The Bangtail Ghost
Page 27
Abruptly, the man stopped. As he did, the lion pumped her legs, and her tail switched from one side to the other. She drew back her lips in a silent snarl.
Throughout the summer, as her old wounds healed, the lion had lain in ambush along many trails. Though the game she sought was no longer safe from her, humans she remained reluctant to confront, in spite of having eaten the flesh provided by her brother.
Their relationship had always been uneasy. It was unusual for siblings to travel together, let alone to share kills. And the tom was a reluctant provider. But she was the dominant cat, perhaps because she was the more desperate, and, as with wolves, the alpha is not always the biggest or strongest animal. She had shadowed him from the time they had been released into the wild. For eight years she had left his side on only a few occasions to follow her instinct and mate with other males. It had been after one of those liaisons that she had swiped at the porcupine.
As the quills drove into her muscles and her foreleg twisted and wasted away, she came to rely more and more upon her brother’s teeth and claws. They slept side by side and hunted together when the nights came on, with him leading the way, her following, lamps to each other in the lovely darkness. She had been only a little distance away when he claimed his first human victim, a man who lived alone in a remote cabin. He was the first of three, the woman who lived in the trailer the last, before her brother was taken from her by a bullet through his heart. She had been close enough to hear the shot, and in the middle of that night she had followed the trail he’d taken as he was pursued by the hounds. Coming to where he lay dead, his body already stiffening, she had sniffed at him, walked around him, and eventually lain down, nudging him with her head. She had left his side only when she heard humans approaching in the morning.
On her own ever since, she had taken to revisiting human habitations where her brother had stalked their possible victims. One, a sheepherder, she had lain in wait for and killed, but had been driven away by his dogs before she could satisfy her hunger. Another, a woman, spoke in a cadence, counting her steps from her car to a small log cabin. Yet another followed a routine, parking a truck at a ranch gate in the middle of nowhere, then standing alone by the road in the morning darkness, waiting to catch a bus. As these and other humans approached and passed by her, she had gathered her legs, her muscles as taut as steel coils, prepared to spring. And might have, if one had stopped and bent over suddenly, or coughed, or in some other way had broken routine. But they did not break routine, and they never knew how close they had come to triggering her attack.
This hunter was different. He had stopped only yards away and switched on his headlamp, had then provoked her instinct further by bending down with his back turned to rummage through his pack. He stood up, and as he zipped up the jacket he had retrieved, he turned his head and the beam of his light searched through the undergrowth. For a second, two jade orbs pierced the darkness. The orbs were blazing in their intensity and then they were gone.
The hunter must have seen them, for he hurriedly shouldered his pack and began to walk down the trail, breaking into a trot, then a run, his pack bouncing off his back, his flashlight beam jerking crazily, illuminating the pines. The arms of the trees whipped at him as he fled.
As for the lion, she had shifted her gaze just as the beam of the man’s light swept over her face. The impulse to give chase was strong, and she had followed down the path the hunter had taken with narrowing focus, tracking the firefly glow of his light. But even as she closed the gap, her aversion to humans began to reassert itself, and her attention flagged. A month before, perhaps, the chase wouldn’t have ended in this manner. A month before her hunger was greater.
But she was strong now, and humans were no longer the only animal slow enough for her to catch, nor weak enough to kill. With only curiosity propelling her forward, she followed to a break in the trees where she could see the carpet of lights in the valley. A magnetic force field seemed to pulse from the lights, repelling any further pursuit. Turning, she padded back into the reassuring dark of the forest, where she resumed her ambush behind the log.
An hour later, a young mule deer buck picked his way down to the creek where the trails crossed. When he dropped his nose to drink, the cat sprang. In one leap she was on him, her right paw sweeping the hind legs from underneath his body. As the deer tripped, she caught him by the throat.
She stood over him, her chest heaving from the exertion, as lightning flashed on the top of the ridge. Perhaps, then, the deer, like the hunter, saw the fire in the eyes of the lion. Or perhaps by then the last light in the world had gone out, leaving the Bangtail Ghost as a shadow in the night.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This book is dedicated to Kathryn Court, the former publisher and president of Penguin Books, who has been my editor for the Sean Stranahan series since its inception. It is also dedicated to Dominick Abel, my literary agent, who, as my wife puts it, is a knight riding his white horse to the rescue of this Montana writer, and to that of many others. Without Dominick, there might not be any Sean Stranahan books to publish. Without Kathryn, they might not have found a home, let alone at such a respected publishing house. I am honored to consider them friends and to have been the beneficiary of their wisdom in the shaping of this novel.
Also, I especially want to acknowledge associate editor Victoria Savanh, who took the reins on this project after Kathryn Court’s retirement last year. Victoria’s guidance and suggestions made this a better book. For shepherding the novel through its final stages, and for his infinite patience in indulging my many last-minute changes, I am greatly indebted to senior production editor Bruce Giffords. I also want to thank Amy Edelman, who is the most thorough and spot-on of all the copy editors with whom I have worked.
A book, if the author is lucky and has the support of a dedicated team, enjoys both a private and public life. For bringing my books to the readers, I want to thank associate publicity director Ben Petrone.
For the layout and striking jacket design, I thank book designer Alexis Farabaugh and senior designer Matt Vee. It is Matt who is responsible for the jacket, and it is my hope that the novel will live up to those bright and penetrating eyes.
The Bangtail Ghost of this book’s title is a mountain lion, and I am fortunate that a reader of my previous books, Jim Williams, just happens to be one of the foremost mountain lion researchers in the world and the author of the bible on mountain lion biology and behavior, Path of the Puma, which I recommend to anyone who finds these great carnivores as fascinating as I do. Jim, who is the Region 1 supervisor for Montana Fish, Wildlife and Parks, was kind enough to review this book from the perspective of a biologist who has studied lions from Glacier National Park in Montana to Patagonia in Argentina and Chile. Any errors of fact or animal behavior in the story are mine alone.
I’d also like to recognize my friend Julie Cunningham, a biologist for Montana Fish, Wildlife and Parks, who taught me how to radio-track game.
It is hard to exaggerate the role that houndsmen play in the study of big cats. Without hounds there are no lions to collar, and without collared lions there are no digital trails to follow that reveal to us the lions’ life stories, so that we might better understand them and help them coexist with us. Among houndsmen, Orvel Fletcher is legendary. I treasure the week I spent with him, riding horseback through the rimrock canyons east of Trujillo, New Mexico, on the trail of a cattle-killing lion.
Halfway around the world, in the foothills of the Himalayas, a much larger cat rules with tooth and claw, the royal Bengal tiger. I want to thank Sid and Choti Anand, who run Blaze a Trail Adventures (blazeatrailadventures.com), for making my dream of spending time with tigers in the wild a reality.
As for the writing of the book, I thank my son, Tom, for his scrupulous reading of early drafts of the novel, and my counselor daughter, Jessie, for providing insight into character and motivation. I also thank them for soc
ial media and tech support, and for operating and updating my website.
Last, and most of all, I thank my wife, Gail Schontzler, for her years of support and guidance. She is my companion on this journey and my last and best editor. Her skills and patience were never more needed or appreciated than in the writing of this novel.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Keith McCafferty is the survival and outdoor skills editor of Field & Stream, and the author of The Royal Wulff Murders, The Gray Ghost Murders, Dead Man's Fancy, Crazy Mountain Kiss, which won the 2016 Spur Award for Best Western Contemporary Novel, Buffalo Jump Blues, Cold Hearted River, and A Death in Eden. Winner of the Traver Award for angling literature, he is a two-time National Magazine awards finalist. He lives with his wife in Bozeman, Montana.
What’s next on
your reading list?
Discover your next
great read!
Get personalized book picks and up-to-date news about this author.
Sign up now.