Robert Leckie

“ Cook and Mike were planning a pack trip along the Lost River and they wanted to take him along. In his mind’s eye he already saw the rugged splendor of the mountains, smelled the pungent smoke of a crackling campfire after a full day’s hunting or fishing.
“Hey, wake up! You look as if you’re dreaming.” It was Mike, back from his father’s den.
Sandy looked over at him, shook his head and sighed. “I was, Mike, I really was.”
Mike clapped a sympathetic hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Worrying won’t help. Why don’t you hunt up Dad and see how he made out? I’ll call you when dinner’s ready.” ”

“ Sandy turned to Mike. “What do you think?” he asked. It had almost stopped raining, but instead of clearing, the sky had taken on an even darker, more ominous color. Mike squinted up at the gathering clouds, hitched his pack more comfortably onto his shoulders and nodded. “Let’s go!” he said firmly.
Hank grinned at them. “You boys are all right,” he said. “I’m going to take you to a hill that’s swarming with goats. I never took anybody there before. We might even get ourselves a head that’ll make the record books.” ”

“ But even as Sandy reared back to heave the line, he knew the light rope would never carry all the way to the shore. He felt the log jam shudder and move a few inches closer to the rapids. He put every ounce of his strength into the throw, but the rope didn’t even reach halfway.
Sandy’s mind raced over the possibilities of escape. There had to be a way out. There just had to!
“Sandy!” It was Mike calling out to him. “Get ready and watch your eyes!” Sandy saw that Mike had taken up his fly rod and was about to cast. Suddenly, as he realized what Mike had in mind, his heart gave a leap. ”

“ Sandy wondered whether to speak, but decided against it. Joe, he knew from experience, was not a man who would willingly talk about his troubles. All at once Sandy realized he was sleepy. He made up his mind to forget about the mystery that surrounded Joe. He would think about the cougar hunt tomorrow. And if he was very lucky, he would forget about his experience in Cutthroat Rapids forever.
He finally fell into a fitful sleep that was streaked and shattered by nightmares. Three huge black crows were chasing Joe, and he was trying to help. As they ran together, they came to a quiet stream. ”

“ Sandy peered over the edge. Hundreds of small pieces of rock had spilled down the side of the mountain, forming a steep pathway to the floor of the canyon below.
“Isn’t that dangerous?” Mike asked. “Won’t the whole thing give way?”
“It’ll slide, if that’s what you mean,” Hank replied. “But it won’t all come tumbling down at once. It’s sort of like running down a long sand dune. The particles of sand keep slipping downhill, but the hill itself holds together. Use these branches for balance and you’ll get down without any trouble. ”

“ But as they started to cross, the stream became a roaring river and the three crows turned into giant cutthroat trout. Sandy could see the red slashes on either side of their lower jaws as they strained to catch him in their razor-sharp teeth. Twisting himself around in a desperate attempt to escape, he swam faster through the boiling current. ”

“ They looked malevolent and deadly. Powerful muscles at the joints of his shoulders gathered and hunched into hard knots. In another moment they would uncoil, sending two hundred pounds of clawing death down on Mike’s unsuspecting back.
Bracing himself for the gun’s recoil, Sandy took a deep breath and squeezed slowly down on the trigger. The intersection of the two cross hairs was centered on a spot directly above and behind the cougar’s foreleg. Sandy could feel the trigger pressing harder into the crook of his finger as he held the rifle steady. ”

“ Hank said deliberately through a cloud of smoke, “look at it this way. If you had a vegetable garden and a woodchuck was tearing it apart, what would you do?”
“Shoot him,” Mike replied promptly.
“You see?” Hank grinned. “I notice you didn’t use the word ‘hunt.’ That’s exactly the way I feel about a cougar. They’re destructive beasts and wanton killers. I’ve known them to kill fifty sheep in a night just for the fun of it. That’s why I’ve declared war on them.” He paused and looked up at the trophy heads lined up along the wall. “There’s another reason I don’t care much for mountain lions. ”

“ Hank Dawson’s hunting lodge, high in the Lost River Mountains of Idaho, was the first house Sandy had ever been in where no woman had ever set foot. In every way it was a man’s paradise—designed exclusively for male society. ”

“ Sandy asked.
Hank smiled. “Sure,” he said. “I’ve got my reputation to think of. I got up one morning while he was still in the sack and found me a real nice ram. After I shot him, I propped him up against some rocks and went back down to camp. ‘I think we’ll find ourselves a sheep today,’ I told him. ‘There’s a set of tracks near here that looks promising.’” Hank chuckled and fished in his pocket for some cigarette makings. “Course, what he didn’t know,” he went on, as he expertly rolled himself a smoke, “was that no man alive ever saw tracks over solid rock. ”

“ A mountain goat lives in the most inaccessible places. He’s got eyes like binoculars, he’s smart and fast, and he’s not afraid of anything that walks. I’ve known of cases where mountain goats have killed a lion. He may not be much to look at, but I can promise you an exciting chase and one you won’t forget in a hurry. Okay?”
Sandy and Mike both nodded their heads in agreement. “Okay,” they chorused.
“Good.” Hank stood up and stretched his arms over his head. “I’m for bed,” he announced. “And you better do the same. If we’re going hunting tomorrow, we’ll have to be up at....” ”

“ On any other day, Sandy thought to himself, the rugged beauty and awesome power of the river at Dog Leg Falls would make an exciting spectacle. On this particular day, however, it looked vicious and threatening.
Sandy tore his eyes away from the river and forced himself to listen to what Doug Henderson was saying.
“... there’s really only one bad place. It’s just at the turn. See how the river curves to the left?”
Sandy shaded his eyes and peered over at the spray. He nodded silently.
“Well, the current will try to pull you over to those rocks on the right. You mustn’t let that happen. ”

“ Mike called out to Sandy, “when are you going to give me that lesson in bait casting?”
“Soon as we find some fish,” Sandy replied. “I thought you said this river was full of trout,” he said, turning to Joe.
“It is. You’ll have your chance tonight after we make camp. I know a pool ahead that’s a regular hangout for cutthroats.”
“Cutthroats! Never heard of them.”
“They’ve got a red slash on both sides of their lower jaw. I think this is the only part of the world where you’ll find them.”
“That’s right,” agreed Mr. Cook. “The Lewis and Clark expedition was the first to describe them. ”

“ Mike cried excitedly.
“Tomorrow?” his father said with a frown. “I’d just as soon wait a day or two.”
“Why?”
“Well, for one thing, we’re up pretty high, you know. Before I go scrambling around any mountain peaks, I’d like to get used to the altitude.”
“I’ll go out with the boys,” Hank said unexpectedly. “You can loaf around the house and take it easy.”
“How about it, Dad?”
Mr. Cook shrugged and put down his pipe. “As far as I’m concerned there’s no better man in the world to take you hunting than Hank. You’re sure you want to, Hank?” ”

“ Mike observed.
“Pity we won’t be able to meet them,” Mr. Cook remarked. “But we’ll be leaving the river at Mormon Crossing.”
As they were talking, the smoke suddenly stopped. It was as if someone had thrown a bucket of water on the campfire. “That’s odd,” Mr. Cook muttered. “I wonder why they did that? You don’t normally build a fire and then douse it right away.”
“No, you don’t,” Joe said grimly. He looked even more disturbed than he had the day of his accident on the Henderson dock. It was especially strange since Joe had been in excellent spirits all through the trip downriver. ”

“ When they finished, Hank looked at both of them and shook his head. “You know,” he said, “some people think there’s a guardian angel whose special job is to look out for tenderfeet in the mountains. I never believed it before. But I do now. There’s no other explanation.”
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Mike thought back over the past several days and broke into a grin. “If there is such an angel,” he said, “the poor fellow must be close to a nervous breakdown. He’s been working overtime.”
Hank grunted and peered up the side of the mountain. “It’s funny about that cave,” he said. “You think it’s a big one?”
Sandy nodded. ”

“ Mike bowed solemnly. “You’re the guest.”
“Go ahead, Sandy,” Mr. Cook invited.
Sandy leaned forward in his chair. “I was going to ask if I should send for my rifle. I have a .22 at home.”
Mr. Cook laughed and put down his pipe. “I don’t think you’d use it once, Sandy,” he said. “This is big-game country we’re going into. We’ll see mule deer and elk, pronghorn antelope and mountain goats. If we’re lucky we may even spot a grizzly or a bighorn sheep. And we’re almost certain to run into a mountain lion or two.”
“A mountain lion,” Sandy breathed. “What a trophy that would make. ”

“ Mike looked surprised. “I thought they were the best prize of all.”
Hank shook his head. “I don’t agree. Oh, they’re dangerous, all right. Don’t make any mistake about that.”
“How big do they get?” Sandy asked.
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“They vary,” Hank replied. “Mountain lions or pumas or cougars—they’re the same animal, you know—are found all the way from British Columbia down to the tip of South America. And the farther north you go, the bigger they get. A full-grown male will weigh as much as two hundred pounds. That makes them bigger than an African leopard.” ”

“ He shifted the bale of straw to his other arm and began to talk more quickly. “I know that Indians are part of our life now, but the tribe still means something to them.”
“You’re right.” Mr. Cook nodded. “They have a strong sense of tribal identification. It’s quite possible that each tribe passes its own legends along from generation to generation. Indians don’t keep any records, so naturally it wouldn’t be in the library. Joe might have heard about the massacre from his father or some of the elders of the tribe.”
Sandy still wasn’t satisfied. ”

“ Then, as he watched, the underbrush parted and a head appeared. An instant later, a huge mahogany bear was standing on the narrow strip of beach that ran along the water. Cautiously, the bear lifted up its snout and sniffed the breeze. Apparently satisfied, the animal waddled out to the edge of the river.
“Boy!” Sandy breathed. “Think we can get in a shot?” Keeping his eyes glued on the bear, he reached around for a rifle.
“No shooting,” ordered Joe. “It’s against the law.”
“How come?” Sandy asked in surprise.
“Can’t shoot bears from a boat,” Joe explained. “You have to be on dry land. ”

“ Mr. Cook spread the map over his desk. “Here,” he said, pointing the stem of his pipe at the juncture of three rivers in central Idaho. “Near the town of Salmon. We’ll stop there, hire some boats and a guide and get you two fellows used to a little white water.”
“White water?” Sandy’s expression was blank.
“Rapids. We’re going to have to run dozens on our trip downriver. They’re dangerous, too. We’ll portage our way around the worst ones, but we’ll go through most of them. ”

“ Sandy assured him.
Hank waved a hand and scrambled out of sight. Behind him, Sandy heard Mike mutter, “We’re a fine pair of hunters! Here we are—stuck on the side of a mountain in the middle of a cloudburst like a couple of flies caught on flypaper.”
“Well, at least we can move,” Sandy said philosophically, shaking the water out of his eyes. “Looks like another seventy-five yards or so. Think you can make it?”
“Carry on, old man.”
After another five minutes of hard climbing, they broke through to a clearing that led in one direction to another clump of trees. ”

“ Sandy grinned and hoisted himself up to a sitting position. “I like the original words better, Mike!” he shouted.
In the other boat, Mike assumed a posture of dignified disappointment. “That’s the trouble with people like you,” he replied haughtily. “You never appreciate an original talent. Why, I predict in a hundred years, they’ll be singing my songs from—”
“Quiet, Mike!” The sharp command came from Joe, who was sitting motionless in the stern of his boat. Slowly, he raised one hand and pointed to the shore about a hundred yards ahead. “Look!” ”

“ Growling and snarling, she scolded her tiny runaway and gave him a slap that sent him spinning head over heels. The little bear scrambled back to its feet and raced for the protection of the underbrush. Still scolding and snarling, the big bear followed. Sandy could hear the tirade go on for several minutes until, at last, it died down.
“Now there,” Mike observed, “is a mother who doesn’t believe in spoiling her child. Did you see the spanking that little cub got?”
“I sure did. I wonder if he knows why he got it.”
“I think so,” Joe said. “Wild animals have to learn fast. ”

“ Sandy moved over to the porch railing and hoisted himself up against a post. “Gee, a movie star! Were you a real bad Indian?”
Joe laughed. “I was a real dead Indian, that’s for sure. I got killed eight different times in that picture. Some fun. The only trouble was that I had to pretend to be a Crow Indian.”
“What’s bad about that?”
“Nothing really, I suppose. It’s just that Crows and Blackfeet never got along too well together. Our ancestors fought over the same hunting ground for years. We were always at war.”
Mr. Cook scratched another match along the arm of his chair. ”

“ Doug explained patiently, “can catch you just like a trap. You can put your foot in one of them and never get it out. It’ll hold you under the water until you—” He faltered and looked away.
Sandy nodded in grim understanding. “How do I keep away from them?”
“When you enter the channel stay over to the left as far as you can. Keep steering to the left no matter what the current does. If you’re over far enough, you’ll make it with about three feet to spare. Think you’ve got it?”
“I think so. Let’s get this thing over with.”
“You’re sure you’re all set?” Mike asked anxiously. ”

“ All you do is set the dogs on their trail and they do the rest. You just follow the pack and, after a little while, you come up against your lion crouched in a tree like a frightened old lady. After that, it doesn’t take much to knock it off.”
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“Couldn’t they kill the dogs?” Sandy asked.
“Oh, yes,” Hank said. “And they do. Old Drum’s been clawed plenty of times, but, knock on wood, he’s still alive and kicking. A cornered animal is always dangerous. I’ve had them charge me on several occasions. If they’re hungry enough they’ll come right up to a house. ”