Zacharoo: I did not kill that buck. The successful hunter was a neighbor in the little cowtown I was raised in. He was my Dad’s age or a little older. He normally did not go out on opening weekend of season. He would take off during the week and his wife would run their business.
Every since I was a little guy I recognized that he was a successful hunter, and he had a lot of tall Mule deer racks. I believe his rifle was a Model 141. He knew what he was doing when it came to buck hunting. His hunting partner was a little beagle hound. He hunted the nasty, rocky volcanic cones located North of Mt. Shasta. This country was beat to death by other hunters, but he would get out with his dog in the thick Mt. Mahogany, and Manzanita and kick bucks out of their beds. Most hunters would walk around the cones because of the big boulders, and thick brush. This is unlike the wide open Western Mule deer hunting that many visualize.
The Model 14/141 was the right rifle for this type of hunting, fast sight acquisition, and fast follow up shots.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mount_ShastaBroken legs and ankles are common fact of hunting these cones, and lava flows. I know of one hunter who broke an ankle two seasons in a role out there.
I was very interested in his rifle because of his success. I rather doubt it was ever fed reloads. Most of the bluing was worn off it, from a lot of carrying. Otherwise it was in good shape.
There was another old pump rifle belonging to an elder cowboy who rode the range in Southern Idaho, and worked ranches in California. He would set out in front of the store and I would spend time listening to his tails. His pump was a .35 Remington and because of its age I believe it was a Model 14. He did not drive, and would spend his days setting around sleeping or visiting. He loved to talk about deer hunting, but could not get out any more; He no longer owned a horse. I convinced my father to take him on a hunting trip. They camped on the middle slopes of Mt. Shasta, in below freezing weather. They did not get a deer, but enjoyed the hunt. I believe that was his last hunt.
Sometime after that I walked up to him on the bench he snoozed on. I knew that something was not right, he did not respond. He had passed away. Days later a friend of his showed up at our house with his Winchester 97, 12-guage. He had left it to me.
