Page 12 of The Landman: A Jeff Koehler Mystery (The Jeff Koehler Mystery)

“Oh, he’s a fairly new friend that lives in the Upper Peninsula near Bangate City,'' Eddie replied. “He wanted to come deer hunting, so I decided to be a good guy and invite him to camp.”

“Ok,'' said Grant, “I’m sure you explained the no-baiting and eight-point buck rules.”

“For sure,'' replied Eddie.

“Great, then this should work out fine.” Grant then returned to the truck to grab one more load of gear.

It wasn’t long before a Texas Hold ’em poker game started. The guys were playing with a maximum bet limit of $15. Eddie tried to raise the ante to $25, but most of the guys weren’t interested in higher stakes. “Come on, you wimps,” Eddie said. “Let’s make it fun and give guys a real chance to make some money.”

Turk was the only guy supporting Eddie’s request to raise the stakes, so they quickly dismissed his motion by majority rule. “We’re not all rich like you crypto guys,'' said Frenchie, and he insisted the bets remain at $15. “Eddie, if you really want to up the stakes, I’ll tell ya what I’ll do. Let’s play for each other’s truck. My truck against yours. The winner takes all! Are you in?”

“Not on your life Frenchie. My truck is worth $70k. Your truck is a piece of crap. You‘d have to pay me to drive that junker. Dream on, Frenchie.”

The spirited poker game lasted for about an hour when Mooch accidentally dropped his cards between his chair and Chet’s. A loud “BRAAAP” sound was unleashed as he bent down to retrieve his cards. Chet couldn’t hide the grin on his face when Mooch realized he had just been farted on.

Mooch gagged, recoiling from the foul odor, and smashed his head on the tabletop as he sat up. “What crawled up in your ass and died, Chet?” he asked, scowling.

“Buck Snort,” Chet quickly said. “Serves you right, Mooch. This is my revenge for you messing around on the property and screwing up my hunting tomorrow. Now we’re almost even. Burn it Down, Baby.”

As the game progressed, Grant got hot and emerged as the biggest winner of the night. The key moment arrived when he went all in on the last hand with a flush draw, and Eddie called with only a pair of 10s. Grant hit his flush on the river and easily beat Eddie’s pair. That allowed him to take down the biggest pot of the night before the game broke up.

Grant said, “It’s time to collect money from all you bums for the annual buck pool. As per our tradition, the winner will be the person who shoots the biggest buck during the first week of the season. The biggest buck will be determined by combining the number of points plus the outside spread of the antlers. Is everyone comfortable pitching in $20 per man for the pool?”

Elk corrected Grant by saying, “Last time I looked, I wasn’t a man, Grant, but you’re going to have to take my word on that. You really mean $20 per hunter, not per man.”

“Oh, you’re right, Elk. Forgive my chauvinistic tongue. Is everyone in for $20 per hunter?”

Eddie suggested $50 per hunter because he had confidence he would win the money. Again, Eddie’s suggestion got outvoted.

When Turk approached him, Grant stood outside, getting some gear out of his car. “Thanks Grant for you and your brothers allowing me to hunt with you this year.”

“No problem Turk. If Eddie is your friend, you’re definitely welcome here.”

“This is really a beautiful camp you guys have. How does the ownership thing work? Do all three of you brothers own a third?”

“Our father left it to all of us as tenants in common.”

“I’m curious. What’s a place like this worth in today’s market?” Turk inquired.

Grant’s internal radar turned on when Turk’s questions turned personal. He had no intention of discussing this subject with a total stranger. “Hey Turk, let’s talk about deer hunting and leave the ownership stuff for another time. Is that ok with you, or do you have some reason to want to know more?”

“No, that’s fine. I was just making conversation and admiring your camp. Let’s head inside, and I’ll pour you another beer.”

***

It’s a tradition in Northern Michigan that November 14th is a day people take road trips to visit neighboring camps. It’s the one time each year that almost everyone is around, even those living out of the area. That means it’s a perfect time to renew friendships, tell jokes, and revisit stories. Last year the Roads End crew made a long road trip that stopped at five camps. This year they decided to stay at their camp and see who came by for a visit. When the first visitors arrived, the Roads End crew had just finished a fabulous “Elk” dinner featuring venison steaks simmered in onions and mushrooms. The visitors hailed from the Black Hole club, whose camp sat about five miles west of Roads End.

Four members of the Black Hole group burst through the door, greeting the guys enthusiastically. Within minutes, a bottle emerged from a visitor’s coat, and they passed around shots of Jim Beam. They talked about the Michigan/MSU football game and drooled at the bucks Jeff captured in the picture poster. Chet felt no pain by the time the Black Hole gang arrived. He teased the members there were no deer on their land this year because the Roads End guys lured them all to their property. They decided to place a camp vs. camp wager on the biggest buck. The loser had to buy a keg of beer for the winning camp for next season. The Black Hole guys stayed about one hour and had just left when an old red pickup pulled up next to Elk’s truck.

An older man in his 70s slowly emerged from the rusted-out truck. His wrinkled face and hands told the story of a life lived hard. He wore coveralls, a blue flannel shirt, a John Deere cap, and leather boots that must have been new 15 years ago. Although his clothes were a bit dirty and his fingers looked like leather, he had a grin on his face that contradicted the rest of his appearance.

Jeff spoke up first and warmly greeted him. “Cyrus Campbell, I knew we could count on you to make your annual visit. It’s great to see ya. I hope your son Vince and wife Martha are doing well. You look great!”

“Well, Jeff, I’m still above ground, so I have nothing to complain about. Eddie, Mooch, Chet, Grant, Frenchie, Elk. It’s nice to be here again on the night before opening day. I think one of you will bag that huge buck this year. Make sure you send me a picture of it when you do.”

“Will do Cyrus, so you can count on seeing that big guy right next to me in that picture since I am the guy who will do it,” bragged Chet.”

“Well, I truly hope you do, Chet. Hasn’t it been over four years since you got a buck?”

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