A COUGAR AT BAY
The dogs did not succeed in picking up another trail that day, so,
late in the afternoon, the guide directed them to make camp by a
stream, under the tall, clustering spruces in a deep ravine.
Tired from their hard run, the hounds threw themselves down by the
cool stream to satisfy their thirst. Mustard employed his time in
licking his wounded nose, where the claws of the bob-cat had raked
it. Altogether the two animals appeared more disappointed over the
loss of their quarry than did the boys themselves. While responding to
the caresses of their young masters, the dogs were irritable to the
point of snapping angrily at each other whenever they approached one
another close enough to do so.
"They don't seem to enjoy each other's company," said Stacy, observing
the animals curiously.
"They're always that way after a chase," answered the guide. "They
will be friendly to their masters, but extremely irritable to each
other. By to-morrow morning the hounds will be bosom friends, you will
find."
"Humph! I wouldn't like to belong to that family," decided Chunky.
Next morning, Lige decided that it would be best to move further north
for cougar, they having failed to strike the trail of any on the
previous day. Somehow, the dogs had lost the trail of the one that had
so recently disturbed the camp, picking up the scent of the bob-cat
instead.
This frequently was the case, as the guide informed them while they
were riding along in the fresh morning air. The dogs had not been
freed yet, Lige leading them along by the side of his pony on a long
leash.
Tad was trailing along a few rods to the rear. A sudden exclamation
from him caused the others to pull up sharply.
The lad's eyes were fixed on a tree a short distance ahead of him
beneath which the party had just passed.
"What is it?" demanded Lige in a low voice.
As if in answer to his question, the hounds uttered a deep, menacing
growl.
Tad made no reply, but signaled with his hand that they were to remain
quietly where they were.
They saw him slip off the strap that held the rifle to his back and
bring the weapon around in front of him. There he paused, holding the
gun idly in one hand, his gaze still fixed on the top of the tree.
All at once the butt of the rifle leaped to his shoulder. There was a
puff of smoke, a crash, followed by a loud squall, and a great
floundering about among the branches.
Without lowering the weapon from his shoulder, the young hunter let go
another shot.
The squalling ceased suddenly, but the disturbance in the tree
continued, sounding as if some heavy body were falling through the
branches.
This proved to be the case. In a moment more the animal he had fired
at came tumbling down, landing in a quivering heap at the foot of the
tree.
Tad lowered the muzzle of his smoking weapon, gazing in keen
satisfaction at the victim of his successful shot.
"Good shot!" glowed Lige. "It's a cat." Yet, before he could dismount,
the hounds had wrenched themselves free and pounced upon the body of
the dead bob-cat. With savage growls they tore the sleek hide into
ribbons, on one side, and were devouring the flesh of the animal
ravenously.
The hide was ruined.
"Let them alone!" ordered Lige. "That's the only fun they get out of
the game. They'll be keen to get on the track of a cougar, now that
they have tasted blood." And so it proved.
With their first big game, on this trip, at their feet, the boys were
eager to be off for the haunts of the cruel cougar. To their
disappointment, however, they were able to sight nothing more
interesting than a gaunt gray wolf, at which Ned took a long shot and
missed.
"Might as well try to hit a razor's edge at that distance," said
Lige. "They have no flesh on them at all, to speak of, now----"
"Will they bite?" asked Chunky innocently. "A pack of them would eat
you, bones and all, in a few moments," grinned Lige.
Chunky shuddered.
"But the gray wolf, when taken young, makes an ideal pet. Some of the
best cougar hounds I nave ever seen were trained wolves, working with
a pack of regular hounds, of course," he explained. Leaving the
carcass of the bob-oat for the ravens and magpies, which were already
hovering about in the tall trees awaiting their turn at it, the
hunters moved on.
No other game being found that day, the party turned eastward, where
camp was made, this time on the flat top of a low-lying mountain. Nor
was it until late the following afternoon that the dogs appeared to
have struck a promising lead. From the way they worked Lige thought
they were trailing a black bear.
Forcing the ponies into a brisk trot, the boys still found themselves
falling behind the hounds. Then, at the guide's suggestion, they went
in chase at a lively gallop.
The run continued for somewhat more than two hours, until the ponies
began to lag, and until every bone in the bodies of the hunters seemed
to be crying aloud for rest. The going had been rougher than any they
had yet experienced.
Now they found themselves in a country differing materially from any
they had yet explored. The hills were lower and thickly studded with
trees, the whole resembling an exaggerated rolling prairie.
"They've got him this time," announced the guide.
"Got what?" demanded Chunky.
"We'll know soon," answered Lige directing the boys to urge their
ponies along, and at a rapid pace they came up with the hounds some
twenty minutes later.
They were fighting some animal in a dense copse. It was a dinful
racket they made in their desperate battle.
"It's a cougar," explained Lige. "No cat would make such a
rumpus. Look out for yourselves. I guess you had better lead the
ponies off to the right, there, and stake them securely, for we may
have a fight on our own hook before we have finished here. Hurry if
you want to see the fun."
The boys were back in a twinkling.
"Fix them so they can't get away?"
"Yes."
"Then all of you line up here on this side so we won't be shooting
each other when the brute makes his attempt at a get-away, as he
surely will, when the dogs give him a chance. Two of them can't hold
him long. We ought to have a pack."
They could hear the battle waging desperately in the bushes, which
were being rapidly trampled down by the dogs and their victim, amid
screams of rage from the animal and menacing, deadly growls from the
hounds.
Soon the young hunters were able to make out the combatants, as the
beast worked its way little by little to its right in an effort to
get within reaching distance of a tree that it espied near by. But
the dogs fought valiantly to outwit this very move.
"We've got a cougar this time!" shouted Lige triumphantly. "Look out
for him!"
They could see the fighters plainly now. It was dangerous to fire for
fear of hitting the hounds. Already they were bleeding where the fangs
or claws of the ugly beast had raked them.
However, the dogs were working with keen intelligence. One would nip
at a flank while the other played for the head of the cougar, in hopes
of getting an opening.
Snarling, pawing, grinning, its ugly yellow teeth showing in two
glistening rows, the beast fought savagely for its life.
Despite the guide's warning, Tad Butler and Ned Rector had drawn
closer that they might get a better view of the sanguinary conflict.
"I'm afraid they'll never make it," groaned Lige. "It's fearful
odds. Everybody stand ready to let him have it when he breaks
away. But keep cool. And be careful that you don't hit the dogs. Might
better let the cat get away. There he goes!"
The huge beast leaped clear of the pocket into which the dogs had
backed him.
"Don't shoot!" ordered the guide, observing one of the boys
swinging his rifle down on the struggling animals.
As the big cat leaped, Mustard fastened his fangs into the beast's
left leg, and was carried along with the cougar in its mighty
spring. They could hear the hones grind as the iron jaws of the hound
shut down on them.
With a scream of rage, the maddened animal came to a sudden stop.
Its cruel yellow head shot out, jaws wide apart, aimed straight for
Mustard, who was still hanging with desperate courage to the beast's
leg.
Yet the momentary hesitation, the few seconds lost in stopping in
its rapid flight and reaching back for Mustard, proved the cougar's
undoing.
With a snarl that sent a shiver up and down the backs of the Pony
Riders, Ginger threw himself at the head of the beast. The hound's
powerful jaws closed upon it with a snap.
Over and over rolled the combatants, the dogs without a sound--the
cougar uttering muffled screams, its great paws beating the air. One
stroke reached Mustard, hurling him fully a rod away, where he fell
and lay quivering, a dull red rent appearing in his glossy coat.
The cougar, in an effort to throw Ginger off, was shaking his head, as
a terrier would in killing a rat.
"Ah! He can't make it," cried Lige.
"Hang on, Ginger! Go it, Ginger!" encouraged the boys, now wild with
excitement.
But the hound was fast losing his hold, and the hunters groaned in
sympathy with him as they observed this.
Mustard, understanding this too, perhaps, struggled to his feet and
staggered into the arena to assist his mate, only to meet a repetition
of the calamity that had befallen him a few minutes before. Ginger's
hold was broken at last. One great paw felled him to earth, and the
cougar's yawning jaws closed over his head with crushing force.
Tad Butler's blood was coursing through his veins madly. He could
endure it no longer. A second or so more and the faithful dog's life
would be at an end. With a cry of warning to the others not to shoot,
Tad leaped into the fray, Mustard, at the same time, hurling himself
at the beast's throat, where he fastened and clung.
As Tad sprang forward, his hunting knife flashed from its sheath, and
with a movement so quick that the eyes of the spectators failed to
catch it, the boy drove the keen blade into the cougar's body, just
back of the right shoulder.
At that instant the beast succeeded in freeing itself from the
weakened hounds, and, straightening up with a frightful roar, leaped
into the air, one huge paw catching Tad Butler and hurling him to the
ground.
Tad shuddered convulsively, then lay still.
Lige Thomas's rifle roared out a hoarse protest, and at the end of its
leap the cougar lurched forward and fell dead.