THE MOUNTAIN LION.
One morning, as Mrs. Woods sat in her door picking over some red
whortleberries which she had gathered in the timber the day before, a
young cow came running into the yard, as if for protection. Mrs. Woods
started up, and looked in the direction from which the animal had come
running, but saw nothing to cause the alarm.
The cow looked backward, and lowed. Mrs. Woods set down her dish of red
berries, took her gun, and went out toward the timber where the cow had
been alarmed.
There was on the edge of the timber a large fir that the shingle-maker had
felled when he first built his house or shack, but had not used, owing to
the hardness of the grain. It lay on the earth, but still connected with
its high stump, forming a kind of natural fence. Around it were beds of
red phlox, red whortleberry bushes, and wild sunflowers.
The horny stump and fallen tree had been made very interesting to Mrs.
Woods in her uneventful life by a white squirrel that often had appeared
upon it, and made a pretty picture as it sat eating in the sun, its head
half covered with its bushy tail. White squirrels were not common in the
timber, and this was the only one that Mrs. Woods had ever seen.
"I wish that I could contrive to catch that there white squirrel," she
said to Gretchen one day; "it would be a sight of company for me when you
are gone. The bear used me mean, but I kind o' like all these little
children of Natur'. But I don't want no Injuns, and no more bears unless
_he_ comes back again. The schoolmaster may like Injuns, and you may, but
I don't. Think how I lost my saw; Injun and all went off together. I can
seem to see him now, goin'."
As Mrs. Woods drew near the fallen tree she looked for the white squirrel,
which was not to be seen. Suddenly the bushes near the stump moved, and
she saw the most evil-looking animal that she had ever met drawing back
slowly toward the fallen tree. It was long, and seemed to move more like
an immense serpent than an animal. It had a catlike face, with small ears
and spiteful eyes, and a half-open mouth displaying a red tongue and
sharp teeth. Its face was sly, malicious, cruel, and cowardly. It seemed
to be such an animal as would attack one in the dark. It was much larger
than a dog or common black bear.
Mrs. Woods raised her gun, but she thought that she was too far from the
house to risk an encounter with so powerful an animal. So she drew back
slowly, and the animal did the same defiantly. She at last turned and ran
to the house.
"Gretchen," she said, "what do you think I have seen?"
"The white squirrel."
"No; a tiger!"
"But there are no tigers here; so the chief said."
"But I have just seen one, and it had the meanest-looking face that I ever
saw on any living creature. It was all snarls. That animal is dangerous. I
shall be almost afraid to be alone now."
"I shall be afraid to go to school."
"No, Gretchen, you needn't be afraid. I'll go with you mornin's and carry
the gun. I like to walk mornin's under the trees, the air does smell so
sweet."
That night, just as the last low tints of the long twilight had
disappeared and the cool, dewy airs began to move among the pines, a long,
deep, fearful cry was heard issuing from the timber. Mrs. Woods started up
from her bed and called, "Gretchen!"
The girl had been awakened by the cry, which might have been that of a
child of a giant in pain.
"Did you hear that?" asked Mrs. Woods.
"Let's get up and go out," said Gretchen.
Presently the same long, clear, pitiable cry, as if some giant distress,
was repeated.
"It seems human," said Mrs. Woods. "It makes me want to know what it is.
Yes, let us get up and go out."
The cry was indeed pleading and magnetic. It excited pity and curiosity.
There was a strange, mysterious quality about it that drew one toward it.
It was repeated a third time and then ceased.
There was a family by the name of Bonney who had taken a donated claim
some miles from the Woodses on the Columbia. They had two boys who
attended the school.
Early the next morning one of these boys, named Arthur, came over to the
Woodses in great distress, with a fearful story.
"Something," he said, "has killed all of our cattle. They all lie dead
near the clearing, just as though they were asleep. They are not injured,
as we can see; they are not shot or bruised, nor do they seem to be
poisoned--they are not swelled--they look as though they were alive--but
they are cold--they are just dead. Did you hear anything in the timber
last night?"
"Yes," said Mrs. Woods. "Wasn't it mysterious? Lost your cattle, boy? I am
sorry for your folks. Mabbie (may be) 'tis Injuns."
"No; father says that he can find no injury on them."
"'Tis awful mysterious like," said Mrs. Woods, "cattle dyin' without
anything ailin' 'em! I've always thought this was a good country, but I
don't know. Tell your folks I'm sorry for 'em. Can I do anything for you?
I'll come over and see ye in the course of the day."
That night the same strange, wild, pleading cry was repeated in the
timber.
"There's something very strange about that sound," said Mrs. Woods. "It
makes me feel as though I must run toward it. It draws me. It makes me
feel curi's. It has haunted me all day, and now it comes again."
"Do you suppose that the cry has had anything to do with the death of Mr.
Bonney's cattle?" asked Gretchen.
"I don't know--we don't understand this country fully yet. There's
something very mysterious about the death of those cattle. You ought to
have seen 'em. They all lie there dead, as though they had just lost their
breath, and that was all."
The next night was silent. But, on the following morning, a boy came to
the school with a strange story. He had been driving home his father's
cows on the evening before, when an animal had dropped from a great tree
on the neck of one of the cows, which struggled and lowed for a few
minutes, then fell, and was found dead. The boy and the other cattle had
run away on the sudden appearance of the animal. The dead cow presented
the same appearance as the cows of Mr. Bonney had done.
When the old chief appeared at the school-house with Benjamin that
morning, the school gathered around him and asked him what these things
could mean. He replied, in broken Chinook, that there was a puma among
them, and that this animal sucked the blood of its victims.
The puma or cougar or panther, sometimes spelled _painter_, is the
American lion. It is commonly called the mountain lion in the Northwest.
It belongs to the cat family, and received the name of lion from its tawny
color. When its appetite for blood has been satisfied, and its face is in
repose, it is a very beautiful animal; but when seeking its prey it
presents a mean, cowardly, stealthy appearance, and its face is a picture
of cruelty and evil. It will destroy as many as fifty sheep in a night,
sucking their blood and leaving them as though they had died without any
external injury. This terrible animal is easily tamed if captured young,
and, strange to say, becomes one of the most affectionate and devoted of
pets. It will purr about the feet and lick the hands of its master, and
develop all the attractive characteristics of the domestic cat.
"We must have a puma-hunt," said the chief, "now--right away."
"Not to-day?" said the teacher.
"Yes," said the chief, "now--he eat your children. Find boy dead some day,
just like cow. He drop down from a tree on a papoose. Benjamin and I will
go hunt."
[Illustration: _The mountain lion._]
The two disappeared. For several days they did not return. But, one
morning, a party of Indians in hunting-gear came riding up to the
school-house, full of gay spirits and heroic pride. Behind them came
the old chief on foot, moving slowly, as though tired, and with him was
Benjamin.
The Indian boy had a brown skin of an animal on his shoulder--a raw hide
with very beautiful fur.
The old chief came into the school-room with an air of pride, and stood
for a few minutes silent before the master. His face, though wrinkled, was
really beautiful and noble, in the light of the happy intelligence that
awaited communication. He at last looked each pupil in the face and then
said:
"We have killed the puma. School no fear now."
He took the skin of the animal from Benjamin's shoulder, and held it up
before the eyes of all.
"Boston tilicum, who killed the animal?" he said.
"It was you?" asked the teacher.
"No--not me, not me, no!"
"The braves?"
"No--not the braves. No." The old chief paused, and then said:
"Boston tilicum, it was Benjamin. Treat him well. He is good to me--he
mean well. He likes you--he die for you. Tell the boys it was Benjamin."
He turned away slowly, with a bearing of pride. The Indian boy gave the
puma's skin to the master, and took his seat in silence. There was a
spirit in the strange scene that was touching, and the master's lip
quivered as he took the old chief's hand that bright morning, as a parting
sign of gratitude and good-will. He felt the innate brotherhood of all
human hearts, and returned to his desk happy in his calling and work; and
seeing that the natural rights of all men were secured; and that the human
heart has the same impulses everywhere, as he had never seen these truths
before.
That night Gretchen told the story of the puma to Mrs. Woods, who had
learned the leading incidents of it in the afternoon as she came to meet
the girl in the trail, on the way from school.