About a mile and a half west of my check station, you hit the rocky hills of the Continental Divide. It is common to have someone shooting in the draws over there, sighting in their rifles against the rock walls. It is a wide open flat, so you can see their vehicles, and usually hear each shot.

Quite a few hunters stopped at the check station have flinched when they hear the not-so-distant bangs.

The draws are always busy on weekends at this time of year. And there are a few antelope on the flat between me and the range that are quite used to the vehicles and the sounds of gunfire.

The shots seemed unusually loud Sunday afternoon, and I noticed a vehicle on the flats, not in the draws.

With something blaze orange riding in the back of the truck.

Riding in the back of a pickup is not smart, especially in the country. But hunting from the vehicle is illegal. I quickly threw the spotting scope on the window, and began to watch.

Heat waves were terrible, but I could clearly see two people in orange in the back. The truck was creeping up on the nice buck that accompanies this small herd of does.

Got on the radio, calling for a game warden.

One is in town, near neither a phone or a radio. The other is 27 miles away.

Par for the course. Never one close when you need one.

As I'm talking on the radio, I see a huge puff of dust far behind the antelope. A few seconds later, the report of the gun arrives.

And the truck immediately begins hauling ass for town. Their road takes them over the hills and straight into town, just a half mile from my station.

Decision time.

I whip out of my pullout and race to town.

I win. Caught them at the mailboxes.

Young couple in the cab with a baby, and two young kids decked out in orange in the back.

She's the passenger, and she's the one with the antelope license. Paperwork is all in order, and she's wearing orange, holding the rifle.

Sometimes the direct approach is the best. I simply ask her if she got out of the truck to shoot.

Yes.

I believe her. The driver's side was facing the check station, so I would never have seen if the passenger got out and back in. I was watching the people in back.

Why the race to town?

They used up all her ammo on the range, so she had tried his gun on the antelope. Hence the big miss on the buck. So they sped home to get more bullets for her gun.

Oookay. Sorry to bother you. Kids in the back waved as I left.

Went back to check station. About thirty minutes later, they were back on the flat, "sneaking" up on the buck again.

Didn't get to watch her hunt. Too busy with incoming traffic.

But about an hour before sunrise, they came out from town to let me check and age her buck.

They didn't have to. A nice gesture on their part.

She was still excited, almost glowing. Definite adrenalin flush. Nice buck, clean shot. Tag properly filled out.

Husband was already weeks ahead, asking questions about deer seasons.

Baby was fussing.

I have two signs out on the highway. The first tells folks what type of check station is ahead. The second specifically says all hunters must stop.

But every so often I get a trucker who is half asleep and not paying attention who sees the words "Check Station Ahead" and slams on his brakes.

And rolls his big rig in.

Had two this weekend. Both a little sheepish that they weren't alert enough to read the signs. And relieved that I wasn't really a highway check point. Some in the past have been down right pissed.

Had four nonresidents that were in and out several times over the weekend, all hunting for "big" bucks. They picked the wrong year for that.

Came out Sunday, headed for home. Driver, apparently embarassed by the average sizes of the last three bucks they just took, commented they "had to get home, so they just settled on these."

I responded that it's pretty terrible when hunting turns into a chore.

Wife came out and rescued the heeler sisters from their boredom around 17:00. So now I was bored. Warden noticed my predicament, and stopped by a little later with heeler sisters' sister. And left her with me for a couple hours while she went afield.

Heeler sisters' sister has a half mask, like their mother.

She was nervous about being abandoned, and didn't really enjoy the visit. Even though she was my favorite when we were raising them. That's a heeler for ya.

Other warden stopped by near dark and observantly did not notice the different dog, even while petting it. Just wondered where the "mean heeler" was (little maskless heeler once grabbed his arm...I'm sure he deserved it).

Both wardens hung around after dark, just to see what might come in. One was joined by a mutual friend, who had been sighting in her 30-30.

It was her grandmother's gun. 1927 model. Lever action, like in The Rifleman.

The action was polished smooth, not from care but from heavy, regular use. Grandma was a rancher, and this gun was used often. By the wear, I suspect it was worn smooth in a scabbard. Mostly used while horseback.

Perfectly balanced, lovely old weapon. Peep sights only.

She has lived here her whole life, hunting almost all of it, and never killed an antelope.

This year she was lucky enough to draw a license. Her first antelope will be taken with her grandmother's gun.

Cool.