The mountain lion cried again, this time from just outside the entrance to Madigan’s hiding place. Now he was sure it was on the scent of the horses and that the big cat was hungry. He also knew that where the horses’ scent was strong, his would be too. Normally human scent stops a cat dead in its tracks. But if they are hurt or old and cannot hunt their normal prey, they turn to easier game. From its cry, he did not believe this cougar to be old.
Then a chilling thought struck him-rabies! He had seen many fox along the way, and wherever there was an abundance of fox, there was a high probability that there’d be some diseased animals close by. If a puma caught one of these sick animals, it would contract the sickness also.
A mountain lion with rabies feared nothing. And this cat was heading Madigan’s way! Another thing that tended to confirm his theory was the fact that this cat was making more noise than normal for a cat on the prowl. Something was wrong and he’d better be prepared to defend himself and the livestock.
First thing he did was to get a fire going, which only took him a couple of minutes. The light from the fire was somewhat reassuring, but it only lit an area of about twenty feet. The lion could get within a few yards of him and he would not be able to see it. He waited for the cougar to scream again to make sure it was still outside the small canyon, then he stepped quickly into the darkness and paced off another twenty-five feet.
Scooping out a small depression in the dirt, he poured most of the black powder into it. Then he carefully poured a trail with the rest of the powder back to where he’d be waiting for the big cat. This took some time, as he had to be sure not to leave any breaks in the powder line. Now he nervously sat down with rifle in hand to wait.
It is a unique experience to sit out in the wilderness a hundred miles from help, in the dark, with a rabid mountain lion tracking you down. There isn’t a gun made that looks big enough at these times. Madigan thought about getting the Sharps out, but if he missed the first shot, he would not have time for another.
Madigan’s lever action Winchester in.44–40 caliber would do the job if his aim was good, as long as it didn’t jam. In his haste to try for Harry O’Neill several days before, he’d inadvertently smashed the rifle into a tree in the dark. When he tried for one last shot at the bushwhacker as he was riding out, his rifle had jammed.
The next morning he cleaned it thoroughly and found that the bolt going through the cocking lever was bent. As long as he worked the lever slowly it worked all right, but if he got in a hurry it would jam. There was nothing he could do about it until he got to a town with a gunsmith. He made a mental note to work the lever as slowly as possible if a second shot was needed.
A series of short screams brought Madigan to full alert. Somewhere a short distance from him the big cougar was stalking his next meal-Madigan! The packhorse that he had wisely tied a short distance behind him was terrified. The buckskin was jittery but kept his ground. Madigan poked a stick in the fire behind him and strained to see into the darkness.
Even with all the noise the packhorse was making, he could hear the labored breathing of the puma in the darkness. He had not yet seen the glow from the cat’s eyes, which meant it was keeping well out from the fire. Madigan’s guess was that the cougar was just far enough along with rabies to slow it down some and cause it to lose its fear of man, but not far enough along to lose its natural fear of fire.
A few more hours and the cat might have just rushed in and attacked him without warning and that would have been that. Like he thought earlier, this whole trip had been very nerve-racking. He was thinking that he’d have been better off to have stayed with the army where he only had to fight Indians and Generals for a living.
The buckskin’s ears pointed forward, looking off to Madigan’s right where the fir trees were thickest. No wonder he was unable to see the feline’s eyes. The big cat was using the trees as cover and was probably right now getting ready to make his charge. The hair on the back of Madigan’s neck crawled as he grabbed a glowing stick from the fire and touched off the black powder. Even as the powder flared up, illuminating the area in a blinding flash, he only had time to see the mountain lion in full flight before it would be on him.
Madigan had no time to aim as he pulled the trigger, then dove for the ground, rolling in an effort to escape the cat’s savage claws. He knew he had missed, but the cougar was blinded by the flash and it also missed. Madigan quickly came to his knees aligning the rifle in the direction of where the cat had landed. He jerked the Winchester’s lever down to eject the spent shell and reload another.
To his shock the lever came off in his hand! He dropped the rifle and grabbed for his Colt but found only an empty holster. His side arm had been thrown clear as he rolled to avoid the puma’s attack. He retrieved the rifle and grasped it by the barrel to use as a club.
The cat was now in plain view from the light of the fire, saliva frothed from its mouth. It was crouched, ready to leap, when to Madigan’s utter astonishment, the buckskin whirled around and with a bone-crushing kick, sent the mountain lion sailing through the air.
Madigan wasted no time in looking for his Colt. Finding it by the fire, he swooped it up and fired a quick shot in the direction of the cat in hopes of scaring it off. He spent the rest of the night watching and waiting for the cougar’s return.
First light revealed one very large and very dead mountain lion less than twenty feet into the trees. The buckskin’s kick had caved in its ribs and it had probably been dead before it hit the ground.
It took some time to bury the animal and it was hard work in this rocky soil, but he finished the job after about an hour.
“Don’t want any more critters feeding off the carcass and getting sick too,” he muttered to himself. One mad mountain lion was enough to last Madigan a lifetime!
The tar was helping to heal the packhorse’s hoof and he figured in another day they’d be on their way again. And he could use some rest see’n how he didn’t sleep much last night, but there was something that bothered him about being so close to that dead cougar, even though he had buried it deep. Never knew when its mate might come ‘round, if it had a mate. The trouble was, if it did she’d sure as hell have the sickness too.
Madigan made plans just in case. First thing he did was to find some dry wood that would burn brightly. To this he added some dried branches covered with pitch from the fir trees. He made two piles of this dried wood, one at each side of camp. Now if any more trouble came his way, he could fire the wood and have plenty of light to see by for a good shot. Madigan was hoping he didn’t have anything to worry about. With the stream running through the canyon, he had no worries about water and the grass was enough for the two horses for a week or more.
About noon the next day, he decided to take a look at the trail. Never hurt to do a little scouting when you were held up for a few days. The sun was high and the shadows were short; Madigan liked it that way. A short shadow was much harder to see and right now Madigan didn’t want to be seen by anyone.
Just inside the entrance to the canyon there were some large boulders and past them a rock ledge went up the side of the cliff. Above the ledge there was an overhang, putting most of the ledge in shadow. Madigan took a good look around, then ascended to the ledge, keeping well back in the shadows so to be out of sight of anyone below.
Keeping a lookout for snakes, he was able to climb almost to the top of the cliff. By standing, he could just barely get a handhold and was able to pull himself over the top. From here it was a beautiful sight all around, and he lingered for a long while. No one was in sight below, so he moved back away from the edge and had a look at his surroundings.