COUGARS TALK.
The “getting” of Dan Todd had been delayed too long to suit Ludwig. The
first thing necessary to his submitting a bid was the knowledge his
enemy would not bid. He spoke briefly to Bull Yates who dominated
everybody in Ludwig’s employ but Ludwig.
“You haven’t landed that bird yet, Yates!”
“How can I land him when he’s at the mill all the time? He’s afraid to
stick his nose in the timber.”
“We’ll see,” Ludwig promised. “You be ready to-night to act!”
Five o’clock that evening Ludwig called Dan on the telephone. “This is
Robertson at Camp Five. The line’s down and I had to come down the trail
a mile to telephone. You’d better come out and decide whether to build
that skidroad up the draw, which is pretty soft, or go to the expense of
building a bridge across. Can you come up to-night?”
“No, I’m afraid not, Robertson.”
“Then I’d better lay off the crew. There’s nothing for them to do.”
That brought Todd to time. He dreaded the breaking up of any crew that
worked well together. “I’ll make it some way,” he promised, “don’t know
what time I’ll get there, but to-night, sure.”
Then just to be sure Todd did not phone back and check up, Ludwig cut
the line he had tapped.
It started to drizzle late that afternoon. Night found the wind roaring
from the northeast, the shore line lashed white with surf, and a
snowstorm raging in the mountains. Loggers were praying it would not
extend down to the camps and cause a suspension of operations.
The storm increased and creatures of claw and fang that preyed at night
slunk from cover to cover and found the pickings poor indeed. Here and
there they scented out huddled creatures of the day and made their kill.
Bull Yates moved through the timber almost as silently as the cougar at
his side. Presently he stopped above a deer run, found the wind to his
advantage and with a quick, upward flirt of a whip ordered the cat to
the overhanging limb of a tree. A chain was fastened to a spiked collar
about the cougar’s neck. The spikes turned inward and made it possible
for the man to control the cat, which, being no fool, soon learned that
absolute stillness was the way to avoid pain.
An hour passed and then, without sound, a two-point buck bounded into
the run. Coming with the wind he did not scent the cat. His main thought
was a protected thicket just ahead in which he could avoid the force of
the storm. The cougar grew tense with excitement. Murder without
warning; escape without leaving a clew was the code of this pair. The
man’s instincts were as deeply aroused as the cat’s.
With the silence of ashes falling from a cigar, the great cat dropped.
Its timing was perfect. The impact snapped the buck’s spine and crushed
him to the wet trail. A single bawl of fright, then silence, save for
the moaning of the storm in the tree tops; the snarls of the cat and the
laughter of the man.
Yates slowly pulled the chain and drew the cat from its kill. “No
venison steaks to-night,” he said softly; “that buck’s for me. It was
just to get you worked up. You’ll eat horse meat if you’re lucky.”
He dragged the snarling cat a half mile down to the main trail, then,
walking in water to conceal his own footprints, Yates forced the cat to
follow along a bobcat trail paralleling the stream.
At length he stopped; tossed a line over a limb and climbed up hand over
hand. Spilling several drops of catnip oil on the limb, so that it would
work into the cracks of the bark, he slid down the rope, removed it,
unsnapped the collar and with a crack of the whip ordered the cat up the
tree.
Training told. Never did he send the cat up without rewarding it with
catnip. The cougar knew. He scrambled up the tree and the man, his
timing as perfect as the cat’s had been a moment before, listened and
heard the click of a horse’s hoof against stone. Yates worked his way
upstream, wading at times waist deep, heedless of the icy water. But
frequently he stopped to listen intently.
* * * * *
On the limb, licking the catnip, the cougar suddenly froze. The
blood-lust was running its course unchecked. Aroused by the buck
episode, denied its kill, it was in a dangerous mood when the catnip
quieted it somewhat. But within the cat’s veins the blood ran hot.
The oncoming scent the cougar instantly identified. Man and horse! It
was afraid of the man and might have retreated, but caution gave way to
blood-lust. It waited, tense, a creature of claws, knotted muscles and
blazing eyes. It gathered itself and sprang. The man, not the horse, saw
the danger almost as the cougar jumped. He screamed in the horse’s ear,
drove his spurs into his flanks and at the same moment swung him around.
The cat’s paw scraped Chinook’s fore leg, slightly drawing blood. The
horse reared so far backwards, Todd slid from the saddle. The next
instant, with a scream that chilled the man’s blood, the horse was
fighting off the cat.
Failure had stripped the cougar of much of its confidence. The man-fear
returned in a measure. It slunk into the brush, while in a panic the
horse galloped down the trail.
“Close shave!” muttered Todd. “Now I wonder—” He played his flashlight
about. “I’ve heard Bull Yates trained his cat to bring him down deer out
of season. Why not a man—” But his experienced eye saw not the slightest
sign of human tracks.
Afoot! Todd swore. Robertson and his crew would have to wait a day. No
need of going ahead. It was quicker to go back and there was always the
chance he might catch Chinook. This he did not rely on too much. The
horse was in a panic. It might run until it killed itself. Unpleasant
thought, for man and animal had gone through a lot together.
Every foot of the trail was familiar to Dan Todd, and it made little
difference whether it was dark or light. He walked instinctively around,
over, or under obstacles and reflected on the future.
A glow stole through him as he thought of Dorothy Lowe. It was not her
beauty that impressed him so much as her amazing loyalty. What was hers
she fought for. A girl after his own heart, and he had never expected to
find her in that stratum of life.
And how she was fighting for her brother. No sacrifice too great. “In
turn, that’s the only decent thing in Bob,” he mused, then he began
thinking of the business. If they did submit the low bid the future was
anything but clear. It spelled defeat for Ludwig, and the fight would
really begin.
Failure to complete the job would mean ruin for the Lowes. Ludwig would
see that the job was never completed, if possible. All this would happen
under cover. In the open he would be the fair-square rival in love with
Dorothy. That was the way he worked.
The same warning instinct, so highly developed in those who spend their
lives in the wilderness, that caused him to “feel” the cougar’s
presence, again spoke. The drip of rain, the rush of air through the top
sounded like water; the roar of the real water of the stream blended and
drowned ordinary sounds, but instinct cannot be silenced by noise. He
grew tense instantly and looked from right to left without turning his
head.
Even the best generals agree the best defense is an offense. A crouching
figure behind a trunk took form and on the theory no well-wisher of his
would crouch in the darkness, Dan Todd’s fist lashed out suddenly. A man
grunted and dropped, completely surprised.
Todd whirled about and backed up to a tree. Three figures magically
appeared. Their plan of action was similar to Todd’s—a fierce offensive.
Dan picked the slighter of the three and knocked him down, thanks to a
long reach. It was a clean knockout, the knuckles of the forester’s big
fist catching the other squarely on the point of the chin. He folded up
like a tent and dropped, face downward.
“I’ve used up all my luck in those two punches,” Dan growled under his
breath, “now for the real fight!”
He left his tree, for the footing was none too good, and began slowly
backing up, blocking what blows he could and dodging the others. As long
as he kept one of his opponents before him, his chances were good. A
flank movement meant instant defeat, for either of these fighters was a
good match for any man.
Twice he caught one of them with all of his strength, and the only
result was a sagging of the knees and an immediate recovery. When the
trail broadened out he sidestepped and began retracing his steps once
more, holding to the narrow part.
Something struck his heel. Then hands gripped his leg. Too late he
realized the second man he had knocked down had regained consciousness
and was intent on tripping him. He shook his boot furiously while
keeping the others back. The man stuck to the leg.
Lunging forward, Dan staggered his nearest opponent with a blow, then
turned and drove his boot into the man beneath him.
“Let go,” he shouted, “or I’ll drive these calks into your chest.”
The answer was the sudden sinking of teeth in the calf of his leg. He
drove his boot downward, the other grunted and let go. The steel calks
had gone through the heavy clothing and left a brand for all time on the
man’s chest. Whenever he stood before a mirror, he would remember this
night’s battle.
Branded though he might be, he was, in a sense, victor. His interference
had given his companions time to close in. Before Dan could turn, a
strong arm closed about his throat. “Get him!” a voice panted in Dan’s
ear. “In the stomach!”
The other closed in, measured the distance and drove his fist into the
pit of the forester’s stomach. Dan Todd dropped as though dead. Two of
them followed him to the ground and began the process of putting him out
of business for some time to come. A third with calk marks on his chest
lay on the ground and wondered; the fourth was still out.