Copyright 2001 by Tim Mallow
Pressing, ambitious, determined. These are but mere words in a dictionary - meaningless until put to the fire of experience. And so now, this day brought forth such enlightenment.
Rounding the bend at high speed, the steed slipped momentarily, its rider compensating by a deterministic jolt of his upper body in the opposite direction. Ahead, the hounds flared their sounds across the valley.
Farther ahead, the great cat was as hurried and anxious. Climbing higher along the steppes of the mountain, he came upon the hyper-alpine terraces. There was nothing but rock from there on up – his backyard, his country, his home!
The dogs scrambled up the ramparts a mere one hundred meters below him; their barks having transitioned to eerie howls - the sign that they had their quarry in sight. The Tracker lifted himself in the worn leather saddle mid stride a gallop, straining to see the action up ahead. "My God", he whispered. The view was magnificent. The valley stretched out before his eyes for miles. To the south was the great pass to the plains. To the north, the mountain rose sharply to the deep blue sky, its peak crowned by a mass of white mist. The cloud was akin to a halo that adorned the granite walls like a spire of a temple that reached to the heavens. Half way up the steep slope, the jumps and leaps of the majestic feline were like a mere ant dancing upon an anthill. Such a proportion of size spelled out the incredible scale of the landscape in three dimensions – a vast open mountain country.
"Ho" the Tracker commanded as he brought the horse to a halt. Lifting the scope to his eye, he could see that the cat was making incredible progress of travel toward the peak. He never seemed to miss a beat in the path of his escape from the dogs below. Panning the scope downward, he could see the dogs continuing in their rise of the pursuit, albeit somewhat with less grace than the cat, but nevertheless equally able to gain a measure of vertical ground. Their tails flailed with delight as the scent grew stronger; for they knew that their prize was but a hop, jump, and skip away - in the figurative sense.
"Ya!" commanded the Tracker as he kicked Corsair's flanks. The horse bolted.
The trail narrowed, soon disappearing altogether. It was time to go cross-country and make a beeline for the scene ahead. Kicking harder and pulling a hard left on the reigns, the Tracker launched Corsair up toward the top of the ridge that joined with the peak up to which the cat was making way. Rocks and sand were flung outward under hoof. Grabbing the horn of the saddle the Tracker leaned forward to balance himself, at the same time kicking harder, "Get, get, ha!"
Reaching the ridgeline, and in mid-flight, he extracted the .45-70 Marlin from its sheath. Left hand on the reigns, he cranked the rifle about the lever a full three hundred and sixty degrees to chamber the massive magnum round – one with the cat's name prophetically written on it.
The sound of the dogs grew stronger as Corsair and the Tracker closed their distance with the party of predator and hounds - a certain rendezvous that was imminent along the ridge's apex at the peak. This place, then, would be the termination of all, and one of permanence for one of the party as intended by the Tracker.
A ghost of the Rockies, the catamount was now in full view to the Tracker, horse, and hounds - no longer the elusive creature that had haunted these domestic entities in the lands far below. Its path running short, the peak was within twenty meters of the cat. An explosion suddenly thundered across the valley as the Tracker squeezed the trigger. The round splashed off a shelf just above the cat. The animal reactively catapulted itself downward, then ran around to aft of a boulder below the shelf. "Damn!" cursed the Tracker as he chambered another round.
The dogs faithfully and diligently changed direction in synchronicity with the cat - pursuing it around the aft side of the peak. "Ha!" hissed the Tracker as he kicked Corsair, directing the horse around the other side of the peak, adding enthusiastically, "We'll surround the beast."
The howls now changed to drawn out piercing squeals. The Tracker and Corsair came upon the outcropping just below the peak. Pulling on his reigns, he couldn't believe his eyes. The catamount was at bay on the very tip of the peak, the dogs on the granite platform just below it guarding their prize with sheer vigilance. Ears flattened, back arched, and teeth exposed, the cougar hissed and spat its anger at the four dogs below. The dogs just stood barking and wagging their tails. They knew this cat was going nowhere.
Catching his breath, the Tracker dismounted, "We got you now!"
Dropping to a kneeling stance, the Tracker took aim. Peering through his gun sights, he drew in a deep breath. A wind then blew across the peak. The Tracker's hair lazily plied about his head. Dustings of sand pelted cougar, dog, horse, and man. Clouds amassed above and moved across the sky like angels pacing the known world with their ominous presence of vibrant life and life-giving deitic force.
The dogs quieted, the cougar's hissing waned. The great cat's ears perked upward. He then lowered his haunches and sat. Mouth agape, his breath was powerful and audible to the Tracker fifty feet away. The animal then lowered its upper body to the surface. He was now prone - his belly on the ground, massive fore paws to the front, and head upright. It was as if a calm now embellished the animal. Such a sight was pristine and pure, yet out of place.
The Tracker flinched at such a peaceful posture as beheld by the pursued and now bayed cougar - a now fully entrapped animal with nowhere to run, yet seemingly unconcerned with this situation. "What's the meaning of this?" the Tracker asked of himself.
Staving his speculations, the Tracker slowly cocked the hammer rearward, pressing his cheek to the stock once more to ready for the shot. Another strong gust blew across the peak. The cougar's hairs on its neck and head waved about in the wind - casual motions that produced fluctuations of tawny and amber shades that melted with the yellow hue of the rapidly descending late afternoon sun. Having now caught his breath, the cougar no longer panted. He closed his mouth and licked his chops a few times. Then, dropping his head to rest upon his paws, his tongue protruded through his mouth slightly. His eyes blinked flirtatiously as he sighed with a few randomly timed deep breaths. Penetrating amber eyes now squinted at the Tracker - a beseeching and beckoning invitation that commanded an answer to an ancient question.
Without thought and much to his surprise, the Tracker suddenly lowered his weapon, released the grip of his trigger hand, waving it outward in a single smooth motion. The cougar stood on all fours, faced about, walked two steps, stopped, and then rotated his massive head back to the Tracker. In a final gesture of release, the cougar hissed angrily. A tear then dropped from the Tracker's eye, and the cougar moved off the peak and out of sight.
The wind subsided and the clouds dissipated. The portal from life to death had closed and the Creator rejoiced that one so precious did not have to pass through it this day.
"Invisible Hands"
Copyright 2001 by Tim Mallow
