Messenger Paws

Midnight combs the plateau as the American lion travels along the escarpment to a narrow winding trail that descends to a deep river valley. Halfway down he stops. There is a strange smell in the air. Strange, but familiar. It is mixed with the smell of blood. He approaches slowly-cautiously.

His ears pick up the sounds of a hurt animal.Not small wining noises, but low, deep groans. It is a man.

Only once before has this lion been close to a man and he remembers the smell.

Nevertheless, though he has a healthy fear for these creatures, he is curious. He approaches the man with caution, sensing that he will not be harmed by him. Like a helpless animal, he is sprawled next to the river, reaching toward it with something in his hand. The cougar steps closer and touches his face with his whiskers. The man groans again and opens his eyes. Then he seems to stop moving, stop breathing. At length low sounds come out of his mouth. Calm, slow, deep noises- almost soothing. The cougar sniffs his face and taste the blood on his cheek.

The man speaks again in a desperate sounding voice and attaches a piece of paper to the lion’s neck with a piece of string. Then he points to the south and utters one loud syllable in that same desperate voice. Startled, the cougar picks up his head and stares in that direction but doesn’t move.

As the sun rises in the east the man lies completely still. When the lion touches his face, it is cold. The smell of death is in the air so the lion turns slowly away and walks down the river bank. Several miles downstream he stops and takes a drink from the rushing stream beside him. The piece of paper floats on the current while he drinks.

When his thirst his satisfied, he turns from the stream to hunt for food. Finding nothing in the valley, he again mounts the plateau via a small trail up the steep escarpment. Miles pass under his trotting paws as he looks for something to kill for food. At last he spots three small white dots with his sharp eyes. They are several yards away, but he knows what they are. They are sheep, and they are worth the search.

He trots quickly to a group of scattered bushes and small trees. There he crouches low and slowly approaches the open pastureland where the sheep are grazing. It takes several minutes to approach in this way, but he is patient. The sheep-he knows-will not see him until he attacks. But where there is sheep, there is always a shepherd.

Suddenly a crack splits the air and the puma feels a sharp breeze of wind next to his face, as a bullet grazes his cheek and blows a hole through the piece of paper tied to his neck. He breaks his crouch and runs, but he does not give up the hunt. Several hours later, he comes back, slays a sheep, and feeds.

As dusk approaches he is walking along the steep escarpment above the river when he hears a dog bark. He freezes. The sound is coming closer and with it the smell of man. In the air the lion senses danger, so he turns around and heads for a clump of boulders behind him. Snap. There is a sharp pain on his right front paw and his leg is jerked around, forcing him to stop. Several sharp needles are holding his foot stationary and he can’t move. Why won’t the needles let go? No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get his foot out of the trap. Always before there had been a way out of messes like this, but this one seemed to have no way out. And every time he tried, pain shot through his right leg. He whined and lay down, hoping to be hidden enough from his pursuers, for all the while they were nearing him-and he was trapped.

Crack! Another bullet kicked up dust beside him. He panicked and tore his foot from the trap, racing for some cover. At length he disappeared over the bank of the escarpment, leaving three more bullets behind him.

Finding a cave, he limped into it and lay down. His foot was torn halfway off of his leg and the pain made him dizzy. Throughout the night, his weak heart beats against the hard rock floor as his fever soars.

When dawn finally breaks, so does his fever, but he is left without much strength and with a very sore front paw. The need for water urges him to get up and limp slowly toward the river, picking his way. He drinks for a long time, and when he picks his head up from the stream, he feels stronger. Limping toward the high plateau, he attempts to climb the bank, but his front paw is too sore. So he travels along the stream until he comes to the trail of several mountain goats, leading up the steep mountainside. This he climbs very slowly, sliding back several times but continuing his effort to gain the topside of the plateau.

When he arrives, the first thing he does is hunt for a mountain goat. He must have food to give him strength, and he is very weak and hungry. In the distance he can hear the sounds of coyotes. Excited yips signal that they’ve made a kill. He is in no shape for a fight, but neither is he in any shape to successfully bring down his own kill. Desperation drives him toward the fallen mountain goat.

As he approaches, the coyotes’ yips turn to low growls. Heedless of their warnings, he continues toward them. Three of the canines jump at him and the battle is on. He tears at them with his sharp claws, but he has not yet learned to protect his throat. Twice they nearly clamp down on his life cord and jerk it out before he realizes he must guard this vital area. But his remaining strength is waning and the coyotes sense their opportunity to close in for the kill. When they do, he gives every ounce of his ebbing strength to tear apart their vital throats with his dangerous claws. Leaving them bleeding on the sand under a cluster of shade trees he limps toward the mountain goat and falls down beside it. As he chews its raw flesh, he feels the nourishing food give new strength to his body.

With this renewed energy, he continues in a southeasterly direction until he reaches a group of trees. Here, not far from the northern border of New Mexico, he encounters his first bear trap.

Stepping over a pile of brush around which there is no path for several yards, he slips and finds himself in a deep hole, which he cannot climb out of.

His screams echo across the plateau until three men approach the hole and peer in. One of them begins to raise his rifle but stops abruptly.

Bending down, he swiftly clamps a muzzle over the lion’s mouth. Skillfully avoiding the animal’s claws, he cuts the string that attaches the slip of paper to the lion’s neck.

“Why this is the expected note from the President to the men at the Alamo. But what happened to the messenger?”

“I don’t know, but his substitute is in a bear trap and deserves to be let out, I think.”