by Mayne Reid
CHAPTER SIX.
KILLING A COUGAR.
Although we had made a five miles' march from the place where we hadhalted to shoot the pigeons, our night-camp was still within theboundaries of the flock. During the night we could hear them atintervals at no great distance off. A branch occasionally cracked, andthen a fluttering of wings told of thousands dislodged or frightened byits fall. Sometimes the fluttering commenced without any apparentcause. No doubt the great-horned owl (_Strix virginiana_), the wild cat(_felis rufa_), and the raccoon, were busy among them, and the silentattacks of these were causing the repeated alarms.
Before going to rest, a torch-hunt was proposed by way of variety, butno material for making good torches could be found, and the idea wasabandoned. Torches should be made of dry pine-knots, and carried insome shallow vessel. The common frying-pan, with a long handle, is bestfor the purpose. Link-torches, unless of the best pitch-pine (_Pinusresinosa_), do not burn with sufficient brightness to stultify thepigeons. They will flutter off before the hunter can get his long polewithin reach, whereas with a very brilliant light, he may approachalmost near enough to lay his hands upon them. As there were nopitch-pine-trees in the neighbourhood, nor any good torch-wood, we wereforced to give up the idea of a night-hunt.
During the night strange noises were heard by several who chanced to beawake. Some said they resembled the howling of dogs, while otherscompared them to the screaming of angry cats. One party said they wereproduced by wolves; another, that the wild cats (lynxes) made them. Butthere was one that differed from all the rest. It was a sort ofprolonged hiss, that all except Ike believed to be the snort of theblack bear, lice, however, declared that it was not the bear, but the"sniff," as he termed it, of the "painter" (cougar). This was probableenough, considering the nature of the place. The cougar is well-knownto frequent the great roosts of the passenger-pigeon, and is fond of theflesh of these birds.
In the morning our camp was still surrounded by the pigeons, sweepingabout among the tree-trunks, and gathering the mast as they went. A fewshots were fired, not from any inclination to continue the sport ofkilling them, but to lay in a fresh stock for the day's dinner. Thesurplus from yesterday's feast was thrown away, and left by the desertedcamp--a banquet for the preying creatures that would soon visit thespot.
We moved on, still surrounded by masses upon the wing. A singularincident occurred as we were passing through a sort of avenue in theforest. It was a narrow aisle, on both sides walled in by the thickfoliage of the beeches. We were fairly within this hall-like passage,when it suddenly darkened at the opposite end. We saw that a cloud ofpigeons had entered it, flying towards us. They were around our headsbefore they had noticed us. Seeing our party, they suddenly attemptedto diverge from their course, but there was no other open to them,except to rise upward in a vertical direction. This they did on theinstant--the clatter of their wings producing a noise like the continuedroar of thunder. Some had approached so near, that the men onhorseback, striking with their guns, knocked several to the ground; andthe Kentuckian, stretching upward his long arm, actually caught one ofthem on the wing. In an instant they were out of sight; but at thatinstant two great birds appeared before us at the opening of the forest,which were at once recognised as a brace of white-headed eagles (_Falcoleucocephalus_). This accounted for the rash flight of the pigeons; forthe eagles had evidently been in pursuit of them, and had driven them toseek shelter under the trees. We were desirous of emptying our guns atthe great birds of prey, and there was a simultaneous spurring of horsesand cocking of guns: to no purpose, however. The eagles were on thealert. They had already espied us; and, uttering their maniac screams,they wheeled suddenly, and disappeared over the tree-tops.
We had hardly recovered from this pleasant little bit of excitement,when the guide Ike, who rode in the advance, was seen suddenly to jerkup, exclaiming--
"Painter, by God! I know'd I heard a painter."
"Where? where?" was hurriedly uttered by several voices, while allpressed forward to the guide.
"Yander!" replied Ike, pointing to a thicket of young beeches. "He'stuk to the brush: ride round, fellers. Mark, boy, round! quick, damnyou!"
There was a scramble of horsemen, with excited, anxious looks andgestures. Every one had his gun cocked and ready, and in a few secondsthe small copse of beeches, with their golden-yellow leaves, wasinclosed by a ring of hunters. Had the cougar got away, or was he stillwithin the thicket? Several large trees grew out of its midst. Had hetaken to one? The eyes of the party were turned upwards. The fiercecreature was nowhere visible.
It was impossible to see into every part of the jungle from the outside,as we sat in our saddles. The game might be crouching among the grassand brambles. What was to be done? We had no dogs. How was the cougarto be started? It would be no small peril to penetrate the thicketafoot. Who was to do it?
The question was answered by Redwood, who was now seen dismounting fromhis horse.
"Keep your eyes about you," cried he. "I'll make the varmint show ifhe's thur. Look sharp, then!"
We saw Redwood enter fearlessly, leaving his horse hitched over abranch. We heard him no longer, as he proceeded with that stealthysilence known only to the Indian fighter. We listened, and waited inprofound suspense. Not even the crackling of a branch broke thestillness. Full five minutes we waited, and then the sharp crack of arifle near the centre of the copsewood relieved, us. The next momentwas heard Redwood's voice crying aloud--
"Look out thur? By God! I've missed him."
Before we had time to change our attitudes another rifle cracked, andanother voice was heard, crying in answer to Redwood--
"But, by God! I hain't."
"He's hyur," continued the voice; "dead as mutton. Come this a way, an'yu'll see the beauty."
Ike's voice was recognised, and we all galloped to the spot where itproceeded from. At his feet lay the body of the panther quite dead.There was a red spot running blood between the ribs, where Ike's bullethad penetrated. In trying to escape from the thicket, the cougar hadhalted a moment, in a crouching attitude, directly before Ike's face,and that moment was enough to give the trapper time to glance throughhis sights, and send the fatal bullet.
Of course the guide received the congratulations of all, and though hepretended not to regard the thing in the light of a feat, he knew wellthat killing a "painter" was no everyday adventure.
The skin of the animal was stripped off in a trice, and carried to thewaggon. Such a trophy is rarely left in the woods.
The hunter-naturalist performed some farther operations upon the bodyfor the purpose of examining the contents of the stomach. Theseconsisted entirely of the half-digested remains of passenger-pigeons, anenormous quantity of which the beast had devoured during the previousnight--having captured them no doubt upon the trees.
This adventure formed a pleasant theme for conversation during the restof our journey, and of course the cougar was the subject. His habitsand history were fully discussed, and the information elicited is givenbelow.
