The Hunters' Feast: Conversations Around the Camp Fire

“But, by God! I hain’t.”

“He’s hyur,” continued the voice; “dead as mutton. Come this a way, an’ yu’ll see the beauty.”

Ike’s voice was recognised, and we all galloped to the spot where it proceeded from. At his feet lay the body of the panther quite dead. There was a red spot running blood between the ribs, where Ike’s bullet had penetrated. In trying to escape from the thicket, the cougar had halted a moment, in a crouching attitude, directly before Ike’s face, and that moment was enough to give the trapper time to glance through his sights, and send the fatal bullet.

Of course the guide received the congratulations of all, and though he pretended not to regard the thing in the light of a feat, he knew well that killing a “painter” was no everyday adventure.

The skin of the animal was stripped off in a trice, and carried to the waggon. Such a trophy is rarely left in the woods.

The hunter-naturalist performed some farther operations upon the body for the purpose of examining the contents of the stomach. These consisted entirely of the half-digested remains of passenger-pigeons, an enormous quantity of which the beast had devoured during the previous night – having captured them no doubt upon the trees.

This adventure formed a pleasant theme for conversation during the rest of our journey, and of course the cougar was the subject. His habits and history were fully discussed, and the information elicited is given below.

Chapter Seven.

The Cougar

The cougar (Felis concolor) is the only indigenous long-tailed cat in America north of the parallel of 30 degrees. The “wild cats” so called, are lynxes with short tails; and of these there are three distinct species. But there is only one true representative of the genus Felis, and that is the animal in question.

This has received many trivial appellations. Among Anglo-American hunters, it is called the panther – in their patois, “painter.” In most parts of South America, as well as in Mexico, it receives the grandiloquent title of “lion” (leon), and in the Peruvian countries is called the “puma,” or “poma.” The absence of stripes, such as those of the tiger – or spots, as upon the leopard – or rosettes, as upon the jaguar, have suggested the name of the naturalists, concolor. Discolor was formerly in use; but the other has been generally adopted.

There are few wild animals so regular in their colour as the cougar: very little variety has been observed among different specimens. Some naturalists speak of spotted cougars – that is, having spots that may be seen in a certain light. Upon young cubs, such markings do appear; but they are no longer visible on the full-grown animal. The cougar of mature age is of a tawny red colour, almost uniform over the whole body, though somewhat paler about the face and the parts underneath. This colour is not exactly the tawny of the lion; it is more of a reddish hue – nearer to what is termed calf-colour.

The cougar is far from being a well-shaped creature: it appears disproportioned. Its back is long and hollow; and its tail does not taper so gracefully as in some other animals of the cat kind. Its legs are short and stout; and although far from clumsy in appearance, it does not possess the graceful tournure of body so characteristic of some of its congeners. Though considered the representative of the lion in the New World, its resemblance to the royal beast is but slight; its colour seems to be the only title it has to such an honour. For the rest, it is much more akin to the tigers, jaguars, and true panthers. Cougars are rarely more than six feet in length, including the tail, which is usually about a third of that measurement.

The range of the animal is very extensive. It is known from Paraguay to the Great Lakes of North America. In no part of either continent is it to be seen every day, because it is for the most part not only nocturnal in its activity, but one of those fierce creatures that, fortunately, do not exist in large numbers. Like others of the genus, it is solitary in its habits, and at the approach of civilisation betakes itself to the remoter parts of the forest. Hence the cougar, although found in all of the United States, is a rare animal everywhere, and seen only at long intervals in the mountain-valleys, or in other difficult places of the forest. The appearance of a cougar is sufficient to throw any neighbourhood into an excitement similar to that which would be produced by the chase of a mad dog.

It is a splendid tree-climber. It can mount a tree with the agility of a cat; and although so large an animal, it climbs by means of its claws – not by hugging, after the manner of the bears and opossums. While climbing a tree, its claws can be heard crackling along the bark as it mounts upward. It sometimes lies “squatted” along a horizontal branch, a lower one, for the purpose of springing upon deer, or such other animals as it wishes to prey upon. The ledge of a cliff is also a favourite haunt, and such are known among the hunters as “panther-ledges.” It selects such a position in the neighbourhood of some watering-place, or, if possible, one of the salt or soda springs (licks) so numerous in America. Here it is more certain that its vigil will not be a protracted one. Its prey – elk, deer, antelope, or buffalo – soon appears beneath, unconscious of the dangerous enemy that cowers over them. When fairly within reach, the cougar springs, and pouncing down upon the shoulders of the victim, buries its claws in the flesh. The terrified animal starts forward, leaps from side to side, dashes into the papaw thickets, or breasts the dense cane-brake, in hopes of brushing off its relentless rider. All in vain! Closely clasping its neck, the cougar clings on, tearing its victim in the throat, and drinking its blood throughout the wild gallop. Faint and feeble, the ruminant at length totters and falls, and the fierce destroyer squats itself along the body, and finishes its red repast. If the cougar can overcome several animals at a time, it will kill them all, although but the twentieth part may be required to satiate its hunger. Unlike the lion in this, even in repletion it will kill. With it, destruction of life seems to be an instinct.

There is a very small animal, and apparently a very helpless one, with which the cougar occasionally quarrels, but often with ill success – this is the Canada porcupine. Whether the cougar ever succeeds in killing one of these creatures is not known, but that it attacks them is beyond question, and its own death is often the result. The quills of the Canada porcupine are slightly barbed at their extremities; and when stuck into the flesh of a living animal, this arrangement causes them to penetrate mechanically deeper and deeper as the animal moves. That the porcupine can itself discharge them to some distance, is not true, but it is true that it can cause them to be easily detached; and this it does when rashly seized by any of the predatory animals. The result is, that these remarkable spines become fast in the tongue, jaws, and lips of the cougar, or any other creature which may make an attack on that seemingly unprotected little animal. The fisher (Mustela Canadensis) is said to be the only animal that can kill the porcupine with impunity. It fights the latter by first throwing it upon its back, and then springing upon its upturned belly, where the spines are almost entirely wanting.

The cougar is called a cowardly animal: some naturalists even assert that it will not venture to attack man. This is, to say the least, a singular declaration, after the numerous well-attested instances in which men have been attacked, and even killed by cougars. There are many such in the history of early settlement in America. To say that cougars are cowardly now when found in the United States – to say they are shy of man, and will not attack him, may be true enough. Strange, if the experience of 200 years’ hunting, and by such hunters too, did not bring them to that. We may safely believe, that if the lions of Africa were placed in the same circumstances, a very similar shyness and dread of the upright biped would soon exhibit itself. What all these creatures – bears, cougars, lynxes, wolves, and even alligators – are now, is no criterion of their past. Authentic history proves that their courage, at least so far as regards man, has changed altogether since they first heard the sharp detonation of the deadly rifle. Even contemporaneous history demonstrates this. In many parts of South America, both jaguar and cougar attack man, and numerous are the deadly encounters there. In Peru, on the eastern declivity of the Andes, large settlements and even villages have been abandoned solely on account of the perilous proximity of those fierce animals.

In the United States, the cougar is hunted by dog and gun. He will run from the hounds, because he knows they are backed by the unerring rifle of the hunter; but should one of the yelping pack approach too near, a single blow of the cougar’s paw is sufficient to stretch him out. When closely pushed, the cougar takes to a tree, and, halting in one of its forks, humps his back, bristles his hair, looks downward with gleaming eyes, and utters a sound somewhat like the purring of a cat, though far louder. The crack of the hunter’s rifle usually puts an end to these demonstrations, and the cougar drops to the ground either dead or wounded. If only the latter, a desperate fight ensues between him and the dogs, with several of whom he usually leaves a mark that distinguishes them for the rest of their lives.

The scream of the cougar is a common phrase. It is not very certain that the creature is addicted to the habit of screaming, although noises of this kind heard in the nocturnal forest have been attributed to him. Hunters, however, have certainly never heard him, and they believe that the scream talked about proceeds from one of the numerous species of owls that inhabit the deep forests of America. At short intervals, the cougar does make himself heard in a note which somewhat resembles a deep-drawn sigh, or as if one were to utter with an extremely guttural expression the syllables “Co-oa,” or “Cougar.” Is it from this that he derives his trivial name?

Chapter Eight.

Old Ike’s Adventure

Now a panther story was the natural winding-up of this day, and it had been already hinted that old Ike had “rubbed out” several of these creatures in his time, and no doubt could tell more than one “painter” story.

“Wal, strengers,” began he, “it’s true thet this hyur ain’t the fust painter I’ve comed acrosst. About fifteen yeern ago I moved to Loozyanny, an’ thur I met a painter, an’ a queer story it are.”

“Let us have it by all means,” said several of the party, drawing closer up and seating themselves to listen attentively. We all knew that a story from Ike could not be otherwise than “queer,” and our curiosity was on the qui vive.

“Wal then,” continued he, “they have floods dowd thur in Loozyanny, sich as, I guess, you’ve never seen the like o’ in England.” Here Ike addressed himself specially to our English comrade. “England ain’t big enough to hev sich floods. One o’ ’m ud kiver yur hul country, I hev heern said. I won’t say that ar’s true, as I ain’t acquainted with yur jography. I know, howsomdever, they’re mighty big freshets thur, as I hev sailed a skift more ’n a hundred mile acrosst one o’ ’m, whur thur wan’t nothin’ to be seen but cypress tops peep in out o’ the water. The floods, as ye know, come every year, but them ar big ones only oncest in a while.

“Wal, as I’ve said about fifeteen yeern ago, I located in the Red River bottom, about fifty mile or tharabout below Nacketosh, whur I built me a shanty. I hed left my wife an’ two young critters in Massissippi state, intendin’ to go back for ’em in the spring; so, ye see, I wur all alone by meself, exceptin’ my ole mar, a Collins’s axe, an’ of coorse my rifle.

“I hed finished the shanty all but the chinkin’ an’ the buildin’ o’ a chimbly, when what shed come on but one o’ ’m tarnation floods. It wur at night when it begun to make its appearance. I wur asleep on the floor o’ the shanty, an’ the first warnin’ I hed o’ it wur the feel o’ the water soakin’ through my ole blanket. I hed been a-dreamin’, an’ thort it wur rainin’, an’ then agin I thort that I wur bein’ drownded in the Massissippi; but I wan’t many seconds awake, till I guessed what it wur in raality; so I jumped to my feet like a started buck, an’ groped my way to the door.

“A sight that wur when I got thur. I hed chirred a piece o’ ground around the shanty – a kupple o’ acres or better – I hed left the stumps a good three feet high: thur wan’t a stump to be seen. My clearin’, stumps an’ all, wur under water; an’ I could see it shinin’ among the trees all round the shanty.

“Of coorse, my fust thoughts wur about my rifle; an I turned back into the shanty, an’ laid my claws upon that quick enough.

“I next went in search o’ my ole mar. She wan’t hard to find; for if ever a critter made a noise, she did. She wur tied to a tree close by the shanty, an’ the way she wur a-squealin’ wur a caution to cats. I found her up to the belly in water, pitchin’ an’ flounderin’ all round the tree. She hed nothin’ on but the rope that she wur hitched by. Both saddle an’ bridle hed been washed away: so I made the rope into a sort o’ halter, an’ mounted her bare-backed.

“Jest then I begun to think whur I wur agoin’. The hul country appeared to be under water: an’ the nearest neighbour I hed lived acrosst the parairy ten miles off. I knew that his shanty sot on high ground, but how wur I to get thur? It wur night; I mout lose my way, an’ ride chuck into the river.

“When I thort o’ ibis, I concluded it mout be better to stay by my own shanty till mornin’. I could hitch the mar inside to keep her from bein’ floated away; an’ for meself, I could climb on the roof.

“While I wur thinkin’ on this, I noticed that the water wur a-deepenin’, an’ it jest kim into my head, that it ud soon be deep enough to drownd my ole mar. For meself I wan’t frightened. I mout a clomb a tree, an’ stayed thur till the flood fell; but I shed a lost the mar, an’ that critter wur too valleyble to think o’ such a sacryfize; so I made up my mind to chance crossin’ the parairy. Thur wan’t no time to be wasted – ne’er a minnit; so I gin the mar a kick or two in the ribs an’ started.

“I found the path out to the edge of the parairy easy enough. I hed blazed it when I fust come to the place; an’, as the night wur not a very dark one, I could see the blazes as I passed atween the trees. My mar knew the track as well as meself, an’ swaltered through at a sharp rate, for she knew too thur wan’t no time to be wasted. In five minnites we kim out on the edge o’ the pairairy, an’ jest as I expected, the hul thing wur kivered with water, an’ lookin’ like a big pond, I could see it shinin’ clur acrosst to the other side o’ the openin’.

“As luck ud hev it, I could jest git a glimp o’ the trees on the fur side o’ the parairy. Thur wur a big clump o’ cypress, that I could see plain enough; I knew this wur clost to my neighbour’s shanty; so I gin my critter the switch, an’ struck right for it.

“As I left the timmer, the mar wur up to her hips. Of coorse, I expected a good grist o’ heavy wadin’; but I hed no idee that the water wur a-gwine to git much higher; thur’s whur I made my mistake.

“I hedn’t got more’n a kupple o’ miles out when I diskivered that the thing wur a-risin’ rapidly, for I seed the mar wur a-gettin’ deeper an’ deeper.

“’Twan’t no use turnin’ back now. I ud lose the mar to a dead sartinty, if I didn’t make the high ground; so I spoke to the critter to do her best, an’ kep on. The poor beast didn’t need any whippin’ – she knew as well’s I did meself thur wur danger, an’ she wur a-doin’ her darndest, an’ no mistake. Still the water riz, an’ kep a-risin’, until it come clur up to her shoulder.

“I begun to git skeart in airnest. We wan’t more ’n half acrosst, an’ I seed if it riz much more we ud hav to swim for it. I wan’t far astray about that. The minnit arter it seemed to deepen suddintly, as if thur wur a hollow in the parairy: I heerd the mar give a loud gouf, an’ then go down, till I wur up to the waist. She riz agin the next minnit, but I could tell from the smooth ridin’ that she wur off o’ the bottom. She wur swimmin’, an’ no mistake.

“At fust I thort o’ headin’ her back to the shanty; an’ I drew her round with that intent; but turn her which way I would, I found she could no longer touch bottom.

“I guess, strengers, I wur in a quandairy about then. I ’gun to think that both my own an’ my mar’s time wur come in airnest, for I hed no idee that the critter could iver swim to the other side, ’specially with me on her back, an’ purticklarly as at that time these hyur ribs had a sight more griskin upon ’em than they hev now.

“Wal, I wur about reckinin’ up. I hed got to thinkin’ o’ Mary an’ the childer, and the old shanty in the Mississippi, an’ a heap o’ things that I hed left unsettled, an’ that now come into my mind to trouble me. The mar wur still plungin’ ahead; but I seed she wur sinkin’ deeper an’ deeper an’ fast loosin’ her strength, an’ I knew she couldn’t hold out much longer.

“I thort at this time that if I got off o’ her back, an’ tuk hold o’ the tail, she mout manage a leetle hotter. So I slipped backwards over her hips, an’ grupped the long hair. It did do some good, for she swum higher; but we got mighty slow through the water, an’ I hed but leetle behopes we should reach land.

“I wur towed in this way about a quarter o’ a mile, when I spied somethin’ floatin’ on the water a leetle ahead. It hed growed considerably darker; but thur wur still light enough to show me that the thing wur a log.

“An idee now entered my brain-pan, that I mout save meself by takin’ to the log. The mar ud then have a better chance for herself; an’ maybe, when eased o’ draggin’ my carcass, that wur a-keepin’ her back, she mout make footin’ somewhur. So I waited till she got a leetle closter; an’ then, lettin’ go o’ her tail, I clasped the log, an’ crawled on to it.

“The mar swum on, appeerintly ’ithout missin’ me. I seed her disappear through the darkness; but I didn’t as much as say good-bye to her, for I wur afeard that my voice mout bring her back agin’, an’ she mout strike the log with her hoofs, an’ whammel it about. So I lay quiet, an’ let her hev her own way.

“I wan’t long on the log till I seed it wur a-driftin’, for thur wur a current in the water that set tol’uble sharp acrosst the parairy. I hed crawled up at one eend, an’ got stride-legs; but as the log dipped considerable, I wur still over the hams in the water.

“I thort I mout be more comfortable towards the middle, an’ wur about to pull the thing more under me, when all at once I seed thur wur somethin’ clumped up on t’other eend o’ the log.

“’Twan’t very clur at the time, for it had been a-growin’ cloudier ever since I left the shanty, but ’twur clur enough to show me that the thing wur a varmint: what sort, I couldn’t tell. It mout be a bar, an’ it mout not; but I had my suspects it wur eyther a bar or a painter.

“I wan’t left long in doubt about the thing’s gender. The log kep makin’ circles as it drifted, an’ when the varmint kim round into a different light, I caught a glimp o’ its eyes. I knew them eyes to be no bar’s eyes: they wur painter’s eyes, an’ no mistake.