Puma Son of Mountain Lion

by Dicksion, William Wayne

  The men yelled, “Abandon the horse and save yourself!”

  “No way!” Puma called back. “Pull harder! We’ll make it!”

  Puma saw the butt of a tree being swept downstream and knew he was looking death in the face, but he wouldn’t give up and sacrifice the life of his faithful horse. Instead of jumping off, he yelled, “Pull!” At the very last instant, he watched the log sweep by behind him as he and Lightning were pulled to safety. Puma quickly dismounted and took Lightning’s head in his arms and whispered into her trembling ears, “Thank you.” Lightning gave a soft nicker in reply and bobbed her head up and down. Puma took her aside and while she was eating, he gave her a rubdown with dry grass.

  The men gathered around with approving looks and comments. Puma had already received the approval he was interested in, from his horse.

  Pat and Grant walked to where Puma was attending Lightning and Grant said, “Son, you never cease to amaze me. The day you joined our wagon train was a lucky day for us. Thank you for all you have done.”

  Pat said to Grant, “He sure reminds me of his father.”

  Grant smiled, “Yeah, me, too. Now, let’s get this wagon train set up for the night. The people and the animals all need a rest. Tomorrow we start the climb to the top of the pass. That climb is going to take us about a week, but once we’re through the pass, it’ll be all downhill from there to Santa Fe.”

  After the chores of setting up camp were done, the men gathered around the campfire, talking of the Indian attack and of the close call with the flood. The owners of the wagons that were lost in the flood were directed to discard all non-essential goods and load the rest of their things into the other wagons, using their teams to help pull the wagons. The men were told to ride their spare horses and would have to walk if they didn’t have any. The women and children shared rides in the other wagons.

  Grant told the men who lost their wagons, “You can replace your wagons in Santa Fe.”

  “I’ve heard that Santa Fe is a nice place,” one of the men said. “I may just stake me out a claim on some land and stay there.”

  “The land near Santa Fe is all privately owned,” Pat told him, “but you might be able to buy some land. This boy’s father is one of the largest land owners in the area, and he might be willing to sell you a parcel.”

  “Why should I buy land from a Mexican?” the man said brusquely. “I’ll just tell him to scoot over and make room for me.”

  “In the first place, he’s not Mexican—he’s of Scottish and Irish ancestry. Second, I want to meet the man that can tell Sage McBain to scoot over and get away with it. He’s the last man on earth I would want to cross, and I highly recommend that you don’t try.”

  “He’s a real bad man is he?” the man asked.

  “No, he’s not a bad man,” Grant replied. “He’s one of the finest men I’ve ever met but, I assure you, he won’t take kindly to being pushed. Others have tried and failed.”

  “Are you telling me that this Indian kid is heir to a large tract of land here in New Mexico?” the man asked.

  “Yes, and that’s only a very small portion of the wealth he’s heir to,” Grant explained. “He’s heir to a ship-building business in Virginia, a large track of land in Tennessee, a cotton plantation in Georgia, and I don’t know just how much land in Spain. He’s probably heir to more wealth than all the rest of the people in this wagon train combined.”

  The men looked at Puma. He had no idea why they were showing him so much interest. He was unable to understand what Pat was telling them.

  “Does he know about the wealth of his family?” one of the men asked.

  “No, he doesn’t even understand the concept of owning land,” Pat answered.

  “Boy, oh boy, is he in for a surprise,” someone said. Pat explained to them, “This boy has endured tremendous hardships and the pain of personal losses in the last month. His mother, brother, sister, and all of his friends were killed by the Comanche, His village and even his way of life was destroyed. He’s seeking his father, and I’m going to see to it that he finds him.”

  Puma had rolled up in his buffalo robe and was fast asleep.

  One of the women who had been listening to the conversation said, “Someone, help me carry him to my wagon. I think it’s going to rain tonight.”

  * * *

  The wagon train started out early the next morning, trying to make up the time lost to the flood. Pat and Puma were in the lead, scouting the trail as usual. For the first time, Puma could see the early morning sunlight reflecting off the snow-covered peaks rising above the haze in the far distance. Puma was excited. His father was just beyond those mountains. He had heard stories about him all his life, but what was he really like? Will he be glad to see his son?

  They rode on hour after hour, climbing ever higher and higher. Now the land was almost barren; the grass and the sage were growing only in clumps. The smell of purple sage filled the air and the crispness of the air was exhilarating. Above the haze, the hills were red; the shadows in the valleys and canyons made them appear blue and mysterious. Flocks of pheasants, quail, and prairie chickens flew up, and from time to time, Puma saw herds of antelope.

  Pat shot a large buck and threw it across his horse to carry back to the wagons. It would provide the meat for their evening meal. Puma was amazed at the ease with which Pat killed the antelope. The hunters of his village would have had to stalk the animal, perhaps for days, to get close enough to make the kill with their bows and arrows.

  Puma had seen enough of the power of the white man’s weapons to know that the Indians were going to have to get better weapons, or they were going to have to make friends with the white men. They weren’t strong enough to stand against the settlers who were moving in. He asked, “Pat, how many white men are there?”

  “Their numbers are beyond our ability to know. I know what you are thinking,” Pat said. “The Indians are going to have to learn to live with the white men, or they’re going to lose everything. Young men like you are the last hope for the Indians. You’ll know both languages and understand both cultures. Perhaps you can help the Indians to understand that their ways are dying, and they must change, or their people will perish. The white men will never stop coming.”

  “How can I know what to do?” Puma asked. “Some Indians are bad and some are good. Some white men are bad and some are good. How can I know who I can trust?”

  “You must learn to judge men,” Pat replied. “Watch their eyes when they talk. Their mouths will tell you what they are on the outside, but their eyes will tell you what they are on the inside. Don’t judge men by what they say; judge them by what they do. Many men are strong, but only a few are brave. Many men are smart, but only a few are wise. Watch them closely—and you will know the ones who are good, and the ones who are bad.”

  They rode on. Puma thought about what he had been told. For the last couple of days, they had been following a small river that had branched off from the Arkansas. The river was getting smaller as they got higher into the mountain. Now, it was only a small, clear stream.

  Pat said, “Tonight, we’ll camp near the headwaters of this river. It is called the Purgatoire. Tomorrow, we’ll go through the pass and camp on the other side of those mountains. From that campsite, you’ll be able to see the valley of the Rio Grande. That is the name the Spanish gave that river. It means “big river.” Your new home will be on the banks of the Rio Grande.”

  Puma thought, I can hardly wait. “Let’s hurry,” he said.

  Again, the camp was up before sunrise. They ate their breakfast and were on their way. By midmorning, they were in the snow. The snow got deeper; the animals struggled harder and harder. The people pushed the wagons to help the animals pull them through the snow. By early afternoon, they had topped the pass and were on their way down the mountain. They arrived at their campsite, cold and tired. They cooked their evening meals and went to bed.

  Chapter 11

  Meeting his F
ather

  Puma sat gazing into the valley that lay ahead. In the distance, he saw a river coming from his right and disappearing into blue haze to his left. He had waited a long time for this day. Tomorrow night they would be in Santa Fe. His whole world was about to change, and he was wishing he could tell his mother that he had made it. She would be pleased to know that he was going to be with his father. He ate a piece of roast antelope and went to sleep rolled in his buffalo robe. He dreamed of playing with his friends in the village. They were all dead now, or perhaps some of them might have escaped the Comanche raid.

  Going down the mountain, the trail was rough and steep. But it was easier going down than it had been climbing up. In places, the wagons had to be held back by tying sapling on the wheels to use as a brake.

  In the afternoon, the wagon train passed the town of Santa Fe en route to their winter quarters. Pat took Puma into town while the wagons continued on.

  Pat explained, “I’m taking you to a friend who’ll look after you until I can find your father.”

  Puma had never seen so many people. There were many different kinds of people. Some were dressed in colorful garments. Others wore large hats with wide brims shading their eyes. He saw Indians of a type he had never seen before. The tepees of these people were made of mud, like the homes the dirt dabbers made back in Indian Territory. Those were insects, but these were people. It was odd.

  Pat took him to one of the lodges. When they entered, a woman with long, black hair, wearing a colorful skirt, ran to Pat and grabbed him around the neck. At first, Puma thought she was attacking his friend, until he noticed they were smiling. The place smelled of food being cooked, and it produced a scent he couldn’t identify.

  After embracing Pat, the smiling woman looked at Puma and asked, “Who is this handsome young man?”

  “Maggie, this is a boy we picked up along the trail,” Pat answered. “His village was destroyed, and his mother was killed. He has come to find his father. Have you seen his father today?”

  “I might be able to answer that question if I knew who his father is,” Maggie said, as she gazed at Puma.

  “Take a good look,” Pat said. “Who does he remind you of?”

  “There’s something strangely familiar about him, something in the look of his eyes and the set of his jaw,” Maggie said.

  “Maggie, this is Puma Son of Mountain Lion,” said Pat, grinning.

  “Now, that’s quite a name.” Facing Pat, but looking over her shoulder at Puma, Maggie said, “Nah, it can’t be. Yes, I think it is. Is this the Indian son of Michael McBain?... Nooo, I haven’t seen his father today, but I heard that he was in town.”

  “I want to leave Puma with you until I can find him,” Pat said.

  “Sure. I’d be honored to have such an important guest in my cantina,” Maggie said, smiling at Puma. “I’ll take good care of him until you return.”

  “Puma,” Pat said. “This is Maggie, a long-time friend of mine and a friend of your father’s. You stay here, and I’ll go find your father and bring him to meet you.”

  Maggie pointed to a chair and said, “You just sit right there, and I’ll get you something to eat.”

  Puma, not knowing what to say, and not wanting to be given something without paying for it, pulled one of his gold coins from the pouch he had tied around his waist and tried to hand it to Maggie.

  “No! No! Put that away. You are my guest and there’s no way you’ll ever need to pay me for anything,” Maggie said. “You wait right here. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  Puma sat. His head was spinning. So much was happening. For the first time since he left his village, he was frightened. The next hour was going to be the most important hour of his life. He didn’t know what he should do. How could he not be frightened?

  Four rough-looking men were sitting at the bar. They turned when they saw the gold coin Puma had taken from the pouch. The largest of the four walked to Puma’s table. “Where did an Indian kid like you get a gold coin? Let me see it,” he demanded.

  Puma didn’t respond. His mother had told him that white men would try to take the coins from him, so he was on guard.

  The man raised his voice. “Are you going to give that coin to me, or am I going to have to take it from you?”

  At that moment, Puma heard someone coming through the front door. He turned and saw two men walking in. One was carrying two guns slung low and tied to his legs. The other had only one gun, but he had a knife in a scabbard and an iron tomahawk in a sling under his arm. The tomahawk was like the one Puma was carrying. This man’s hair was the color of a mountain lion, and he walked with the smooth movement of the lion Puma had faced on the trail. He was big and tall with broad shoulders.

  The tall man looked at the ruffian who was threatening Puma. The look in the eyes of the newcomer was the same as the look in the eyes of the mountain lion. The man, who looked like a mountain lion, spoke in a voice that was almost a whisper. The sound of his voice came from deep in his chest. He said, “I have a coin just like that one. Perhaps you’d like to take my coin from me?”

  The other three men at the bar started to move like they were coming to the aid of their companion.

  The man with the two guns faced them, standing with his legs braced, his hands poised over his guns, and said, “The first man to step down from those stools will be the first man to die.”

  They sat back down. The ruffian said with a sheepish grin, “No harm intended. I didn’t know he was a friend of yours. I thought he was just some Indian kid who had wandered in.”

  “Now that you know the difference, I suggest you sit down and finish your drink,” Sage said.

  Maggie returned with the food she had prepared for Puma and saw Sage and Joe Martin. “I see Pat found you right away. May I introduce you to Puma Son of Mountain Lion?”

  “No,” Sage said. “Pat didn’t find us. We just walked in for a cool drink. What did you say this kid’s name is?” He looked closely at Puma and said, “No, you don’t have to tell me, I can see who it is. This is my son!” He reached out and pulled Puma into his arms and exclaimed, “At last we meet!”

  Puma was embarrassed at the display of emotion, but he was excited and pleased that this man was his father. He was everything Puma had been told. Sage, struggling to find the Arapaho words, asked, “Why did you come searching for me? How is your mother?”

  Puma explained, “My mother is dead. The men of my tribe were away on a hunting trip when the Comanche raided our village and killed everyone and burned our village. I was away undergoing the rites of manhood, and when I returned I found my mother dying. The last thing she said was, ‘Go find your father.’ Before I went on my journey into manhood, Mother showed me your cave and told me how to find you. I picked up the weapons you made for me and went in search of the wagon train she told me about. I found the train, and while I was looking at the people, Pat found me and helped me to find you.”

  Sage brushed away the tears that were rolling down his face, hugged Puma and said, “Puma, my son, I’m very sorry to hear of your mother’s death. She was a beautiful woman. I’m pleased that you came to find me.” He turned to Maggie and said, “Maggie, bring more food and join us. We’ll all eat together.”

  Pat and Grant walked in, and Pat said, “Oh! I see you’ve already met your son. I had hoped to introduce you. That’s some boy you have there. We’ve much to tell you about him.”

  As Maggie walked back to the kitchen, the men at the bar called her over and asked, “Who are the men who’ve just come in?”

  Maggie answered in a quiet voice, “That mountain man is Pat Connors. The gunfighter is Joe Martin. The other one is that boy’s father. His name is Sage McBain.”

  One of the ruffians jumped up. “Let’s pay our bill and get the hell outta here.” He handed the money to Maggie and didn’t wait for change.

  Maggie said, “That would be one of the smartest things you have ever done. You came very close to dying, just no
w.” They left the bar quickly. They had heard of Sage and the other men with him. They were known throughout the West. Only a foolish man would challenge any one of them, and certainly to challenge all of them at once would be a dangerous thing to do.

  When Maggie returned to the table, Puma was the center of attention. Pat was telling Sage how they had met Puma on the trail.

  “I became aware of his presence when I saw sunlight reflecting off his metal weapons. I was lucky to be able to get behind him. My knowing the Arapaho language enabled me to talk to him, and after we exchanged only a few words, I knew who he was.

  “The people of the wagon train were afraid he might be scouting for a war party, and didn’t want him along. As time went by, they had at least three occasions to be glad that he had joined us. He rescued one of the girls from the river. The girl’s father, even though Puma had saved his daughter from drowning, treated Puma with contempt. Then later, he had to apologize when Puma warned the train of an imminent Indian attack. Puma saved the man’s life when he was being personally attacked by the Comanche who were trying to take his wife and daughter captive. Another time, Puma warned us of a flash flood which was coming down a canyon. If Puma hadn’t been with us, the train might not have gotten through.”

  Sage was proud of his son. Puma could understand only some of what was being said, and he was embarrassed to be the center of so much attention. The group sat with Maggie, enjoying the food she had brought to the table. They all realized that this was an important occasion.

  After a while, Joe said, “I gotta go. I have to meet Bonnie and get back to the ranch. Sage, will you bring Puma by the ranch? I want Bonnie and the children to meet him. The kids will be glad to have a new playmate.”