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Truly, the buck was one of the most beautiful creatures Albert Mason had ever seen. It moved calmly through the forest, proud and majestic with great antlers like a crown atop its head. Albert began setting up his camera at once. Anyone who laid eyes on this buck would understand Albert’s mission at once, why the beauty of the American wilderness and the creatures that lived there deserved preservation.
The buck, for its part, seemed determined to pose for the most striking image that could be done. It stood at the top of a small ridge, one hoof raised as it gazed into the distance. The white-and-brown spotted pattern of its coat shone brilliantly with the looming peak of Mount Shann behind it, intensified by the dark, ominous clouds above.
Albert had just finished the configurations on his camera when the first raindrop hit the brim of his hat .
A few more raindrops followed, then more, and more. The buck lifted its head towards the sky before bounding off towards the mountain, while Albert cursed and hurried to pack up his camera.
By the time the downpour started in earnest, Albert had scrambled to shelter beneath an evergreen tree. Damp earth soaked into his trousers, needles poked him from all sides, and raindrops continued to drip through the branches onto his head. He took off his hat to shake it dry. Another cold raindrop fell right onto the back of his neck and slid down the collar of his shirt like a blade of ice down his spine.
At the sound of hoofbeats behind him, Albert sighed in defeat. It was just his rotten luck, that he would turn around and that gorgeous buck would be back and posing like the finest model.
When Albert turned to look at the creature, though, he found not a buck - but the familiar and welcome sight of Mister Arthur Morgan.
“Oh!” Albert cried, “Hello there!”
“That you, Mister Mason?” Arthur called back. Dressed in an oiled leather jacket and hat, raindrops slid off him like the back of a duck. He looked entirely at ease, as well-suited to the forest as that buck was.
Reluctant as Albert was to leave the shelter of the tree, the compulsion of politeness took over when Arthur dismounted his horse, and Albert leapt to his feet to shake Arthur’s hand. “I cannot say how glad I am to see you.”
“Looks like you got yourself into some trouble out here,” Arthur said, squeezing Albert’s icy fingers in his warm palm.
“Erm, you could say that…” Albert could not have looked more foolish, soaked and shivering and cold, but if he were not mistaken, that was fondness on Arthur’s face.
“You staying somewhere around here?”
Albert motioned to the branches he’d been sheltering under. “Well, at the moment, I’m staying beneath this tree until the rain lets up.”
Close as they were, Albert noticed the tiny creases that formed at the corners of Arthur’s eyes when he smiled. “I see that. C’mon with me, I know a place not too far from here, and it’s a little drier than your current accommodations.”
There was a small cabin nearby, abandoned but in good condition. Arthur said he used it sometimes while travelling through the area. Wood was already chopped by the stove and soon a fire warmed the damp air and cold travellers. Albert was soaked to the skin, and Arthur, ever the gentleman, offered a jacket and a blanket for Albert to wrap himself in while his clothing and underthings hung by the fire to dry.
“I must thank you again,” Albert said, earnestly.
Arthur shrugged, in that same way he always dismissed Albert’s gratitude. “Weren’t nothing. Bit of rain like this never hurt nobody.” There was a smile on his face again as he leaned in and raised an eyebrow at Albert. “Unlike those wolves, bears, and cougars you’re determined to feed yourself to. Seen any new ones?”
Holding the jacket closed around himself, Albert reached into his camera bag, which was blessedly dry inside. He pulled out a print of his latest work and offered it to Arthur, whose grin grew wider when he saw the photograph’s subject.
“Bunny rabbits!” he said.
“They’re quite remarkable creatures,” Albert insisted. Rabbits may not be among the ferocious predators he set out to photograph when this all started, but the more wildlife Albert saw, the more his vision expanded to all the beautiful creatures this country had to offer.
Arthur handed the photograph back. “I feel better knowing this is what you’ve been chasing when I’m not around,” he said with a chuckle, “What were you after today, out there in the rain like that?”
Recalling the majestic creature he’d seen just before the rain started, Albert laid a hand upon his chest. “Oh, Mister Morgan… if only I could have got a photograph of it - even a blurry shot, to prove that it was real...”
“... So what was it?”
“A buck. The most magnificent I’ve ever seen. Tall, and proud, and noble. You could just see the great wisdom in its eyes…”
Arthur made a small, amused sound behind his hand, and Albert’s face fell.
“You think I’m being foolish,” Albert guessed.
“No, no,” Arthur said, which sounded rather like yes, “I’ve just never seen any buck with ‘wisdom in its eyes’.”
“Oh, but you would have, had you seen this one.” That ever-present fondness remained on Arthur’s face despite his apparent amusement atAlbert’s foolish nature, so Albert went on. “A creature like that, it was like something out of a legend...”
That caught Arthur’s attention. “A legend, huh...” He reached for his satchel. Inside, Albert briefly saw a leather bound book that made him terribly curious, but the document Arthur pulled out was a map.
“A friend gave this to me,” Arthur explained as he held it up for both of them to see.
Legendary Animals of the Southern United States of America was printed at the top. The charmingly illustrated map showed over a dozen of the so-called legendary creatures at various locations across the states. In West Elizabeth, Albert’s eyes found a buck near Mount Shann, spotted just like the one he’d seen. So it hadn’t just been a figment of his imagination... There were other legendary animals nearby; a coyote, a buffalo, a ram, that Albert could capture in his photographs as well. His mind was spinning with possibilities.
“Oh, but you’ve already seen the bear!” Albert cried happily, when he noticed that an x had been drawn through the bear in Grizzlies East. He turned to Arthur, eyes sparkling. “What was it doing? Was it quite large?” He barely managed to catch the edge of the jacket and pull it back up before it slipped off his shoulders while his arms flapped about excitedly. “And I suppose it must be an old beast to be legendary, perhaps it was even a little grey around the edges, oh, tell me, what color was it’s coat?”
For a moment, Arthur seemed dazzled and unable to respond to the bombardment of questions, before he chuckled. “Well, for it’s coat, have a look for yourself. You’re wearing it.”
Albert looked down at the jacket around his shoulders, black leather with fur trim. The fur was a soft brown, he noticed, with a few slashes through it like the animal had been injured before its death.
“This is… this is its pelt,” he realized, nausea rising in his throat. The jacket was made from the legendary bear’s skin, as well as a long claw that hung as a fastener in the most disturbing fashion. “You… you killed it?”
The dazzled amusement that had been there seconds before crumpled from Arthur’s face. “Mister Mason-“
“You killed it,” Albert repeated in disbelief. He pushed the jacket from his shoulders to get it off of himself, at the same moment Arthur let out a strangled yelp and leapt forward to pull it back on. They struggled for a moment, Albert trying to get out of the jacket while Arthur held it closed very tightly, with a flush that went all the way to the tips of his ears and a fierce look somewhere between anger and shame.
“It- it would have killed me, if I hadn’t,” he said, gruff enough that Albert believed him, “Charged right at me. Nearly took my arm off. Now just- just leave the jacket on, please?”
Arthur’s face was very close, and very red. It struck Albert suddenly that his iron grip on the jacket lapels was an attempt to stop Albert from stripping naked in front of him, and then Albert flushed too. He settled, allowing Arthur to tug the bear skin jacket fully over his shoulders again. Arthur’s hands remained there, holding the jacket closed.
“I, uh. I’m…” Albert stammered, distracted again by the tiny creases around Arthur’s eyes, which he realized now were there even when Arthur was not smiling. “I’m… I’m okay, Mister Morgan. You can release me.”
Arthur did. Albert touched the brown fur around the collar of the jacket. He could not abide trophy hunting, but if it had truly been self defence, as it was with the wolves, Albert could understand. It would be far worse to never see Arthur again, but it still made his heart ache to think of a legendary animals being killed.
“I understand that you had to kill it,” Albert said, “I just… I wish I had been able to see it first.”
Arthur looked rather like a great bear himself, hunched over and miserable. He reached to his satchel again and took out the leather book that Albert had been so curious about. Arthur opened the book, flipped through a few pages, then turned it for Albert to see.
The bear in the drawing gazed off into the forest, curious and calm. It was an enormous creature, spanning across two pages of the book, but it was the drawing itself that captivated Albert. He could only guess from Arthur’s hesitance to share it that Arthur was the artist, and what an artist... His love for the subject shone through, the same feeling Albert sought to show in his photographs.
“You are a very skilled artist,” he offered after studying the drawing for some time.
“Ain’t nothing,” Arthur said, “but since you wanted to see the bear… there he is.”
There he was indeed. Albert admired the bear for another moment, wondering at the skill of the drawing and the man who possessed it, before turning to the next page.
Arthur’s hand slapped down onto the book before Albert could even glimpse at what was drawn there.
“Sorry,” Arthur grumbled, “It’s, uh. There ain’t nothing interesting in there.”
Albert nodded. “My apologies. I did not mean to overstep.” He watched Arthur tuck the book back into his satchel. Arthur seemed a private man, and Albert would warrant a guess that few others had been allowed to see any of the drawings in that book. Perhaps no one else had seen them, and wasn’t that an interesting thought. “Thank you for showing me the bear. I do appreciate it. And you are a very fine artist indeed.”
Arthur settled back in his chair, still hunched over and avoiding eye contact. He stared out the window instead, where the rain continued pelting down.
“Once the rain lets up,” he said, quiet, “I’ll help you track that legendary buck.”
Albert nearly leapt from his chair in excitement, but he caught himself first, tugging the jacket back over himself. “Oh, Mister Morgan, I wouldn’t want to trouble you like that…”
“It’s no trouble at all, Mister Mason.”
“Well… if you’re certain.”
Albert was already imagining seeing the buck again, another beautiful shot like the one he missed today. “It would make quite a showing, would it not…” Albert mused, “If I were to collect photographs of those legendary animals from the map.”
“What, all of them?”
“Of course.” Albert peered at the map again, wondering where to start. “Next I could go after the bison in Hennigan’s Stead, and then the ram near Valentine, and oh, then that white bison in the Grizzlies shouldn’t be too far…”
Arthur was grinning again. “Mister Mason, if I can say, you might be getting a bit ahead of yourself photographing all of these legendary animals, considering you ain’t even photographed one yet.”
“But I will!” Albert insisted.
“Alright, I believe you. Just be careful, that’s a lot of chances to get yourself eaten.”
Albert smiled back at him. “Not to worry. I’m quite indigestible, as it turns out.”
“I do hope that’s true.”
The rain lasted through the night, but in the morning when Albert woke on his half of the bed, the sun was out and waiting for them. As Arthur had promised, they set out into the forest to track the buck. He seemed to see things that Albert could not, much more experienced of an outdoorsman as he was, and he led them deeper into the forest on a meandering path with no clear direction that Albert understood.
At last, Arthur pointed ahead - and the buck was there, peaceful and beautiful as Albert had seen it yesterday. It turned towards them as Albert readied his camera, beautiful antlers on full display for the perfect photograph. Albert pressed the mechanism, heard the shutter close, and felt like he was floating on air.
“Isn’t it beautiful,” Albert breathed. The buck continued to graze in the forest ahead of them, and Albert turned to Arthur for his agreement, but Arthur was not watching the buck at all. He was watching Albert, and he hurriedly glanced away when he was caught.
“I, uh. Hope you got a good photograph,” Arthur mumbled.
“Oh, I most certainly did. And you saw for yourself, I was not in danger of being eaten even once.”
“A buck ain’t too likely to eat you, and besides, I was watching your back the whole time.”
“Well, perhaps…”
“Mister Mason,” Arthur said, pausing to clear the hoarseness from his voice, “Maybe we could, uh, meet up again. Find the next one of these creatures you want to photograph. The ram, you said?”
“Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly ask that of-” Arthur’s shoulders drew up, and Albert caught himself before he finished speaking, because in that moment, he realized he truly was the most foolish person on earth. “Of, of course, Mister Morgan. That would be most excellent. And I could not ask for better company!”
A week later, Albert pushed through the slatted doors of the Valentine saloon and saw Arthur sitting at the bar, just where they agreed to meet. Maybe his luck was starting to change.
“There, Mister Mason - do you see it?”
“I see it,” Albert said under his breath. “Now stay there with those perfect teeth...” The bullgator had proven more difficult to track than the ram or the buck, but the photograph Albert lined up was just as striking. He finished his last configurations on the camera before taking the shot. “Got it! Ah, you beautiful boy…”
At his side, Arthur chuckled. “Awe shucks, Mister Mason, you don’t have to flatter me like that.”
Albert immediately felt his face flush.“I was- I was talking to the bullgator.” He was aware of how ridiculous that sounded, and he was aware of how ridiculous a person he was in general, but Arthur apparently did not seem to mind, as Albert had learned. The joke aside, Arthur really was a beautiful man Albert knew that from the photograph he kept with him, and the way his face glowed with happiness each time they met up again.
The buck, the ram, and the bullgator - three more pages Albert was shown in that leather bound book. Again, Arthur seemed terribly embarrassed by Albert’s compliments of his skill, and again, Albert felt the brilliant, peculiar wonder if he were the only person who Arthur shared those drawings with.
For all of Arthur’s worldliness that Albert could never dream of possessing, for that hidden life that Albert only knew about from newspapers and wanted posters - when he saw Arthur’s drawings, when he saw the animals through Arthur’s eyes, he wondered if they were not such different people after all.
It was the second time Albert saw a wolf with Arthur at his side, and this time, thankfully, the wolf did not see them. Albert captured an extraordinary photograph of the wolf atop a craggy rock, watching the sky with a look almost like wonder. Arthur had drawn it that evening in the little cabin they were staying in, while Albert pretended not to watch him too closely.
Albert developed a print of the wolf in time for his next meeting with Arthur a week later. Arthur’s smile was very charming as he admired the photograph, and for the first time Albert noticed a small pair of scars on his lower lip. Sunlight caught on them, and Albert could not help but think they would photograph beautifully, and must also have a captivating texture against Albert’s own lips if he were to…
“Mister Mason,” Arthur said, waving the wolf’s photograph that he was attempting to hand back, “You alright?”
“Oh, I, I’m just fine, just fine…” Albert stammered, not sure what came over him there. “Erm. How far away did you say this coyote was?”
“I can hardly believe it!” Albert said, nearly vibrating with excitement, “Why, a moose that close, that must be the best photograph I’ve ever taken, oh, at least as good as the fox, I cannot wait to develop it!”
Arthur did not respond for a moment, just watched Albert’s excited flapping with something like awe, before he came back to himself.
“You know, Albert, you, uh…” Arthur scratched his neck, a small smile just noticeable when he ducked his head. “You get this look on your face when you’re excited, it’s like…”
“... Like?”
“I dunno. Like stars in your eyes, or something.”
Albert smiled, tilting his head to the side. “That’s very poetic. Do you write poetry, in that journal of yours?” he asked, for he now knew Arthur’s book was not just filled with drawings, but writing as well. Not that Albert had been allowed to read it, he’d merely been told - but it left Albert even more curious about the man who wrote it.
“Not much of a poet, no.”
“Pity. I heard beavers like poetry.”
“Beavers, huh?”
Albert nodded back to the map of legendary animals. “Yes, beavers. It certainly wouldn’t hurt to try - we haven’t had much luck with the other methods.” He sat down on the edge of a rock, tired from the long day of trekking through Roanoke Ridge. “It’s getting dark, anyway. Perhaps we should set up camp for the night.”
That night in Arthur’s narrow tent, Albert learned that Arthur’s handwriting was as beautiful as his drawings in his journal. Albert also learned that he could not much feel the scar on Arthur’s lower lip, or at least could not pay much attention to it, enraptured as he was when Arthur kissed him.
What a creature the white bison was, like a walking, snow covered mountain itself. While Arthur and Albert shivered in the cold, the bison was perfectly at ease, like it’s huge size and brilliant white were designed for it to be just here among the snowy peaks of the Grizzlies.
“Come over this way,” Arthur whispered, motioning to a space among the thickets where Albert should position himself, “You’ll have the perfect shot of - uh - Albert - where’s your camera?”
Albert shook his head. “Back at the cabin. It’s too cold out here, the mechanisms will never work.”
Arthur’s jaw dropped in disbelief. “You mean we’ve come all the way out here - freezing our asses off all the while - and you ain’t even going to take the last photograph to complete your collection?”
“But oh, just to see this white bison is a marvel…”
“I don’t believe it,” Arthur said with a groan, that still somehow retained that ever present fondness he always regarded Albert with.
They returned to the small cabin, chilled again despite the warmth it held that morning when they set out. Arthur built the fire back up then joined Albert on the edge of the narrow bed, tucking an arm around his shoulders to pull him closer. Somehow, Arthur was always warm, even in the coldest part of the mountains, and Albert leaned into him as he flipped through a small stack of photographs.
They where beautiful creatures, Albert thought, every one of them, even the panther that had them waiting three days in the rain, and the boar that had charged at them several times before trotting off in such a photogenic way. The buck’s photograph was at the top of the pile, with its huge antlers and beautifully spotted coat like no other creature Albert had seen. It had been the first of the legendary creatures they’d tracked together. How long ago that seemed.
“You know,” Albert said, “I showed this photograph to the Mayor of Strawberry, who was interested in buying some of my prints for the Welcome Center there.”
“And?”
Albert traced the buck’s brilliant crown of antlers with a finger. “And he counted twelve points on his antlers, how marvelous, as the taxidermied bucks they had in the lobby had only ten points.”
He could feel Arthur stiffen at his side, knowing just where this was going. “Hey, now-“
“What am I doing with these photographs? Creating a catalogue for trophy hunters?” Albert sighed. “I might be a fool, Arthur, but I do know that map of yours was not made for sightseers or photographers like myself.”
“So what?” Arthur asked, “You took all those photographs for nothing and now you want to throw them in the fire?”
What Albert wanted more than anything was to protect creatures like this. He wanted to show their one-of-a-kind beauty in hopes that others would look at them like Albert did, but that appeared to be too much to ask of his fellow men.
Chest aching, Albert gazed at the buck’s photograph at the top of the pile for one last moment, before letting the stack of them drop into the fire.
Arthur let out a shout as he leapt to his feet. “I wasn’t serious about burning them!” He looked wildly about for something to retrieve the photographs, but it was too late. The flames had already consumed them, edges curling until they crumbled to ash.
“You know I’m very grateful for your help, Arthur,” Albert said, exhausted suddenly, “Having you with me, why, these must be the best few months of my life. But you must understand… I can’t share those photographs. If even one of those creatures found their way onto a trophy hunter’s wall because of me, I could not live with myself.”
Still Arthur gaped at him in disbelief. “Months of your work, photos you could have sold for hundreds of dollars, and you just burned them...”
“You would do the same, I’m sure.”
Arthur’s mouth snapped shut and he turned away. “You got some strange ideas in that head of yours.”
“Well, yes. Was that not obvious yet?”
That was not quite so amusing to Arthur, who only shook his head. “You didn’t even want to keep them for yourself? Just to remember them by?”
“Oh, I could never forget them. And you’ve captured their likenesses, if I ever do.” Albert reached for Arthur’s journal on the bedside table, slow, never wanting to be too presumptuous about the trust he was given. He flipped through the pages and found the drawing of the buck, just as he remembered it, and smiled. “The animals will be safe in here. The complete set. Nearly.”
Turning to a blank page, Albert offered the journal to Arthur. Despite himself, some of the tension fell away from Arthur’s shoulders. He returned to the bed to sit beside Albert, taking up his journal and pencil to start sketching the white bison they’d seen today.
The bed was small, but there was just enough room for Albert to stretch out beside him and watch the pencil move over the page.
Spent nearly three months tracking down all those legendary animals for photographs, and Albert threw them all in the fire. Said he didn’t want to inspire any trophy hunters. He could have made a lot of money off those fine photographs I’m sure, but he wanted to protect the animals more than that. I suppose he’s right. Let those wild creatures stay hidden as long as they can.
I've been thinking about what is next for us, now that we’ve seen all the legendary animals on that map. Met a conceited fisherman fellow a couple weeks back who gave me the answer, and a map of the “Legendary Fish of the Southern United States of America”. And Albert (as I know you are reading this over my shoulder) I know you are not a photographer of fish, but I wonder if you might join me in finding them all, since you seem to have strange taste in the company you like to keep.