Authors: P.T. Deutermann
The Cat Dancers (35 page)
THIRTY MINUTES LATER, HE sensed that the gorge was narrowing, which meant he should be getting closer to the entrance. He was sweating despite the cold air as he worked across a slope that was densely padded in pine needles. He had nothing like the clear view of the formation that he had seen back at the base camp, but the north face of the canyon was no longer terraced, and he remembered threading his way through this dense stand of pines on the way in. After this, the canyon walls would converge at the entrance. He wondered if the stepping-stone rocks were still above water, and what he would do if they weren’t.
He stepped into a hole and went down with a grunt of pain, barely catching himself on the limbs of a tree. He pulled his wet foot out of the hole and massaged his throbbing ankle. A gust of wind came down the canyon and bent the tops of the pines with a high whistling sound. He was startled by a brace of quail that flashed out of the trees some fifty feet behind him in a hard flutter of wings.
And then he heard the cough.
He froze as the hair on the back of his neck rose. Something had flushed the quail. And he’d heard that guttural cough before.
The wind rose again, bending the pines this way and that, lifting some of the needles up off the ground in little dust devils. The sunlight seemed to be changing color, turning from yellow to silver.
He couldn’t just sit there. He had to get down the canyon, closer to where the others were. They’d have discovered he was gone by now, probably at sunrise. They’d know where
he’d gone. They’d be coming in, or at least Mary Ellen would. He hoped so at least.
he’d gone. They’d be coming in, or at least Mary Ellen would. He hoped so at least.
He got up and tested his ankle. Passable. He hauled the .45 out and checked the action. Stiff with cold, but serviceable and mostly dry. He took his bearings and began to walk east, down the slope, keeping the high stone walls on either side of his line of advance. He walked while turning in slow circles, fully aware that the cat had all the advantages in here. It should be injured after that fall, but maybe not—house cats survived falls from trees. He decided not to stop and listen—the cat wouldn’t make noise, and he couldn’t hear much over the sound of the river and the wind anyway.
Keep moving, he told himself. Keep going down. Away from its den and territory. He had a fleeting vision of Kenny’s body washing out of the little cove and being tumbled down the river gorge. He wondered if he ought to fire a shot to alert them. They had to be wondering where the hell he was, and maybe the shot would scare off the cat. Right.
He lifted the .45 high and fired once. The noise was incredible in the confines of the canyon, the shot echoing back and forth off the rocks walls. If one was good, two was better. He fired again, this time into the pines behind him, in the general direction of that menacing cough. And then once more, make it three, the standard signal for distress in the woods.
C’mon, rangers.
He didn’t stop moving, though, continuing his ungainly pirouette through the pines, watching every shadow, where he was putting his feet, ignoring the shooting pains from his ankle, and still sweating. From exertion, he told himself. Sure. Would these damned trees never end? He realized he’d started moving slightly uphill, so he adjusted his course back down toward the now-muffled sound of the river, brushing pine branches out of his face, imagining that huge cat slinking along his trail, nose down, tail switching, unimpressed by the gunfire. He strained to hear any answering signals, but there was nothing but the sound of his own breath and the constant swish of pine branches as he pushed through the
grove, the trees seeming denser now as he batted at branches with the gun barrel, always turning, watching for any signs of the tawny beast. Had it fled? Did it even know what gunfire was? How the hell had it survived that fall?
grove, the trees seeming denser now as he batted at branches with the gun barrel, always turning, watching for any signs of the tawny beast. Had it fled? Did it even know what gunfire was? How the hell had it survived that fall?
The sound of the river suddenly grew louder. He plunged out of the stand of pines into a small clearing, where at last he could see where he was. The river was a hundred yards down and to his left, hidden behind a boulder field. It sounded much stronger now. The canyon’s entrance was no more than a quarter of a mile in front of him, marked by a sharp prow of granite to his right, which curved north like a big stone paw.
Then he realized something: The river came out of the canyon and turned north. He was on the
south
side of the canyon. He didn’t have to cross the river. He could just keep going, right? Now that he thought of it, why in the hell had Kenny brought him that way, crossing the river not once but twice? He tried to shake the sleep out of his eyes. He sensed he was forgetting something. He was very tempted to find a warm rock and rest for a few minutes. But then he glanced back at the distant tops of the big ridge and saw that the dark cloud bank now extended in both directions for as far as he could see. Something was pumping up the river, and it had to be coming from that approaching front.
south
side of the canyon. He didn’t have to cross the river. He could just keep going, right? Now that he thought of it, why in the hell had Kenny brought him that way, crossing the river not once but twice? He tried to shake the sleep out of his eyes. He sensed he was forgetting something. He was very tempted to find a warm rock and rest for a few minutes. But then he glanced back at the distant tops of the big ridge and saw that the dark cloud bank now extended in both directions for as far as he could see. Something was pumping up the river, and it had to be coming from that approaching front.
The pines ahead of him were larger, but there was lots more space between them. There’d be no getting through that boulder field until he got down to the actual canyon entrance, so he elected to keep going on the southside bank. He listened carefully for any signs that there was something following him in the dense grove at his back, but he could hear only the river. Where were the rangers? Had they heard his three shots?
He set out for the canyon entrance, keeping an eye on his back trail as he moved in among the large pines. He was conscious after awhile that the ground was rising to his right, the carpet of pine needles changing to a fine granite gravel. He passed through a blowing mist of falling water coming from a weep high up on the rock walls above him.
He kept watch for the cat. He had two rounds remaining in the .45, since for safety reasons he never carried a round under the hammer. One round had done in the previous cat, so all he’d have to do would be to hit it. Assuming he saw it coming, that is.
He kept watch for the cat. He had two rounds remaining in the .45, since for safety reasons he never carried a round under the hammer. One round had done in the previous cat, so all he’d have to do would be to hit it. Assuming he saw it coming, that is.
He stopped in midstride as he realized he could see a small slice of the river to his left and below him. Why was he climbing? He was tempted to climb one of the trees to see where the hell he was in relation to the actual entrance to the Chop. Why not? he thought. I should be able to see the base camp if I get high enough.
But then there came the sound of something behind him. He backed up to a big tree and froze, gun held in both hands. He could just barely see his footprints in the gravelly ground, and he stared through the trees from left to right, trying to see what had made that noise. Colder air began to settle through the tops of the pines. He looked up and realized that the soaring stone walls of the canyon were closer now. They should be opening, not closing on me, he thought.
He hesitated. He was beginning to get the sense that he was walking into a trap. He was definitely forgetting something important. It had to do with why Kenny had brought him across the river twice. He closed his eyes and tried to visualize what he’d seen when they landed yesterday, but he couldn’t raise the image of the Chop’s entrance. Dark and too many trees. Plus, he was very tired.
Climb a tree, he thought. See where you are. Orient yourself. Then proceed. He looked up and sighed. What with the altitude and his own fatigue, he wasn’t sure he could climb a tree right now. And the last time he’d climbed a tree, that damned cat had come up after him.
Okay, climbing a tree was out.
He pressed on, no longer bothering to watch his back in order to make better time. He was intent on getting out of this canyon. The rangers had given him forty-eight hours, but the weather front was obviously not going to wait that long. He didn’t want to be in this canyon if the river really rose up, and
he sure as hell didn’t want to get back to the meadow and find only one tent standing.
he sure as hell didn’t want to get back to the meadow and find only one tent standing.
He came to another line of dense-pack pines, stubbier than what he’d been going through. The river had changed its tone, sounding more like a flood than a rapid. He plunged through the pines, sure that the way out was just on the other side, and finally burst out onto a wide gravel beach. A blaze of sunlight revealed that he’d made it to the canyon entrance. The river swung north to his left in a wide silvery arc, although it looked to be twice the size of what it had been before. The meadow up above a stand of pines on the other side was visible, and the little cluster of tents was still there. That was the good news.
The bad news, however, stopped him cold. He now understood why Kenny had brought him across on the other side, because where the river made its turn, the current had scoured the south bank away to nothing. The gravel beach narrowed down into a spit that lay submerged about a hundred feet in front of him, after which there was only a sheer rock cliff rising out of the flowing water a couple hundred feet up the south wall of the canyon. The river swept through its turn with barely a ripple along that southern edge, indicating deep water. The distance to the other shore from the gravel spit was a good two hundred yards. The benevolent sunshine seemed to mock him as he stood there, trapped on the wrong side of a rising river.
As he surveyed his predicament, the mountain lion stepped casually out of the pines about thirty feet away and looked his way.
CAM FROZE WHEN HE saw the cat between him and the riverbank. He tried to think what to do. Step back into the stand of pines? Pull out the .45 and start blasting away—with both remaining rounds? Do the fifty-meter dash straight ahead and then jump into the river?
He stared at the big cat. It did not appear to be injured or even marked. He then wondered if it was the same cat that had mauled Kenny, or was it a different one? A mate? The cat looked right back at him, its black mask clearly etched in the bright sunlight. Its tail began to twitch. Cam quietly extracted the Colt and held it down at his side.
There was no point in going back into the trees. If the cat wanted him, it would have the advantage in there, and Cam would probably never see or hear it coming. The trees were too insubstantial to climb, and it was probably a couple hundred feet back to the nearest big pine.
The cat made that guttural coughing sound again and lay down on the gravel, its entire body pointed right at Cam. He’d seen house cats do the same thing when they had a mousie out in the middle of the living room carpet. For a crazy moment, Cam was tempted to walk over there, right at it, and see if he could shoot it like he’d shot the other one, right through the long axis of its body. But then he saw the muscles in the cat’s shoulders coiling. It lifted its lips at him, baring yellow fangs.
He looked longingly at the water, but there was no way he could outrun that thing if it charged.
When
it charged. He slowly knelt down on one knee, took a two-handed shooting stance, braced himself as best he could, pointed the .45 at the cat, and cocked the revolver. The cat growled when he
moved, but it still didn’t charge. Its tail was whipping back and forth now, its agitation clearly growing. Cam focused on its face along the blade sight picture and then dropped the point of aim slightly. If he fired now, he could probably hit it in the chest, but the shot would be slightly downhill and just far enough away that the drop of the round might result in a clean miss.
When
it charged. He slowly knelt down on one knee, took a two-handed shooting stance, braced himself as best he could, pointed the .45 at the cat, and cocked the revolver. The cat growled when he
moved, but it still didn’t charge. Its tail was whipping back and forth now, its agitation clearly growing. Cam focused on its face along the blade sight picture and then dropped the point of aim slightly. If he fired now, he could probably hit it in the chest, but the shot would be slightly downhill and just far enough away that the drop of the round might result in a clean miss.
He commanded his lungs to expand and tried to keep his eyes from watering as he waited, the big Colt getting heavier in his hands by the minute. The cat began to inch forward on its belly, taking his measure the whole time, its eyes glaring in anger. Cam refined his aim point as the cat made its approach, still belly-down on the gravel, its breathing becoming audible as it made its move. Cam remembered reading somewhere that this was the time to make himself as big and tall as possible, to make the cat pause, but he didn’t want to disturb his shooting stance. He had only two rounds, and he’d probably only get off one shot before the damned thing was all over him. He remembered what the mortally wounded beast had done to White Eye, that speed bag hammering with those three-inch-long claws. And Kenny with his shirtful of innards.
The cat stopped, twenty feet away now, and began to quiver all over. Its head was down, giving Cam less, rather than more, of a target.
Then he remembered the camera.
Holding the gun in his right hand, he unzipped his left parka pocket and brought out the little disposable, slick in its plastic shrink-wrap covering. Being careful not to make any sudden jerking moves, he brought the camera up, pointed it at the cat, armed the flash, and fumbled for the shoot button. An instant later, there was a bright flash and the cat shrieked at him. He did it again, and a third time, and each time the cat yelled at him. But its eyes were blinking now and the flash had clearly upset its attack pattern.
He fired it again and again, and each time the cat reacted. After the sixth time, he put it back in his pocket and reset his shooting position. The cat was no closer, but it was still blinking
furiously. Its tail was, if anything, whipping back and forth more vigorously, but the cool, careful “Here I come” expression on its face was gone.
furiously. Its tail was, if anything, whipping back and forth more vigorously, but the cool, careful “Here I come” expression on its face was gone.
At that instant, two shapes burst out of the trees between the cat and the riverbank.
The cat sensed and reacted to the new danger before Cam even knew what was happening. It whirled around on the loose gravel, still down in its crouch, and, flat-eared, fangs bared, roared at the two shepherds. They stopped in their tracks, spewing gravel out in front of them, and then spread out, one on either side of the cat, each one keeping about fifteen feet away, their fur and hackles up and showing more teeth than Cam had thought possible. Frick was to Cam’s right on the downstream side, while Frack held position nearest the stand of pines.
They’d left the cat one avenue of escape, which was to dive straight into the pines, but the lion wasn’t having it. It roared again and feinted at Frack, who answered with a pretty impressive roar of his own and even more ivory. He stood his ground, much to Cam’s surprise, while Frick kept moving, down on her belly now like the cat, growling and showing teeth, making the cat turn to keep her in view even as Frack started to slide toward his right. Cam was still so surprised to see the dogs that he hadn’t done anything, but now he did. He scooped up a handful of gravel and threw it at the cat’s back.
The lion whipped around and shrieked at him, giving the dogs another chance to adjust their positions. They clearly knew they were no match for an aroused mountain lion, so they weren’t getting closer, but they weren’t leaving, either. The cat now had three threats to deal with, and it was getting even more agitated. Cam realized he had a body shot now, but, to his own amazement, he found himself reluctant to take it. We started this, not the cat, he thought.
Run, goddamn it, Cam thought. Get out of here. He threw another handful of gravel. The cat spun around again, and this time both dogs feinted at it.
That did it. The cat shrieked one final time and then, in a
blur of fur, leaped into the pines, easily clearing twenty feet without touching the ground, and was gone. The dogs ran up to the edge of the pines but wisely stopped, barking their fool heads off. Cam felt a wave of something like cold nausea sweep through his own plumbing and suddenly had to sit down. Frick came over and licked his face and neck, while Frack paced back and forth in front of the dense trees, nose down, as if he was trying to pick up the cat’s scent. Cam could still see that final leap, from a standstill, the same distance the cat had been from him, he realized. Even with the gun pointed right at it, he’d probably never have gotten even one shot off.
blur of fur, leaped into the pines, easily clearing twenty feet without touching the ground, and was gone. The dogs ran up to the edge of the pines but wisely stopped, barking their fool heads off. Cam felt a wave of something like cold nausea sweep through his own plumbing and suddenly had to sit down. Frick came over and licked his face and neck, while Frack paced back and forth in front of the dense trees, nose down, as if he was trying to pick up the cat’s scent. Cam could still see that final leap, from a standstill, the same distance the cat had been from him, he realized. Even with the gun pointed right at it, he’d probably never have gotten even one shot off.
He had a sudden urge to answer a call of nature, so he got up and walked over to the riverbank, where the rushing water was visibly moving smaller stones along in the marginal current. Frick followed him, and then so did Frack.
He praised them while he took care of business, then lowered the hammer on the Colt and put it back in his pocket. He zipped the camera back into his parka. If that thing was working, Mary Ellen would finally have her proof.
“So where are the rangers, guys?” he asked. He saw that the dogs were both pretty wet, so they’d managed to get across somehow. He looked across the river at the north bank, but he didn’t see anyone over there. The big rocks he’d crossed with Kenny were now small mounds of turbulence out in the sweeping current. He knew what they were going to have to do: They were going to have to go into the river right about here and let the icy current take them through the entire turn and then strike out for the far bank.
He still had Kenny’s binocs around his neck, so he used these to survey the other side.
It was doable,
if
he could survive the cold water, and
if
he didn’t get slammed up against one of those now-invisible rocks by the current. As if confirming the urgency of the situation, he realized that the tips of his boots were now underwater. He looked back up into the high ridges above the canyon and saw that the dark cloud to the west was now taking lumpy definition along the entire mountain range. He
could clearly see curtains of rain sweeping out of the cloud, which meant the river was by no means finished rising.
if
he could survive the cold water, and
if
he didn’t get slammed up against one of those now-invisible rocks by the current. As if confirming the urgency of the situation, he realized that the tips of his boots were now underwater. He looked back up into the high ridges above the canyon and saw that the dark cloud to the west was now taking lumpy definition along the entire mountain range. He
could clearly see curtains of rain sweeping out of the cloud, which meant the river was by no means finished rising.
He wondered if the dogs would follow him into the river, or if he should tie them to him somehow so that they would all stay together. But with what?
They sat down before him, as if to say, That was fun. What’s the next game, Pop? He knelt down to rub their heads, which is when the mountain lion erupted out the pines in a dead run and came right at them, eyes blazing, covering the gravel in twenty-foot bounds.
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