mind had tuned everything else out. He thought of leaving Kale out to fend for himself. Why should he stay out and get killed because of his friend’s relentless nature? He had to protect himself. Finally, the decision was made to head for shelter alone, but it was too late. From up the mountain could be heard a faint rumbling.

Cyrus looked to his friend to see if this had any effect on him. His determination could be seen in the strides he was taking as he plowed through the blizzard. He was on the hunt of his life. Nothing else mattered. For a brief moment, Cyrus admired his courage. Or was it sheer stupidity? This thought wiped from his mind when the sound from up the mountain was accompanied by the woods around them shaking. Kale’s pace slowed. Before Cyrus could get his attention, both men looked up to see a wall of snow descending towards them, leveling anything in its path.

There wasn’t any time to make a decision. Kale had gotten too far ahead and Cyrus’ instinct to survive took over. He searched the small opening in the forest for a place to hunker down and saw a large boulder which looked as though it had a little overhang above it. With all the strength he had in his icy legs he pushed through the snow and dove for the rock. He couldn’t see Kale anywhere.

Cyrus screamed from under the stone barricade for his friend. The woods behind him could be heard snapping like bones. It only took a moment to look out, but Cyrus caught a glimpse of that crazy Irishman climbing a tree as fast as he could.

“I’ll be ridin’ this straight to Hell!” Kale belted out at the top of his lungs. That was the last thing Cyrus heard before the world went dark.

Outside the window, the snow had stopped. Kale was writing yet another win for himself. His chuckling was muffled by the sounds of each of their stomachs. It sounded as though they were both arguing which one was emptier. Kale started to get up from his chair. His uninjured leg wobbled, and he had to catch himself on the edge of the table. Cyrus jumped up to help him back upright. There was no argument from Kale this time. The men worked their way over to Kale’s cot and laid him down. Sweat patterned his forehead.

“I’m just gonna rest here a bit, then I’ll be going out to catch us some grub...” He tried to go on but was interrupted by another coughing fit.

“Where do ya think you’re going with that bum leg of yours? The snow seems to have stopped, and I’ll be heading out in the morning. Something had to have survived out there.”

“I won’t take no charity. I can still hold me own out there.” With that, he seemed to have passed out from the pain. The weakness in his voice was not something that Cyrus had heard before. He knew his friend was suffering a great deal. Both of them had been battered by this storm and hunger. Cyrus fought the pains in his stomach as he laid down on his cot. The antler hanging from his neck scratched his chest as he rolled over. The Demon Deer was his last thought before drifting off.

The next morning, Cyrus didn’t bother waking Kale. It was hard enough waking himself up. He grabbed his gear and flung his rifle over shoulder; the weight almost took him down. His body was weak. Gathering what strength his body could manage, he yanked the door open to be greeted by the cold and snow up to his chest. He had to dig himself out, once again.

Gradually, the world returned to focus. At least Cyrus thought he was back. It was dark and cold was all around him. It was hard to tell which way was up. As his vision returned, the overhang was the first thing he noticed. It had stopped the snow from burying him alive. He was in an igloo of sorts. Just then, the thought flashed through his mind like an oil fire. Kale. Somewhere above him, Kale was trapped. Before his vertigo faded, Cyrus began digging upwards. At least, he hoped it was up. The boulder being his only guide. It took several minutes to breach the surface. He wormed his way out and rolled onto the ground.

Cyrus got himself to his feet and marveled at the new terrain. Nothing looked familiar. Trees were down all around him, snapped from their stumps which now had been buried. The boulder, which sheltered him from the avalanche, barely breached the new landscape and the storm wasn’t letting up. The sky was fading to a dull orange. There wasn’t much time left. Doubts were starting to drip into his mind of ever finding his friend.

Cyrus searched until his limbs went numb. He would have to start heading back now if he wanted to make it before dark. Just then, he saw what looked like a tuft of hair sticking out of the ground. Cyrus plowed through the snow to start digging. It took seconds to realize what was buried there. It was Kale’s coonskin cap.

“He’s close by, he has to be.” Cyrus thought as he spun to look in every direction for anything familiar. The sun was beginning to set when he noticed one of the fallen trees looked as though it had a branch wrapped around it. Through the fading sunlight, it became clear that this was Kale’s arm. Cyrus looked as though he was swimming through the snow to get to his fallen friend. Thankfully, he wasn’t buried at all, but an alarming amount of blood had stained the snow around his legs. It seemed that the log had rolled over him and snapped his right leg like the tree itself. Cyrus pulled the unconscious Irishman from the grasp of the tree and hoisted him over his shoulders. By the time darkness had entirely set in, the shadowy outline of the cabin’s roof could be seen in the distance. Cyrus had to dig his way into the cabin. The snow had buried it up to the windows. Inside, Kale was brought over to his cot and Cyrus went to work splinting his leg with what he could find.

The sight of the valley was breathtaking. The storm had stopped, and the sun was beaming on the mountain range. The damage from the avalanche seemed to blend in with the landscape. It was like looking at an untouched wilderness, almost as if it were an alien world. If it hadn’t been for the unnerving silence, Cyrus would have thought this was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen. With what little strength he had in him, Cyrus set out to find food. It didn’t take long for the tired hunter to slow down. After over a mile of slogging through snow, the strength had all but been wiped from his body. He fought the urge to rest as the traps were being set.

Cyrus had thought he may not make it back to camp. Then from deep in what remained of the woods, the first sound broke the silence. It was something like scratching on a tree. Did the beavers come back? A small glimmer of hope returned to his cold bones. He found the tree where the noise was coming from. There were rough scratches on the bark. The experienced hunter rubbed the grooves and realized that they were much higher than any beaver could have reached. Large tracks could be seen around the tree.

“That Demon Deer is close by.” Cyrus heard himself say out loud. Again, the silence in the valley was broken by a rustling further in the forest. Slowly, Cyrus crept forward, ignoring the lightheadedness. He drew his gun from behind his back and snuck around each tree he saw, being careful not to make too much noise. Up in the distance, broken antlers could be seen through the branches. There was no mistaking it now. Cyrus got within range of the beast. It would move from tree to tree, but its movements were sluggish. The Demon seemed to be searching for something to eat. Not even this unholy creature came out unharmed by the blizzard.

Cyrus tried his best to steady his rifle. There wasn’t much strength left in his tired arms. The gun swayed as Cyrus tried to get ahold of his aim. Finally, the creature and the barrel stilled. Without hesitating, he pulled the trigger. The eruption from the gun sounded like an earthquake in this quiet valley. The beast before him dropped.

A surge of adrenaline exploded in Cyrus. His tired body shook with anticipation as he neared the fallen behemoth. The deer lay still. The hunter approached slowly and rested his hand on the buck’s side. Nothing. A victorious cry burst from his lungs. He had done it. The Demon of the Rockies was finally brought down, and now the men would feast. Cyrus cut up what he could carry, along with a souvenir, and headed back.

There wasn’t much activity back at the cabin. There was barely any smoke coming from the chimney, and Cyrus thought something might be wrong. He rushed inside to find that the fire had gone out and Kale was unconscious but still breathing. With a sigh of relief, he stoked the fire and started cooking the meat. The aroma of the venison filled the room. Cyrus cut off a few undercooked pieces to try. The taste only made his mouth water for more. He waited until the meat was tender before trying to coax Kale into eating something. After finally getting a few scraps down his throat, Cyrus went to work on his own meal. Nothing had ever tasted as good.

After a few more scraps were down, Kale was beginning to come around. “I’m not yer damned child. I can feed me own self.” Cyrus started to laugh. It started like popcorn, a few chuckles here and there before bursting into full laughter. “What’s so bloody funny?” Kale couldn’t help but smile as he chowed down on the meat. Cyrus didn’t answer. This was the first time he had felt that they were going to make it. That they would survive.

As they ate, the room seemed to grow warmer. The men’s aching stomachs soothed to a dull pain. Kale finally asked where all the meat came from.

“What could possibly have been out there for ye to hunt?” Cyrus didn’t say a word, he just reached from under the table and pulled out his souvenir; the antlers of the Demon Deer. Kale would have jumped to his feet if his crippled leg hadn't of stopped it. “Ya mean to tell me that ye finally got him?”

“It wasn’t easy, there is still a lot of the meat out there for me to get. I only carried back what I could this time, but I’ll head out in the morning to fetch the rest.” Cyrus’ pride welled up inside him. Kale didn’t seem to share the feeling.

“I’m glad that bastard got what he deserved.” His voice seemed fragile. Cyrus couldn’t tell if he sounded relieved or defeated. He just limped over to the table and began shuffling cards. They didn’t mention the buck again.

The cards shuffling no longer muffled the thoughts of their deaths but rather heightened the sense of escape. Kale perked up as the cards were dealt. It was if the last five minutes never happened. Cyrus looked at his cards expecting another shit hand, but four Kings were smiling back at him. He held onto his poker face, and Kale kept the bets coming. He seemed more aggressive with his betting this time but wasn’t fazed when the cards were laid on the table. It had to be a lucky round. However, Lady Luck was on his side until that little black book started weighing heavier in Cyrus’ favor. Outside, the snow was beginning to melt.

It took another week for the snow to melt enough to clear a path back into town and almost three days to make it back. The men had fashioned a sled out of their card table and some old furs. Cyrus drug his companion until they finally made it to the doctor in town, whom immediately splinted Kale’s leg the proper way. As time went by his leg healed. He was lucky to have saved the leg but was told he would have to walk with a cane for the rest of his life. The men went their separate ways soon after this. They never spoke of their time in the cabin together. The last thing they shared was a firm handshake.

Cyrus sat in the old cabin he knew so well, staring above the fireplace where the Demon’s horns now hung. It had been more than three years since he had survived the avalanche. He would come back to this cabin year after year and trap, just as he had done before the incident. It now seemed every season he was sinking deeper in debt to the Missouri Fur Company. But this is what he loved to do. It was who he was.

The morning sun had just begun to crest over the Rockies when Cyrus noticed something coming through the trees. The shadowy figure slowly worked its way closer to the cabin. He rushed to his rifle, swung the door open and took aim. A man wrapped in beautiful furs and a beaver felt top hat limped into view.

“Be that any way to treat an old friend?” Kale was almost unrecognizable without his thick black beard. Cyrus invited him in, and the two men sat by the fire. Kale explained how he had given up hunting the day the Demon of the Rockies had been killed. There wasn’t a hunt out there that could get his blood pumping that way. Instead, he broke away from the fur company that had employed them both to start his own. A relatively large company that even Cyrus had heard of; The Rocky Mountain Fur Company.

“Why not come work for an old pal?”

“You of all people should know how hard it is to get out from under the company’s thumb. You didn’t come all this way just to offer me a job did ya?”

“I see ye never replaced the table.” Kale motioned towards the empty space where it once sat.

“Why’d you really come back?”

“Poker.” That sly grin of his was much easier to see without his beard. He reached into his coat pocket and produced a large envelope wrapped in string and his little black book. Cyrus opened the book to see the scribblings of all the bets they had made. Inside the envelope was every dollar and cent Kale owed Cyrus. It was more than enough to pay his debts.