The Tawny Terror

The Tawny Terror By Richard Inscore I believe I possess a fair amount of bravery. Probably just a little more than the strictly ordinary. Why I figure that way is because I'm not afraid to own up that several times I have been scared absolutely stiff. I have been scared by imaginary dangers and I have been scared by real ones. Needless to say, the imaginary fright is the worst to experience. I've tried 'em both. Outside of having the courage to admit the truth, I lay no claims to personal valor. Though it must be admitted that this quality is many times lacking and is commendable in any one. I believe the worst fright I ever had was upon a moonless, noiseless night just around the time when graves are supposed to yawn and spew up their dead. It was in Idaho. It is rather difficult to describe what I mean, to one who has never been in the Idaho mountains, when I say that the wet canyons are blacker than black and possess the oppressive stillness of death. Sometimes there are deep, silent, slow-moving streams that lie lazily upon their beds, with noth- ing to do but feed the ever thickening growth of vegetation and underbrush. Also there the great spruce, cedars, firs and pines rear their majestic heads toward the silent heavens, like senti- nels standing watch over the mysterious life that lived and moved at their feet. The craggy canyon walls offer a wonderful retreat for the big cat, the cougar, or mountain lion, with the dense, jungle-like canyon forests for hunting places. Such was the particular country I refer to, far back from any settlements, into the new lands then being opened up by homesteaders. Of course, a person can get a thrill out of the ^ery name of mountain lion, cougar or big cat, which is all one. But to get the real soul.chilling, blood-freezing fright I am going to tell about, one simply has to face him in his natural state, with nothing to look at but a pair of slavering jaws and two fiery eyes burning their way into your very being, but a few feet away. Such was the fright I had and such was the fright I'm not the least backward in telling about. . Just how much of it was imaginary, the reader must decide. There had gone the rounds among the settlers, stories of depredations committed among cattle, hogs and sheep, by the

THE TAWNY TERROF. 527 big cats, and there had also come more or less credited reports of attacks upon settlers themselves. It was true, however, that livestock had been harassed shamefully — cruelly torn and wan- tonly slain by the fierce beasts, whose pleasure it seemed was to kill for the \ery meanness of it. It seemed they did it out of resentment for the white man's coming. It was pretty generally known that a cougar never at- tacked a man fairly. It was either at night, by stalking and springing upon him, or from one of the many low hanging limbs of the giant red fir trees, which were usually thickly foliaged and directly over the path of the unwary. And at that, there were comparatively few instances when a human being had been attacked at all. Though there had been found, a few times, the torn and mangled body of some unlucky settler who had fallen before one of the fierce attacks from the dark. Such was the tales I had to muse over and, added to a lively imagi- nation, served not to reassure me upon the night of which I tell. This particular night happened to be one when several of the settlers in the neighborhood had gotten together at our house for a dance, or frolic. The fun had started early and drew to a close in the vicinity of midnight. It was also a moon- less night, as I said before, and except for the yap-yapping of the numerous coyotes on the hunt and the occasional deep- throated howl of a timber wolf far back in the mountains, there was no sound of life to be heard. Even the familiar "night noises" were hushed. Or maybe I imagined it. It fell to my lot to see a couple of the ladies to their homes which, like ours, bordered closely upon the edge of one of these big, black, mysterious canyons, where it was rumored several big cats had been seen not so long ago. There was a narrow log road hewn out of the thickly growing forest of small trees and under brush leading thither, along which we must walk. With memory of the big cat tales fresh on my mind, I did not relish the trip any too much, but would have died of fright, or by the lions' talons themselves before admitting it. I was pretty much of a he-boy for a lad of fifteen. Mother, ever cautious, begged me to hunt up the big yel- low dog and take him with me "for company" as she put it, but upon calling him once and his non-appearance, we started nois- ily calling out good nights to the departing guests. The dog, a monstrous beast, I supposed to be away chasing a coyote or rab- bit— his usual pastime. He was, it so proved. The going trip was made without mishap and after a very few moments in the welcome light of the lamp, I turned my footsteps toward home. My heart sank. I did not know why and the thought angered me. I resolved mightily to throw

528 IMPROVEMENT ERA off the cowardly feeling. But walking out of the little rim of light and looking into the forbidding darkness of the cayon, I failed. If I had a gun — but I hadn't. Contrary to the usual outsider's belief that every settler or mountaineer carried a couple of six shooters and a rifle every- where he went, everyone was unarmed. There was no need of arms, as a usual thing, and very few of them ever packed one unless purposely hunting. I had none, nor did I own any- thing but a .22 calibre target rifle. I had gone but a few steps when one of the girls called to me and ran out after me, pressing a small pistol into my hand, saying I could return it some other time — that they didn't need it, and I might want to target practice tomorrow. I heaved a grateful sigh, knowing the real meaning of the act. She was afraid for me, but would not say so for fear of its psychological effect, I suppose. }* thanked her, clutched the little weapon tightly and again set off. With nerves tingling and bloodless face, I walked as lightly as possible, as is the unconscious way of one afraid. I imagined my own stillness would be some protection, I suppose. But in reality it only increased my nervousness, as I could hear with startling clarity, my own footsteps and it seemed to bring the yap-yapping of the coyotes closer. I was not particularly afraid of them, although their cries at midnight are none too reassur- ing. To the uninitiated their weird calls are hideous, and being under the nemous strain I was under right then, I was little better off than the uninitiated, especially when it was so black dark I could not see my hand a foot from me. As I trod on air, I listened constantly for the footstep, ever expected behind me, the awful snarl — and I could almost feel the ripping fangs and claws on my back now! Let me tell you I was scared — absolutely scared stiff by my own imagination and by rumors, more or less idle. The real danger did exist, no doubt, though not in the proportions my overwrought imag- ination would have it. I had drawn the hammer of the re- volver back to the position of cock and was unconsciously press- ing the trigger close to the springing point, as I sprinted home- ward. I at least would have a measure of protection if attacked by my dreaded foe. Then it happened. I was passing under an overhanging red fir, with the bushy foliage close overhead and was making especially good time right in that vicinity, when suddenly I stopped cold. My limbs refused to function further and I felt the icy flush sap the blood from my face — what little remained already — and my terrified eyes started from their sockets. Had a sudden spotlight been thrown upon me then I would, no doubt, have presented a wonderful expression. I was totally in-

THE TAWNY TERROR 529 capable of connected thought, or deed. I could only stand there, frozen to the spot, and stare. A slight noise in front of me and at the canyon edge of the road and two fiery eyes bored their green blaze into my very soul! I could also hear the hot breath of the beast coming and going, and see the slavering jaws with fangs seemingly a foot long. I could also see the monster crouching for the dread- ful spring and could see the slowly switching tail, as he maneu. vered his feet solidly for the launch of that tawny mass of mus- cular death. It was pitchy dark, you will remember, but I could see. It is said that when a person faces death, he is calm and collected, having the ability to think of things far away from the present moment, which is his last. I doubt it. Personally, I didn't think. What I had to think wiA was frozen, along with my "movability." ^ Then something else happened. I evidently pressed the trigger on the pistol, just a bit harder, unconsciously, and it must have been pointed in the direction of the beast, as there was a sudden ear-splitting explosion, which scared me worse, if that could be, and which brought a sharp cry of pain from the animal, who turned and sped off through the darkness. Which direction I did not know, nor care. The new turn of things put new life in me and new life put new speed into my feet. The net result was that I made as few tracks as possible, in as short a time as possible, toward home. I rounded the last turn in the road which brought me in sight of the lighted window and I literally burst into the room. The first thing that greeted my frightened eyes was father, who was doing something I couldn't see just then. He looked up angrily demanding: "Say, can you tell me what in Sam Hill you shot the dog for?" He was bathing a slight flesh wound on the big yellow dog's shoulder! Nephi, Utah Failure And what is failure? I oft ask my soul. Is it to strive yet never reach the goal That beckons, ever beckons from afar, Like scintillating beams of some bright star, Set in the diadem on heaven's brow? No! They only fail who never heed the call To strive, to climb, who fear to slip or fall Upon the pilgrimage of high endeavor. They are the puisne weaklings who rise never, Dwarfed by the fettering robe that pampers ease. Provo, Utah Grace Ingles Frost