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Show Hunters Return With Deer, Tales; 270 Ducks Deported On Ice Already The deer are almost as big as the tales this year, if one is to believe local deer hunters. Like other deer seasons, this one and it's hardly started has had its share of big and little deer (mostly big), the deer just missed, the deer the hunters couldn't find; and, of course, the tales, many true, but probably most of them a hybrid blend of slight exaggeration and mild prevarication. The partners in Pink and Tony's argue that this is a good year for deer, with the bucks bigger and better than ever. There are so many deer coming in over 200 pounds that no one pays any attention to the large ones anymore. Up to date Pink and Tony have processed 170 deer. The Ashon cold storage plant reports it has handled about 100. A few tales that have spread around during he past few days are worth repeating, veracity almost al-most guaranteed. Perhaps the prize one of all is about the Roberts brothers, Don and Levi. For a week before be-fore that fateful Saturday, they practiced pitching a tent and setting-up camp in the back yard and got all that equipment ready for those cold mountains. Came Saturday, and the Roberts Rob-erts were up at the crack of dawn, "ready to get that. deer. One gun among two hunters promised a few uncertainties, but Don didn't object when Levi Le-vi grabbed the gun and strolled off down the trail. He had no more than left camp when he had his deer. Don then took charge of the gun while his brother was dressing out the carcass; only to come b a c k in a few minutes dragging a buck. Both bucks were killed within thirty minutes Then those exponents of me begins at 80," Charles. 82, and George Elliott, 79, packed up bright and early Monday and hit the trail with the comfortable comfor-table knowledge of plenty of sleeping equipment and lots of grub in the back of the station wagon. With a gun apiece, they managed to kill a deer each in an hour's time. Another good one is about Jack Redmond and his son, Clarence. These two didn't have the luck. After hours of futile hunting, they pitched camp and hustled up a snack. Right into the midst of a delicious repast stepped a stranger. Always hospitable, hos-pitable, the Redmonds invited him to dinner. Declining, the stranger did, however, accept a cup of coffee; but, after smacking smack-ing his lips and thanking his hosts, he then stepped out and very ungraciously shot a deer within 50 yards of the Redmond camp. One more, and enough is enough. J. W. Jackson, his son, William, of Provo, and son-in-law, John H. Chapman, of Or-em, Or-em, bagged three over the weekend, week-end, one apiece, averaging from 224 to 248 pounds. But is wasn't as simple as that Chapman has a story to tell: On the top of Blue Mountain, Moun-tain, east of Vernal, he put a couple of accurate shots in a buck's back. But when he reached reach-ed the deer, he found a scrap on his hands from a deer who had plenty of fight left. Under attack, he proceeded to break his gun stock and then bend the barrel over the deer's cranium. cran-ium. Finally he ended the fight by scoring a knock-out with a bullet from a supposedly useless rifle. But we forget the story about Bert Burgess exercising his "squatters rights," and the one Pete Hunt tells about the bucks that got away. |