the Young Lion Hunter (1998)

by Grey, Zane

  With that a puff of air seemed to rise, bringing a deafening peal of thunder. It rolled up and widened, deadened, to burst out and roll louder, then slowly, like mountains on wheels, rumbled under the rim-walls, passing on and on, to roar back in echo from the cliffs of the mesas. Roar and rumble--roar and rumble! For two long moments the dull and hollow echoes rolled at us, slowly to die away at the last in the far-distant ca+-ons.

  "Thet's a mighty deep hole," commented Hiram.

  Twilight stole upon us idling there, silent, content to watch the red glow pass away from the buttes and peaks, the color deepening downward to meet the ebon shades of night creeping up like a dark tide.

  On turning toward camp we tried a short cut, which brought us to a deep hollow with stony walls. It seemed better to go around it. The hollow, however, was quite long, and we decided presently to cross it. We had descended a little way when suddenly the old hunter held me back with his big arm.

  "Listen," he whispered.

  It was quiet in the woods; only a faint breeze stirred the pine-needles; and the weird, gray darkness seemed approaching under the trees.

  I heard the patter of light, hard hoofs on the scaly sides of the hollow.

  "Deer?" I asked, in a low voice.

  "Yes; see," he replied, pointing ahead, "jest under thet broken wall of rock; right thar on this side; they're goin' down."

  I descried gray, objects, the color of the rock, moving down like shadows.

  "Have they scented us?"

  "Hardly; the breeze is against us. Mebbe they heerd us break a twig. They've stopped, but are not lookin' our way. Wal, I wonder--"

  Suddenly there was a rattle of stones, followed by an indistinct thud as from the impact of soft, heavy bodies, and then the sound of a struggle in the hollow.

  "Lion jumped a deer," yelled Hiram. "Right under our eyes. Come on! Ken, pull your gun on the critter. Thar he goes! Hi! Hi! Hi!"

  Hiram ran down the incline, yelling all the way, and I kept close to him. Toward the bottom, the thicket barred our progress, so that we had to smash through. But Ken distanced us. His yell pealed out and then Crack! Crack! went his six-shooter. I saw a gray, swiftly bounding object too long and too low for a deer. Hurriedly drawing my revolver I worked the trigger as fast as I could. Ken also was shooting, and the reports blended in a roar that echoed from the cliff. But for all our shots the cougar got away.

  "Come here--this way--hurry," called Ken.

  Hiram and I crashed out of the brush, and in another moment were bending over a gray mass huddled at Ken's feet. It was a deer, gasping and choking.

  "A yearlin' doe," said Hiram. "Look hyar, low down on her neck, whar the tarnal cat bit in. Hear thet wheeze? Thet's blood in her throat. Ken, if you hey another shot put her out of pain."

  But neither Ken nor I had an extra cartridge about us, nor did Hiram have his clasp knife, and we had to stand there silent until the doe quivered and died.

  Then a signal cry rang down the slope. "Thet's Jim," said Hiram. "It didn't take him long to git to us."

  There was a crashing of brush, quick thud of flying feet, and Jim loomed up through the gathering darkness. He carried a rifle in each hand, and he moved so assuredly and looked so formidable in the dusk that I thought of what such a reinforcement would mean at a time of real peril.

  "Jim, I've lived to see many strange happenin's," saw Hiram, "but this was the first time I ever seen a cougar jump a deer."

  "Shore you did enough shootin' to make me think somethin' had come off," replied Jim.

  We soon returned to camp the richer by a quantity of fresh venison.

  Hal was sitting close to the fire and looked rather white. I observed that he had his rifle. He did not speak a word till Ken told of our little adventure.

  "Just before all the yells and shots I happened to be watching Prince," said Hal. "He was uneasy; he wouldn't lie down; he sniffed the wind and growled. I thought there must be a lion about."

  "Wal, I shore wish Ken had plugged him," said Jim.

  I believed Jim's wish found an echo in all our hearts. At any rate, to hear him and Hiram express regret over the death of the doe justified in some degree my own feelings. The tragedy we had all but interrupted occurred every night, perhaps often in the day, and likely at different points at the same time. Hiram told how he had found fourteen piles of bleached bones and dried hair in the thickets of less than a mile of the hollow on which we were encamped.

  "We'll rope the danged cats, boys, or by George! we'll kill them! Wal, it's blowin' cold. Hey, Navvy, coco! coco!"

  The Indian, carefully laying aside his cigarette, kicked up the fire and threw on more wood. "Discass" (cold), he said to Ken; "coco weyno" (fire good).

  Ken replied, "Me savvy--yes."

  "Sleep-ie?" he asked.

  "Moocha," returned Ken.

  While we carried on a sort of novel conversation, full of Navajo, English, Spanish, and gestures, absolute darkness settled down upon us. I saw the stars disappear. The wind, changing to the north, grew colder, and carried a breath of snow. I liked a north wind best--from under the warm blankets--because of the roar and lull and lull and roar in the pines. Crawling into bed presently I lay there and listened to the rising storm-wind for a long time. Sometimes it swelled and crashed like the sound of a breaker on the beach, but mostly, from a low, incessant moan, it rose and filled to a mighty rush, then suddenly lulled; and this lull was conducive to sleep.

  Chapter IX - A VISIT FROM RANGERS

  The Navajo awoke us with his singing. Ken peeped lazily from under the blankets and then covered himself again. The air was cold and flakes of white drifted through our wind-break of pine boughs.

  "Snow!" exclaimed Ken.

  "By all that's lucky," I replied. "Hiram wants snow more than anything."

  "Why?" queried Ken.

  "So we can track lions. Also have plenty of snow-water. Roll out now, Ken."

  "Oh-h-h! but I'm sore," groaned Ken, as he laboriously got up and began to pull on his boots. "Baseball training isn't one--two--six to this work."

  "Stay off bucking horses," I replied.

  We walked to a roaring camp-fire. The others were all astir, even Hal being up and busy. Hiram's biscuits, well browned and of generous size, had just been dumped into the middle of our tarpaulin table-cloth; the coffeepot steamed fragrantly and a huge skillet sizzled with a quantity of sliced venison.

  "Youngster, did you hear the Injun?" asked Hiram, as he poked red coals in a heap round the skillet.

  "His singing woke me," answered Ken.

  "It wasn't a song. Thet's the Navajo's mornin' prayer, a chant. Wal--"

  Growls and snarls from the lions interrupted him. I looked up to see Hal fooling round our captives. They were wet, dirty, bedraggled. Hiram had cut down a small pine and made shelters for the lions, but they did not 'seem disposed to keep out of the snow.

  "Let 'em alone, youngster," said Hiram to Hal. "They won't be drove. Mebbe they'll git in out of the wet arter a while...We're havin' good luck an' bad. Snow's what we want. But now we can't git the trail of the lion thet killed the doe."

  "Chineago!" called Jim, who like the rest of us had begun to assimilate a little of the Navajo language.

  Whereupon we fell to eating with appetites unknown to any save hunters. Somehow the Indian gravitated to Hal at meal-times, and now he sat cross-legged beside him, holding out a plate and looking as hungry as Mux. At the first he always asked for what happened to be on Hal's plate, and when that became empty he gave up imitation and asked for anything he could get. The Navajo had a marvelous appetite. He liked sweet things, sugar best of all. It was a fatal error to let him get his hands on a can of fruit. Although he inspired Hiram with disgust and Jim with worse, he was a source of unfailing pleasure to the boys.

  "What's on for to-day?" queried Ken.

  "Wal, we may as well hang round camp an' rest the hounds," replied Hiram. "I intended to go after the lion thet killed the deer, but this sn
ow has taken away the scent."

  "Shore it'll stop snowin' soon," said Jim.

  The falling snow had thinned out, and looked like flying powder; the leaden clouds, rolling close to the tree-tops, grew brighter and brighter; bits of azure sky shone through rifts.

  Navvy had tramped off to find the horses, and not long after his departure we heard the jangle of bells. Then he appeared, riding Hal's mustang, and racing the others toward camp.

  Ken and I set to work building a shack for the hounds. And when we finished it there was no need of it, for that time at least, because all the snow had gone. The sun was shining warmly and the forest was as brown and almost as dry as on the day before.

  "Wal, it's a good idee to hey a day of rest onct in a while," said Hiram, in answer to Ken's impatient desire to be on the hunt. "Youngster, you'll git all you want. But I tell you it might be useful fer us to prowl round an' explore some of these hollers. We'll need to know all about 'em, places to cross, whar they head, an' sich as thet. Now you an' Dick go north, an' Jim an' me'll go south. Hal can keep camp with Navvy."

  So Ken and I started off on foot. We found the hollows extremely interesting. They began where the forest of pines merged on the sage flats. Some were shallow and some deep V-shaped cuts, too steep for us to go straight down. The thickets of scrub-oak lined the slope and thickets of aspen covered the bottom. Every hollow had its well-defined deer and lion trail, and every thicket its grisly heap of bones and hide. We jumped deer and flushed grouse, and out of one hollow we chased the wild stallion and his band. Ken was delighted at the sight of them. After several hours of leisurely exploring we returned toward camp.

  "Dick, I see strange horses," said Ken, as we drew near.

  Sure enough, there were horses in camp that did not belong to our party, and presently I saw men who were not Hiram or Jim. We had visitors.

  "Perhaps they're some Mormon wild-horse hunters," I replied. "I hope so, for I'd like you to meet some of those fellows, and go on a hunt with them...No, they're rangers. Now, Ken, I don't like this for a cent."

  As we walked into camp neither Hal nor the Indian was in sight. Three rangers lolled about under the pines. One of them I did not know; the others had worked with me and did not like me any better than I liked them, which was not much. Then a fourth fellow appeared from somewhere in the shade, and when I recognized him I was divided between anger and distrust at this invasion of our camp. This fourth individual, Belden by name, had been a ranger, and as he had been worthless, and a hindrance to other rangers, I got his discharge. It had been an object of worry to me that after his discharge he still remained on the preserve. In fact all these men were Mormons, and they resented the advent of Hiram, Jim, and myself. The bone of contention was that the forest department had put us over them. And the hard feelings had been shared even by the forest supervisor, who was strongly in sympathy with native rangers. To me the present situation looked as if these men had been sent to spy on us, or they had undertaken that on their own account.

  "Hello, fellows," I said, "what are you doing out here? Thought you were building a cabin at Quaking-Asp."

  "We're jest pokin' around," replied one, a man named Sells, and he was the best of the lot.

  "We want to see how you trap them cougars," said another.

  Belden laughed loudly. "An' me, I'm sort of scouting around, too, Leslie; I've got a new job."

  "With the forest service?" I queried.

  "Yep."

  "What kind of a job?"

  "I'm keepin' tab on all the rangers. The Supervisor says it'll go hard with any ranger ketched with fresh venison."

  Belden looked meaningly at me. I thought the fellow was lying about a new job, still I could not be certain as to that. But there was no doubt about the gleam in his eyes meaning that he had caught me breaking the law.

  "Belden, we've got fresh venison in camp--but we didn't kill it."

  "Haw! Haw! Haw!" he guffawed.

  It was hard for me to keep my temper. On the moment I was glad to see Hiram and Jim approaching. Hiram stopped near where the lions were chained and I heard him mutter: "Wal, what in the tarnal dickens is the matter with thet lion?" From where I stood I could not see either of our captives. Jim lounged into camp, and as he glanced with keen eyes from our visitors to me his genial smile faded.

  "Shore we've got company," he drawled.

  I would have replied in no cordial acknowledgment of the fact, but just then Hal came out of the tent, and sight of him cut short my speech. Hal wore a broad red mark across his cheek, and any one could have seen that it was a mark made by a blow. Moreover, he trembled either with excitement or anger, and on closer view I saw that under his tan he was pale.

  "Hal!" exclaimed Ken, sharply. "What's the matter with you?"

  "Nothing. I'm all right."

  "That's not so. I'd know from the look of you, without that red welt on your face. Who hit you? Hal--you couldn't have gotten in a scrap with Navvy?"

  "Nope--never mind how I got the welt. I got it and that's enough," replied Hal.

  Where Hal got that mark did not appear any great mystery to me. I would have staked my horse that Belden had given the blow.

  "Sells," I demanded, "which one of you struck the lad?"

  Sells removed his pipe and puffed a cloud of smoke. He did not seem in any hurry to reply.

  "Speak up, man. Who hit the lad--Belden, wasn't it?"

  This time the ranger nodded.

  "What for? What did he do?...Haven't you a tongue? Talk! I want to know--"

  I felt Ken Ward's hand on my arm and I hesitated. He took one long step forward.

  "This boy is my brother," he said. "Do I understand you to mean one of you hit him?"

  Again Sells nodded.

  "Which one of you?" added Ken.

  Sells pointed to the grinning Belden. Ken made a quick, passionate movement, and took another long step that seemed involuntary; then he wheeled to his brother.

  "Hal, what have you done this time? You promised me you'd behave if I brought you out West. I declare I'm ashamed of you. I'll never--"

  "Cheese it! Shut up!" cried Hal, hotly. "You're always blaming me. How do you know I deserved getting slapped? Do I always deserve the worst of everything?"

  "Nearly always, Hal, I'm sorry to say," returned Ken, gravely.

  "Well, this is one of the few times when I don't, then," said Hal, sullenly.

  "What did you do?" demanded Ken.

  "I called that fellow every name I could lay tongue to," retorted Hal, pointing a quivering finger at Belden. "I called him a liar and a coward. Then he hit me."

  "Why did you call him names?"

  "He saw the deer meat hanging there on the tree and he kept saying we shot the deer. But I held my temper. Then he got to teasing Tom and trying to hold him with a forked stick. He said we caught the lion in a trap and he was looking for trap-marks. Tom batted him one, scratching him a little. Then he took up a club--"

  At this juncture Hiram Bent strode into the circle and he roared: "Who clubbed thet lion? If the Injun--"

  The old hunter was angry clear through.

  "Hold on, Hiram," I interrupted. "We're getting at the thing. Hal was just telling us. Go on, lad."

  "Look here, Hal," spoke up Ken, in great earnestness, "tell the absolute truth. Don't stretch. Give me your word. Then I'll believe you, and if I do, so will Hiram and Dick and Jim."

  Hal repeated precisely what he had told us before Hiram's interruption, and then he went on: "Belden took up a club and beat Tom over the head--beat him till I was sure Tom was dead. Then I couldn't stand it longer, so I called Belden a brute, a coward, a liar--everything I could think of. So he hit me, knocked me down, and kicked me."

  "Leslie--the youngster's tellin' it straight," said Hiram. "Thet cougar is all bunged up, an' any sneak who would beat a chained animal would hit a boy."

  The old hunter then turned to Belden. That worthy had ceased to grin. I looked closely at him to see if
he had been drinking, but it was not that; he was surely sober enough.

  "Belden, afore I say anythin' else I'd like to know what you mean by carryin' on this way," went on Hiram. "Mebbe you think beatin' up chained cougars an' boys as are keepin' camp ain't serious. Wal, I reckon you'll change your idee."

  "Bent, I'd change no idees of mine," rejoined Belden. "An' one idea I got is then you trapped them cougars. An' another idee is thet I ketched you killin' deer. An' thet's agin the law. I'm agoin' to put you through for it."

  For answer Hiram strode to a pine-tree some twenty paces from his tent and took down something from a dead snag. As he returned I saw it was the head and neck of the yearling doe. He showed it to Belden, and pointed out the laceration made by the teeth of the lion. Belden did not speak. Then Hiram showed the wound to the other rangers.

  "Sells, you're a woodsman. Now what made thet wound?"

  "A cougar killed thet doe an' no mistake," admitted Sells.

  "Thar!" The old hunter threw down the deer head and whirled to face Belden. I never saw a man any more furious than Hiram was, holding himself in control.

  "I ain't carin' a tarnal flip what sich as you think of my capturin' cougars. But fer beatin' up a helpless animal I care this much--you're wuss than the youngster called you--you're the wust dog I ever seen. An' fer hittin' this youngster I'm goin' to pay you back in--"

  Ken Ward caught the old hunter's arm. The boy was white, but he was as cool as ice, and his eyes had the dark flash I had once or twice before seen in them. He stepped in front of Hiram and faced Belden.

  "Belden, I'll give you a chance to beat me up."

  "Hey?" queried Belden in stupid surprise.

  Hiram and Jim appeared too amazed for speech; and as for me I saw with a kind of warm thrill what was coming off.