Footprints

Footprints By Orville S. Johnson The warm red of the perpendicular canyon walls had turned to a cold gray under the touch of misty hands. The dreary fog poured down the canyon, silent and full of mystery. It was so still that the figure, squatted at the mouth of a cavern, seemed to be listening to the billions of atoms as they rubbed against one another in their rush through space. He shivered as he bent to stir the smoldering fire to brisker life. It was plain that he was used to silence and gray mist. Far up the canyon, where its sandstone walls were sloping and soft a dark gray shape bounded swiftly across the canyon to the westward. A little later the same shape bounded back into the canyon, and turning southward, followed the winding gorge toward the dying fire and silent man. Silently as the fog it moved, but swifter, and ever it seemed to be looking for danger to spring from the gloom. First on one side, then back to the other as it moved on its way down the ever narrowing, deepening canyon. Often it stopped, standing so still that it seemed but a part of the mist, only to move restlessly forward, looking ever backward. And had it not been for the mist it would have learned much that would have been unwelcome to it. The figure of the man became as a statue, while it watched a smooth gray shape, barely discernible through the mist, pass within ten feet of him. Once past, the gray body gathered itself into a crouching position for the shortest time possible, and bounded away down the canyon with expanded nostrils and fast beating heart. The gentle moving air had brought him fear when he had passed the man. Far up the canyon, where the gray shape had been, a tawny, yellow body padded swiftly and silently down the canyon upon the trail left by the gray shape of the white-tailed deer. It was a presentiment of some such thing that had kept the deer on the alert on its way down, and that had caused it to speed forward so swiftly upon receiving the danger signal from the air when passing the man's cave. It was the feeling that danger was fol- lowing that kept the big buck wary even after a mile was between him and the man. A low snarl from out of the mist, brought the man to his

FOOTPRINTS 715 feet with a low exclamation of surprise. The canyon rang with the report of three revolver shots, but a deep silence soon buried them, and the fog swept onward exultant in its power to hide mysteries. The man walked about the mouth of the cave for a minute irresolutely, then standing inside and tak- ing up his rifle started down the canyon on the trail of the cougar. "Something's going to happen," he muttered, "and I'm pretty sure I'll be able to pay that debt." The fog was lifting away up the canyon where the drama started. And idly humming a tune through his nose, a man, mounted on a horse, was following close upon the heels of excitement. Gasting his eyes down for a look at the ground, he saw the trail of the cougar. He saw also the marks left by the buck, but as they were not uncommon to him in his frequent travels down that canyon he made no mental note of them. The track of the cougar, however, interested him. He dismounted and examined it with a little care; exclaimed over its freshness, told his horse that he guessed they'd be go- ing, and started forward at an easy gallop. Even a game warden has a dramatic sense. He never stopped until he reached a point two miles below the cave where Lew Reman had watched the buck and cougar pass. At that point a deep gorge merged with the main canyon, cutting in from the west. The buck had wanted to go west in the first place, and he turned west into that gorge. The cougar followed him. The fog settled again, and Warden Davis missed the trails only after he had passed the canyon for some distance. When he got back to the mouth of the gorge, he got off his horse and examined the ground carefully, until he found the cougar's track leading straight up the narrow opening. "Great guns and little fishes!" he exploded, "there's going to be a fight. Not a mere give and take affair, but a real death struggle." And then he saw the prints of the other man's feet. "Getting blind." he muttered. "I've followed that track for goodness knows how long and never seen it. Yes, I guess there'll be a fight sure enough." Lew Reman did not know the country as well as Davis. Yet he felt that something was going to happen. Cautiously he had followed the trails and was sure the cougar was hot on the scent, with the buck only half aware of its danger. He felt that he was being drawn into a strange but thrilling position, but was not prepared for what met his eye when the fog lightened for a moment under the fan of an insistent western breeze. A hundred foot wall of rock met his gaze. No visible place

716 IMPROVEMENT ERA of ascent met his eye, and he knew the trail had led that far. To the extreme right, thirty feet away, however, a narrow chasm seemed to lead somewhere and into that he discovered the lead- ing characters had been drawn. Twenty feet up that ten foot chasm he stopped. A low, but unmistakable snarl reached his ear. He knew he had heard that identical snarl before. Looking hard he made out the crouching form of the tawny body about fifteen feet ahead. Its head was not turned his way, yet he knew he was discovered. He glanced at the ground and saw the deep indentations made by the feet of the buck. It had received its certainty of danger too late. He could hear some low thumping sounds that he fancied must be its frightened heart beats. He even fancied he could make out the vague, gray shape out in the mist past the cougar. But it faded and came again so easily that he wasn't sure. It began to seem like the dull beats were getting louder. Suddenly the air was rent with a loud screech. At the same moment the tawny body shot forward into the mist and nothing could be seen. Snarls, gasps and growls issued from the twilight fog, finally followed by the terror-stricken buck. Reman was in its path. Almost unconsciously he pulled the trigger of his rifle which he had at his side. The buck leaped wildly into the air and sank to the ground again, plowing furrows with nose, knees, and brisket, then rolled struggling onto its side, almost at Re- man's feet. As if by magic a tawny form appeared upon the body of the buck, glaring defiance at the man, and snarling its disgust. Suddenly it crouched. Reman felt his heart leap into his throat as he saw its intention. There was no time to fire, no place to dodge. It would be a case of grin and bear it. In a flash he saw the great, cruel claws as they spread for the leap. The ugly head opened at the mouth and showed what looked to be multitudes of needle-like tiger teeth eager for their share in the play. He bent forward instinctively to receive the heavy impact. Feeling that he needed only time to draw his re- volver before he could win, he dropped his gun knowing that long before his hand could reach the gun he would be borne down, yet resolute upon getting that weapon into use as soon as possible. The deafening report of a rifle stunned him. He reached his weapon with his hand, hauled it forth to shoot. The form of the cougar was writhing in its death struggle. "He nearly got you, pardner," a pleasant voice said, and for a vague moment Reman wondered if he were dead. A moment later he was shaking hands with Bob Davis and telling him how glad he was to see him! Together they skinned the cougar, and together they car- ried the body of the deer to a wider, more comfortable skinning

FOOTPRINTS 717 place. Reman was so silent while skinning the deer that Davis asked him if he was still afraid he was dead. "Not quile that," replied Reman, "but you see, I had it all figured out to use the bounty on that cougar to pay a certain debt. I didn't care about the deer, I didn't even want to kill him, but had to or else get tramped over by his sharp feet. And when I shot him, the cougar was onto me so quick I couldn't even draw again." "I know," responded the warden. "I saw it all, wasn't ten feet behind you when you shot the deer. Had my gun out all the time. I'll trade you the cougar for the deer!" "Done!" was all Reman could say; he felt much more. Connonville, Utah. Judge Not How oft we judge our dearest friends For things that they may say or do. We add a burden to their souls, And make their hearts feel heavy too The outside coat is all we see, We know so little of the cause. Perhaps if we could see as they We'd let our words die in a pause. For unkind words expressed in haste Oft cause the speaker sad regret. The injured one you may forgive, But in his heart he can't forget. J How often when we see a friend Departing from the path of right, We give him knocks that push him down Instead of helping win his fight. If we would take him by the hand, And guide him from the snares he's sown. We'd keep him from the depths of sin, From which he needs must climb alone. 'Tis oft we sin in others' eyes; We sometimes hate and hold a grudge. We are ourselves not perfect yet, So God alone should be the judge. 0 friends, could we but look for good, The faults and failings never see, We'd leave the world far better, when We pass into eternity. B. Y. U. Provo, Utah Flora D. Robinson