CLAWS

by Stacey Cochran

The sheriff brought the horses up to the front porch and dismounted. His long black duster swept down to his boots, and he tipped his black hat back and looked at Angie and Robert.

  “I figured you could use an extra hand,” he said with a smile. His walnut-colored eyes glistened. “I’ve heard tell that there’s a big ole mountain lion in these parts.”

  Angie’s eyes shined. Her smile went wide, and she gave him a hug. Sheriff Graham Tucker laughed and hugged her back.

  “Good God are we glad to see you,” she said. She looked at the three horses. “You rode all the way up here?”

  “I rode all night,” Sheriff Tucker said.

  “You rode through the storm?” Robert said. “You must be soaked.”

  “It’s not that bad,” he said, “after the first few miles.”

  The three ascended the steps, Sheriff Tucker’s boots clomping on the wood.

  • •

  Angie explained as best she could what had happened to John. She described his running her over as “an accident,” but Tucker’s eyebrows rose up as though to say he knew better. Robert cooked them breakfast, and they began to assemble a plan.

  “First things first,” Sheriff Tucker said. “Do we want to stay up here to save this mountain lion, or do we want to get you folks down to safety?”

  “What about John?” Angie said.

  Robert couldn’t believe she cared for John after what he’d done, and he wanted to say as much. But he restrained himself and cooked the eggs. If Angie still cared for a boyfriend who ran out on her and almost killed her in the process that was her business, not his.

  “What time did you last see him?” Tucker asked.

  “It was around midnight,” Angie said.

  “Well, if he’s on the mountain on an ATV, he might just make it down to Grapevine.”

  “What if he’s lost? What if he’s had an accident?”

  “Good riddance,” Robert said. “The ball-less coward ran out on you. He ran over you and didn’t think twice about it.”

  “It might have been an accident,” Angie said.

  “And he might have meant to kill you.”

  “Robert,” Angie said. “I think he was just afraid.”

  Tucker eyed the two of them. Finally he said, “Well, we have no way of knowing where he is. We could assume he’s made it down the mountain.”

  “Why?” Angie said. “Why assume that?”

  “Because he’s not here,” Tucker said.

  “And he’s not coming back,” Robert added. “How could he show his face after what he did to you?”

  Thirty-Six

  The mountain lion carried John’s body to the old abandoned mine. It had fed on his chest, lungs, and spleen and was storing the rest in a cool, dry place.

  The big cat stopped at the mine entrance. Its head pivoted around, and it looked downhill through the trees. It stared for twenty seconds, twitching its ears at every sound along the ground, and then it turned and started down into the mine.

  It was cool and dry inside, and sounds echoed off of the rocky walls in a disorienting way. The mountain lion carried John’s body about fifty meters into the darkness, dropped it, and then began to cover it up with dirt, rocks, and gravel.

  The mine smelled odd. A coppery mineral stench filled the air. The mountain lion didn’t mind the smell. What the cougar didn’t like was the odd way that sound ricocheted off of the walls. He kept popping up from his burial job to listen to the strange sounds. The cougar couldn’t tell from which direction any given sound was coming, and the minutest scratching was amplified and sounded closer than it actually was.

  The cougar resumed burying the body, and after another fifteen minutes of tentative work, it sniffed at the mound, walked three times around it, inspecting it, and then walked back up toward the light. At the entrance, the cougar paused again and looked down into the mine. It listened to the sounds from around the forest. It wanted to make certain that nothing saw it and that nothing would claim its kill.

  • •

  Charlie Rutledge stood on a tree branch twenty feet above the forest floor, watching the mountain lion. He stood perfectly still, motionless, and he watched the big cat at the mine. It was the largest mountain lion he had ever seen, and he stood on the limb, blending in with the branches.

  Charlie felt a breeze pick up, and he sniffed at the air, making certain that the breeze was coming down the mountain, down the hill from the mine and the cougar. The cougar was alert, as though it knew something was watching it, but Charlie knew that he had stalked the big cat in silence.

  Two shiny hatchets dangled from either side of Charlie’s belt, and he just stood on the branch, watching.

  The mountain lion lay down in the sunlight and rolled over on its back. It looked like it was scratching its back, but Charlie knew that the process served two purposes. It was rolling in the mud and dirt at the mine’s entrance to coat itself, to cover up its natural smell, and to leave its own scent to ward off other animals.

  Charlie silently descended out of the tree.

  Thirty-Seven

  Angie stood by the horse and felt the morning sun burning moisture from the land. She wore dry denim jeans, and the grass in the yard was wet with humidity. The pine tree fragrance was strong. It came from the woods, carried on a breeze that cooled the sweat on her brow. Angie swept her hair back and looked at Sheriff Tucker.

  “I haven’t ridden one of these in years,” she said.

  Tucker was on the porch looking at a map. The map was spread out on a table. Beside Angie, the horse made a breathy sound and shook its head.

  “Ain’t nothing to it,” Sheriff Tucker said.

  Robert exited the cabin. He looked at Tucker, then Angie and said, “We ready?”

  “I think so,” Tucker said. He folded the map. “So, we’ll cover the second quadrant today, see how we feel around one o’clock? Maybe push it down to the lake.”

  Angie nodded.

  Robert said, “Sounds good.”

  Robert wore his .357 on his right hip. Tucker started down off of the porch, and he stepped up to his horse. His rifle was strapped to the side of the animal, and he put his foot in the stirrup and pulled himself up into the saddle.

  The leather stretched under his weight, and the horse took two steps forward. The sheriff took the reins and turned the horse. Angie mounted her horse. Robert looked back at the cabin one last time.

  Sheriff Tucker started down the hill toward the trail. From atop his horse, Robert looked at Angie.

  “Everything’s going to be alright,” she said.

  Robert nodded his head, and they both started after Sheriff Graham Tucker.

  • •

  They found the ATV three hours later. It was at the bottom of a hill on a section of narrow trail, and a steep incline ascended to the right.

  “John?” Angie called out. There was no response.

  Sheriff Tucker stayed on his horse, but he approached the ATV. All three could see the drag marks up the side of the embankment. The ATV was dented up pretty badly, and it was covered in mud. Angie traced it out in her mind. She looked at the embankment and could see where the ATV had flipped.

  “John?” she called again.

  Prickly pear cacti dappled the embankment, and Angie got her horse to climb up the steep incline. She looked up the forest hillside, through the trees and clustered sunlight that reached through the forest canopy.

  “See anything?” Robert called from down on the trail.

  “It looks like the hillside continues on up over here, through the trees.” She turned and pointed to the spot on the embankment. “The ATV hit the side of the hill here. It must have flipped and rolled down there.”

  Sheriff Tucker was off of his horse. He leaned down and inspected the ATV. He saw the cougar tracks ten feet away.

  “We’ve got tracks,” he said.

  Robert and Angie dismounted. Angie walked carefully down the incline. Tucker squatted near the tracks and pointed to
the spot where the mountain lion tracks had dried in the mud.

  “He must have flipped the ATV,” Tucker said, “before the attack.”

  Angie looked back up the incline and began to piece together what had likely occurred.

  “He must have been coming down the trail and skidded up the side. The ATV rolled,” she said. “Maybe he was unable to right it. The cougar might have caused him to lose control.”

  “Maybe it was standing in the middle of the trail,” Robert suggested.

  “Maybe,” Angie said. She walked back up the trail. “These are drag marks,” she said.

  The marks went up the side of the hill where the cougar had dragged John’s body. She climbed up the incline, and Robert followed after her. They both looked up into the forest.

  “The drag marks end here,” she said. “But you can see paw prints up here, and here.”

  She walked up into the woods a little ways.

  “It must have repositioned him,” Robert said. “It must have carried him wholly in its mouth.”

  “Judging from the drag marks, I’d agree.” Angie nodded, then called, “John?”

  Tucker was back on his horse; he climbed the embankment.

  “Well,” he said. “We’ve got something to go on. Let’s mount up and follow these tracks.”

  Thirty-Eight

  Charlie Rutledge stood over the entrance to the mine with a Bushman EZ-Grip double-edged chopping ax in his right hand. On the ground below him, the mountain lion looked like it had fallen asleep. Charlie was about twenty feet above him, and he could see the mountain lion’s chest moving up and down, the slow breathing of the animal at rest. The cougar lay in the sunlight.

  The ground underneath Charlie’s feet was rocky, covered with loose sandstone, and he was careful to keep from slipping. The incline above the mine entrance was steep, and Charlie had circled around and then come down the hill one step at a time. The chirruping of crickets stirred in the grasses beyond the clearing.

  Charlie knelt down. He was about three feet from the edge, and the drop down onto the mountain lion would be twenty feet. He wanted to make certain that leaping down onto the big cat was the best approach, and that he wouldn’t break a leg in the fall.

  I’ll catch the son of a bitch by total surprise, Charlie thought, and he felt his fingers tighten around the ax handle.

  He licked his lips and felt sweat beading on his forehead. He inched closer and closer to the edge. He could see the mountain lion down there below him. He hoisted up the Bushman EZ-Grip, and sunlight glinted off the shiny ax blade.

  He calmed the butterflies he felt in his stomach and prepared to leap. The fall would be silent, and the ax blade would strike clean and true.

  Charlie started to rise up from his knelt position. His left hand came up and gripped the ax handle just below his right hand. He hoisted the ax up in the air like a baseball bat. His lip grew rigid, and his eyes narrowed. He focused his aim on the big cat’s shoulder blades.

  There was a little indentation in the big cat’s shoulder blades and because of the angle of the sunlight the little spot formed a dark circle. Charlie focused on it. He inhaled slowly, feeling his nerves aglow, and he exhaled.

  Now, Charlie, now!

  He leapt.

  Suddenly, there was a sound from down the hillside. It was the sound of horses coming up through the forest. The big cat’s head popped up at the noise.

  Charlie was in the air, falling swiftly toward the mountain lion. The ax swung down with equal swiftness.

  The cat sprung to its feet, and it felt Charlie just hundredths of a second away. Its head pivoted around and saw a man flying toward him.

  Charlie roared. The ax blade whickered through the air.

  The mountain lion bolted forward. But the ax blade struck the big cat, though not where Charlie had planned. The cat’s movement enabled it to get away from a fatal blow, but the ax did catch the mountain lion’s back right leg. Blood splattered across Charlie’s face, and the ax blade struck the ground with a metallic clank!

  Charlie hit the ground and felt the tendons in his right ankle snap.

  The mountain lion roared loudly, and it stumbled forward into the forest just twenty feet from the mine entrance. The gash on its back right leg was deep, and the skin flapped.

  Charlie quickly tried to right himself. He was on the ground. The ground was dusty. He could feel the sticky blood covering his face. He looked up and saw the cat just ten feet away. The cat swung around and looked at Charlie. It was not happy.

  The ax lay on the ground five feet from Charlie. He hobbled forward. The mountain lion looked at him a moment more and then darted off down the hillside into the forest.

  Charlie grabbed the ax in his hand and used it like a cane. He could feel the break in his ankle and knew that it was serious. He could not put weight on it.

  He watched the mountain lion vanish into the woods. It was leaving a trail of blood, but Charlie knew that the wound wasn’t fatal. The cat had gotten out of the way in time. Charlie’s face was covered in blood, and his eyes shot down the hillside to the left. He saw three horses coming up through the woods. He could tell the lead horseman had spotted his movement. They shouted.

  Charlie watched them a moment more, a terrible blood-soaked grimace on his face, his blue eyes darting left and right down the forest hillside. And then he turned, ax in hand, and lurched toward the darkness of the mine.

  Thirty-Nine

  “He went into the mine!” Robert shouted, and he kicked his horse into a gallop.

  Angie shouted, “Wait, Robert!”

  Trees raced by him in a blinding blur. The ground was red with pine straw and old leaves, but his horse galloped up the hill weaving in and out of trees.

  Angie and Sheriff Tucker started after Robert. All three had seen the mountain lion bolt down the hillside, but they’d also seen Charlie Rutledge hobbling into the mine.

  He’s going to get killed, Angie thought. Up ahead, she saw Robert dismount his horse at the entrance to mine. She shouted over her horse’s pounding hooves, but Robert removed his .357 from its holster. He fired three shots and raced into the mine.

  • •

  Charlie “The Chopper” Rutledge slinked along the wall inside the mine. He used the wall to brace himself. In his right hand, he used the ax like a cane, and he hobbled forward into the darkness.

  Suddenly, he heard shouting back behind him, toward the entrance. He listened. His eyes moved around nervously in the darkness. His face glistened. He leaned, for a moment, against the wall to his left and wiped cougar blood from his face.

  His right ankle throbbed. He knew that it would start swelling soon.

  “They don’t know what they’re doing,” he muttered. “They’re trying to save the mountain lion. I’m going to kill them all.”

  His mouth was dry. He smelled sickly sweet with blood, and he only wanted to show them how stupid they were. Their ignorance almost cost him his life. He pushed off from the wall and lurched forward deeper into the darkness.

  He groaned, “I’m going to throw that little bitch on the ground and give her what she’s got coming.” He swung out with his ax at the darkness in front of him. “I’ll kill them all—every last one of them!”

  Again, the ax whickered through the darkness, and Charlie lurched forward dragging his bad foot behind him.

  • •

  Angie brought her horse alongside Robert’s and shouted at him, “No!” But he was already in the mine. Angie leapt down from her horse and ran toward the entrance.

  Sheriff Tucker pulled up next and quickly dismounted. Tucker shouted at Angie, “Don’t go down in there!”

  But Angie, too, vanished into the darkness.

  She screamed at Robert, “No, don’t go in there!”

  Tucker removed his rifle from the side of his horse. He checked the shells, flipped the safety, and started toward the entrance.

  Forty

  Charlie stood in the darkness o
f the mine. His head twitched at every little sound coming down the mine to him. He heard a young man’s voice; he heard a young woman’s voice. And further back he heard the deep voice of an older man. They were coming toward him.