by Terri Farley
“Slocum’s new hunting truck.”
Sam was pretty sure that’s what Jen had said, but her friend’s lips sounded numb.
Keep going, Sam thought, willing the truck to drive past, but Slocum’s toothpaste commercial grin showed through the windshield and the Cherokee was slowing.
Sam looked down the highway, wishing the bus would arrive before Slocum did, but she knew that wouldn’t happen.
“I don’t want to talk to him,” Sam said.
“Then don’t.” Jen tucked a mittened hand around Sam’s arm and squeezed. “He’s so wrapped up in himself, he’ll never notice.”
Jen was right.
Slocum stopped on the highway in the exact spot the bus would occupy any minute. Careless of the fact that he was parked the wrong way in a traffic lane, he rolled from the vehicle and hustled around to the back doors, which were right in front of Jen and Sam.
“Y’gotta see,” he huffed. “Before I take her into the taxidermist. Don’t want her stuffed, you know, but the hide has to be tanned so it looks good on the barn.”
Sam felt as if her chest were hollow and each of Slocum’s awful comments echoed in the emptiness. He had one of the cougars in there.
Slocum jiggled the handle on the back of the Cherokee.
Don’t open, she thought. Let it be stuck.
But it wasn’t. It took Slocum a minute because he was unfamiliar with the latch holding the doors closed, but finally he got them open.
Eager and smiling, Slocum looked at the girls over his shoulder.
“Well, c’mon, take a peek.” He stood, hands on hips, regarding the blanket-wrapped bundle. “Cost me a pretty penny, this cat—what with the hounds and truck, and all—but I can afford it, and she’ll look good when I get her fixed up.”
Sam’s head swam. She’d never really seen the cougar alive, but how could Slocum think she’d be more beautiful dead?
At last, Slocum seemed to realize he was the only one admiring the cougar. As his grin turned into something greedier and more ugly, Jen managed to speak.
“Is it the mother or the cub?” she asked.
“The female,” Slocum said. “She came in alone, ahead of the dogs. Guess she stashed the yearling someplace.” Slocum shrugged, then whipped aside the blanket.
Sam tried not to look. She’d already had her share of nightmares.
Blood spots marked the blanket. Sam noticed that detail before she realized both she and Jen had covered their lips and wondered what they were keeping inside.
“No more appreciation than I expected,” Slocum muttered as he slammed the doors. “Like to see either of you do what I did.” Jen uttered a small sound of protest, then closed her lips again.
How weird was this man? Sam wondered. Why was he taunting two high school kids?
Still, neither Sam nor Jen answered his dare.
The Elys’ faded blue truck zoomed past on the highway, carrying Jake and his brothers to school. Slocum watched them grow smaller, then sneered at Sam.
“You be sure and tell your boy Jake that he did the right thing by staying out of my way. He may be a big tracker, but I’m the one who brought home the bacon.”
As Slocum returned to his truck, Sam shook her head. Bringing home the bacon, Slocum had said, when he had a dead mountain lion in his truck. The tangle of words should have been funny, but they weren’t.
Dizziness kept Sam from closing her eyes, though she wanted to block out what she’d seen. Between the time Slocum had pulled the blanket aside and the moment Sam had looked away, she’d glimpsed the cougar’s face.
The animal’s pink nose had looked heart shaped. Around it, a line of black hairs might have been painted by an artist’s brush. Whiskers sprouted from puffs of white fur, and a pink tongue hung from the cat’s mouth. Above all those features, the cougar’s eyes were brown and dull.
Tyger! Tyger! burning bright…Sam thought. Not anymore.
All during that blustery day, Sam’s steps dragged as she moved from class to class. She wished she were home at the kitchen table, drinking hot chocolate.
It was cold, but the temperature hadn’t dropped enough to turn the blowing rain to snow. Sam thought of how miserable the young cougar must be, alone and wondering what had become of his mother. She thought of Moon, wandering without the warmth and safety of the herd.
In the middle of her P.E. class, while they played freeze tag in the gym, Sam stood like a statue, hoping Moon and the young cougar wouldn’t face each other as enemies.
Sam and Jen ate their lunches without mentioning Slocum, the cougar, or Jed Kenworthy’s part in the hunt.
In fact, the lunch hour passed quietly, until Jen said, “Rachel told me you went with her to look at horses.”
“Yeah,” Sam said. “There’s one she really liked, a Morgan named Mocha, over at Sterling Stables.”
“I’m surprised you went with her.” Jen crumpled up her brown bag loudly.
Sam didn’t want to admit how out of place she’d felt and how angry she’d been at herself for going along.
“Yeah,” Sam said again.
“I’ve got to get to class.” Jen swung away from the table, stood, and strode off toward her locker.
To Sam, Jen seemed mad again, but it had been such a lousy day, she might just be turning paranoid.
Sam hurried to her own locker, pulled out a purple notebook, then slammed the metal door.
Just one more class, Sam thought as she made her way through the tide of students toward journalism.
“I need a volunteer,” Mr. Blair was shouting as Sam walked into the room.
She slipped toward the computer farthest from the teacher, even though that meant sitting near Rachel.
From Rachel’s whispers to her cheerleader friend Daisy, Sam learned that the staff photographer scheduled to shoot the football game after school was sick. Daisy thought the photographer was faking.
Sam considered the slushy rain pelting the windows. It would be convenient to come down with a cold about now.
She glanced up and saw Mr. Blair’s eyes scanning the classroom. Sam curled over the keyboard, typing nothing in particular. The last thing she needed was an after-school photo assignment.
“Forster,” Mr. Blair bellowed.
“She’s back here.” Rachel raised her hand in a dainty pointing motion.
“I take the bus,” Sam shouted back. She tried to infuse her voice with a little regret, but Mr. Blair ignored her excuse.
“You’re good at shooting in low light, and if this slush turns to blowing snow, that’s what you’ll have out there.”
Wind could get up a lot of force, rushing across the broad football field. Sam hated the idea of standing out there, shivering.
“I don’t have a ride home,” Sam protested.
“No problem. I’m staying for the game,” RJay told her, then raised his voice. “Mr. Blair, I’ll give her a ride.”
“Why don’t you shoot it? Please, RJay,” Sam begged.
“Me? I’m not an award-winning photographer. Sam, you’ll get something great. I know it.”
“I’m not that good. I only took second place,” she reminded him.
“You were robbed,” RJay insisted. “Besides, when your editor and your advisor say you’re shooting a game, you shoot it.”
“Or flunk,” Rachel chimed in.
Sam hid by bending down to tie her shoelaces. She should’ve worn something besides these lightweight hiking boots. They’d turn soggy right away. She jerked the knot tight, to keep them from filling with snow, and the right lace broke. Looking at the scrap in her hand, Sam decided that some days were simply cursed.
She arrived home after dark.
The heater in RJay’s car hadn’t worked well enough to thaw Sam’s frozen toes. Her teeth were chattering as she came into the warm house.
“I’m home,” she managed to announce.
A television babbled from the living room. No one came to greet her, and she could see Gram
had already served dinner and cleaned up.
“I’m starving,” she shouted.
“I left a plate for you,” Gram called.
Sam opened the oven to see a white china plate crowded with meat loaf, carrots, and mashed potatoes, which reminded her just a little too much of the snow starting to mound up outside.
The door between the kitchen and living room opened just as Sam slid her fingers into an oven mitt and reached for her plate. “How was the game?” Dad asked.
“We lost in double overtime,” Sam said.
“Too bad.” Dad closed the oven. “Before you sit down, could you make one turn around the yard? Your Gram’s short a hen, and she’s been out three times since sundown looking for that one Rhode Island Red.”
“Sure,” Sam said.
She pulled her coat closer, switched on the porch light, and walked outside. The snow had stopped and so had the wind. The sky was cloudless, black, and sprinkled with stars.
“Here, chick, chick, chick,” Sam called. Nothing moved around her. Even the hens in the coop didn’t flutter.
Where was Blaze?
Sam didn’t like being out alone. She trudged through the snow and her boots left ridged patterns, showing her where she’d been. She circled the coop, walked as far as the barn, and stood in the warm straw.
“Hi, Ace,” she said, answering the gelding’s nicker. “Seen any runaway hens?”
If he had, Ace wasn’t telling. Sam looped through the old pasture, looked up at the ridge, then shivered all over again.
“Too bad, henny penny,” she muttered. “It’s going to be a long, cold night.”
Sam turned back the way she’d come, ready for dinner. She’d only taken a few steps when she looked down—and stopped. She took a deep breath, then started jogging toward the front porch light.
She ran a zigzag pattern. She flapped her arms and sang “Jingle Bells” as loud as she could. Anyone who saw her would think she was crazy, and Sam didn’t care. She was still yards from the front porch when she jumped—and made it.
She wrapped her arms around her ribs and stared into the darkness. Blaze wasn’t out there, but she hadn’t been alone.
All the way back to the house she’d followed her own footprints in the snow. Inside them, tracking her out to the barn and through the old pasture, she’d seen the soft padded print of a mountain lion.
Chapter Eleven
Sam rushed inside. Her hands were cold and clumsy as she hung her coat. She stared at the brown leather and swallowed hard. Head down, walking into the wind, had she looked like a deer to the young cougar?
It was her warmest coat, but she wouldn’t wear it around the ranch for a while. She hoped she wouldn’t have to explain to Gram and Dad.
“You can bring your plate in here, Samantha,” Gram called from the living room.
“That’s okay,” Sam said, searching for a quick excuse. “I’m going to study while I eat.”
Sam didn’t want to hurt Gram’s feelings, but she didn’t want to talk about what it took to be a ranch woman, either. Not now.
The yearling cougar had come to River Bend with his mother. He’d learned he could find food here, and he’d probably eaten the hen.
Would the cougar still be hungry? How much would it take to satisfy his appetite? Could he eat a lone horse like Moon, who didn’t have the protection of a herd?
Dad might know. Or Jake. She had to ask one of them, and soon. The young cougar was getting brave.
Sam had finished her meal when she heard floor-boards creak overhead. The sound was followed by the click of Blaze’s toenails as he came downstairs. Sam heard him start to whine.
She opened the door between the living room and kitchen and let him through.
“And where were you when I needed a bodyguard?” she whispered.
The Border collie gave Sam a brief wave of his tail. Then he stood with ears pricked, staring as if he could see through the wall.
Just as Sam started to worry, Blaze lost interest in whatever he’d heard. He flopped down on the floor and rested his head on his front paws. He seemed to doze, but his ears stayed alert.
Sam opened her algebra book and considered the single index card her teacher had said they could use for notes on tomorrow’s quiz. She’d need more than this puny white piece of paper to record what she had to remember from this chapter.
“How was that meat loaf?” Gram called.
“Really good,” Sam answered. “And the mashed potatoes were perfect.”
She should go in and talk with Gram and Dad, but the football game had cut into her study time. She didn’t want to walk through the living room and take the chance of being distracted by the television.
Blaze growled so suddenly, Sam jumped. The rumble grew deeper and more vicious as the dog rose to his feet.
“Blaze, hush,” Sam said.
The dog’s fur stood up across his shoulders and his lips drew back to show his teeth. It had to be the cougar.
“You’re not going out,” she whispered to the dog, but he ignored her.
Even if the young cat was inept and Blaze was furious, the dog would be hurt. If Blaze was in danger, Dad would protect him. Dad’s rifle was in a locked case in the living room, but he could have it out and loaded in seconds.
Blaze gave one loud bark, then subsided into growls again.
“He sounds serious,” Gram said. Sam thought she was talking to Dad.
“Blaze!” Sam’s voice couldn’t cut through the sudden volley of barks or the lunge against the kitchen door. Dad’s feet hit the floor in the other room.
“What in the—” Dad’s single stride took him halfway across the kitchen floor.
Sam stepped in front of the kitchen door. “Don’t let him out!”
“Why not?” Dad’s voice was low, but she heard him over Blaze’s barks.
Sam couldn’t let it happen. There’d be a whirling tumble of fur and teeth and one of the animals would probably die.
“Samantha?” Dad’s voice said she’d better speak up, right now.
“I think it’s the cougar.”
Gram was in the kitchen now. “Linc shot—”
“It’s the other one,” Sam interrupted. “The baby.”
Dad gave a quick nod. He switched on the porch light. Just as he slipped past Blaze and stepped outside, Sam heard a ringing impact. Something big had hit the wire around the chicken coop.
“Wyatt!” Gram shouted.
Blaze bounded back and forth in front of the door, then jumped, trying to see from the window.
Sam peered out, but the angle was wrong for her to see the coop. What she could see was Dad waving his arms.
“Get out of here!” he shouted. “Go on, now!”
Blaze’s barking stopped and Sam could hear Dallas call from the bunkhouse.
“What ya got out there, Boss?”
Dad shouted something back, but because he was facing the other direction, Sam couldn’t tell what he said.
“Should we send Blaze to see him off?” Dallas yelled.
At the sound of his name, the dog barked again.
“No, I think we’ve seen the last of him,” Dad said.
Gram had crowded beside Sam at the window. They watched Dad leave the porch and walk across the ranch yard to meet Dallas.
As the men talked, Gram turned to Sam and asked, “You’re sure it was the cougar?”
“No. Maybe—it could have been a coyote.”
“Not likely. They’re awfully quiet, but a young cat who didn’t know what he was doing…Throwing himself against the wire is just the sort of thing he’d do.”
Sam saw Pepper leave the bunkhouse and cross the yard with a flashlight. He swept the beam around the chicken coop. When he called out, Dad and Dallas walked over to join him.
After all the nodding and pointing, Sam knew they’d seen the tracks of the mountain lion.
“It’s nine o’clock,” Gram said. “You’d better start getting ready for bed.”<
br />
“Please, not yet,” Sam said. “I’ve got to talk with Dad.”
“I’m afraid you won’t like what he has to say,” Gram warned. “And I don’t know why you’ve gotten attached to these dangerous animals. They could kill any one of us, and that includes the horses. Thank goodness Dark Sunshine isn’t due to foal yet.”
Gram was right, but Sam had to explain her feelings.
“Linc Slocum only killed that cougar so that he could hang its skin on his barn,” Sam blurted. “He orphaned that cub for no good reason. Linc created the problem, but the cub has to pay for it.”
She’d heard Dad come back into the house while she was talking. She turned to look at him. Though he leaned down to rumple Blaze’s ears and praise him, Dad kept his eyes on Sam.
“Was it the cat?” Gram asked.
“Yeah, and since we’ve never had trouble with one before, I’m pretty sure it’s the one Sam was talking about.” Dad’s eyes were sympathetic, but his voice wasn’t. “I’ll give him a day or two to head up into the mountains.”
Sam didn’t want to ask the question, but she had to.
“What if he doesn’t go?”
“That chicken won’t fill him up for long,” Dad said. “He needs a deer a week—or prey that amounts to that many calories. If he doesn’t get it, he’ll get too weak to hunt and he’ll starve.”
“Could they trap him and take him somewhere with other cougars?”
“They’re solitary animals, Sam. Far as I know, they only get together in mating season.”
“When is that?”
Dad rubbed the back of his neck and frowned. “Seems like I’ve seen pictures of them together in winter, but I’m no expert.”
“Okay.” Sam stood looking at the floor until the wood planking began to swim before her eyes. “I guess I should go to bed.”
All at once, Sam wanted to hurry. Something in the way Dad shifted his feet made her suspect something worse was coming.
“Sam?” Dad’s voice stopped her. “I’ll give him two or three days, if no one gets hurt. If he shows up near the house again, or attacks a horse, or claws a River Bend calf out on the range, the deal is off.”