Next morning I rode down to take a look at our growing herd and had not gone very far when I found that one of my cattle had been killed. I dismounted to examine the carcass more closely and found evidence that the cow had been killed by some wild animal. I could not say what animal had killed her as the manner of attack was entirely different from any I have ever seen. It was not a gray wolf, as I was familiar with their mode of destruction. I examined the ground and found the foot-prints of two animals, one large and one small. I followed their trail for some distance and found where they had been rolling in the sand after their feast. I endeavored to follow it farther, but it was soon lost in the long buffalo grass, and I had to give up the task.
I returned to camp and reported the matter to my partner, and he said that he would fix things for them. He concluded that if he put strychnine in the carcass they had already killed, they would come again, and in that way he would rid us of the intruders. We applied the strychnine in the most approved fashion laid down by old hunters and trappers, but it was in vain. Next night they returned and killed another steer, but did not go near the one they had killed before. As we were looking over the result of the night’s work, a line-rider came by, and we explained the situation to him. He said the mischief had been wrought by a cougar, or Mexican lion, and that it was useless to try to poison him as he would not eat anything in the nature of flesh except what had been freshly killed by himself. Furthermore, he said, they had been attracted by our cattle because, being footsore, they could not put up a fight to defend themselves, and thus fell an easy prey to the marauders. We saw at once that there was only one way out of the difficulty and that was to shoot the lions, as they seemed to wary to be taken by poison. If we did not take that course, we would soon be out of cattle. With that end in view we moved them up in the neighborhood of our tent. We made a temporary corral for them, and awaited an opportunity to send a bullet into the expected visitor. He came as usual, but we did not get a shot at him, as he did not give us a chance. I wish to say that in all my experience I have never met, in Canada or in the West, another animal so cowardly and treacherous as the Mexican lion. I have known them to kill an animal not more than four rods from where I was sitting, and before I could reach the corral, he would be out of sight. I could not shoot towards the corral for fear of killing or crippling some of the stock. I have known them to kill a two-year-old steer, and by the time I could get there the cougar was gone, but the attack was so swift and sure that the poor beast would be still standing with his entrails hanging on the ground. That gives some idea of how short a time it takes a cougar to kill a cow. In spite of all his great strength, he is a great coward, as he will not face a man. I tried to rid myself of the pest that was thinning out my herd, and devoted a good deal of time in trying to find his den, to get a shot at him, but my efforts were to no purpose. I had to do the best I could, watch and wait, in the hope of success.
While engaged in the hunt for the cougar one afternoon, I saw, at some distance, a horse grazing along the creek. He had a saddle and bridle on him, but no rider. I thought he had run away from some outfit, and went down to where he was to secure him and bring him to my tent, so that the owner could call for him when he had time. Upon reaching the place where the pony was grazing, I saw a strange sight. There sat an Indian on a knoll, wearing a Navajoe blanket, ear-rings that hung down like small sleigh bells, his hair plaited and hanging down his back, his head decorated with eagle feathers, all of which made me think I had met a very distinguished gentleman. As a neighbor I greeted him with the customary, “How.” To my greeting he made no sign of recognition, did not even move a muscle. I rode past him for some distance and then returned on the opposite side of him, and then I discovered the cause of his sullen dignity. He had fastened to his blanket a small-sized pewter plate polished as bright as a new dollar fresh from the mint, and around the rim of it was inscribed the letters of the alphabet. I saw that he had left his rifle in the scabbard of his saddle, and if he made any move of a warlike nature, I could do a lot of business before he could get organized for battle. This condition made me bolder and encouraged me to make a more critical inspection of his wardrobe than I would have done if he had his winchester near at hand. He wore a pair of moccasins highly ornamented with beads of all colors. Whether he had any under garments I was not in position to know, but he looked to be clothed in the highest degree of cool, calm, unruffled dignity. As I had seen no cartridge belt on the saddle, I was satisfied that he wore one around his waist, with the customary pair of six shooters for ornaments and use. As he remained stolid in his attitude towards me, I gave up any hope of finding out anything about him, and rode home. I related my experience to Bill, laughing over the dignity displayed by the Indian, based on the possession of a pewter breast-plate that once belonged to some white child, and which he had found on his meanderings over the plains.
After a quarter of a century has elapsed, and taking a retrospective view of the situation at that time, I can see what a trifle it would have taken to send one of us, if not both, over the Great Divide to the Happy Hunting Grounds.
Bill had been out in another direction in search of the cougar, but met with as little success as I had. It became a question of sitting up nights guarding the herd, with the hope of being able to get a shot at the cause of our misfortunes, but it was in vain. Every morning brought us evidence of further devastation wrought by the bloodthirsty brute. Things came to such a pass that we had to choose between losing the whole herd, or moving to Kansas, and we chose the latter.
CHAPTER XIV.
Returning to Kansas; A Settler; A Phenomenon, etc.
Reluctantly we folded our tent and started off in the direction of the Sun-flower State, where our ranch was located. Business had been good and we were loath to leave such a good opportunity for increasing our profits, but the unseen enemy made further delay impossible. Our outfit on the trail did not present a very inviting appearance, but there was something substantial about it that cheered us considerable. We had increased our holdings during our sojourn in the Territory, and were now returning with the fruits of our venture. Personally we were not much to look at, as we had not had a shave in several months, but that fact did not interfere with the happiness we felt at the prospect of seeing the old homestead once more. On the first night of our advance we camped in the brakes of the Cimmaron river. We were fortunate in killing a deer, which provided us with a change of meat. It was the last wild game we expected to obtain, as the antelope and other wild game had been shot at so much that they had become gun-shy, and it was impossible to get within any close proximity to them to obtain a shot at one of them. The antelope in particular we did not expect to see, as that animal does not frequent the low lands, and the only time he is found there is when he is on the way to get water. Even then they seem to have on one guard at all times, so that at the sight of a man they are off like a shot and soon out of sight. Antelopes and wild horses are very much alike in their habits, as neither will enter a creek or a canyon except for water or shelter.