By Lyn
Copyright 1999
Buck hid in the shadows under the branches of a large pine tree, hoping that the low branches would help to hide him in the dwindling light. He had spent the afternoon covering his trail and moving slowly, hindered by more aches and pains than he’d felt in a long while. All he wanted now was a chance to rest his bruised and battered muscles.
He had managed to catch his breath and move away from the bottom of the hill before Brooks and his men arrived, and he’d been ahead of them ever since. He had heard them gaining on him mid afternoon, but he had doubled back and gotten behind them. Then he had headed back into the deep woods. He found a small stream to slake his thirst and some early berries to keep away the gnawing hunger pains in his stomach.
When he had fallen down the hill he had picked up a piece of thin slate, and he sat now using the stone to put a slot in the end of a strong stick. The slate was thin enough and sharp enough that he cut his fingers and hand several times before finally shaping what would become the handle of a crude knife. He slipped the piece of slate in the groove he had cut and began to wrap a thin, strong vine around the end to hold the slate in place.
Buck looked at his work. It would have to do for now.
He leaned against the tree trunk. The sun would be down very soon. He could get some much-needed rest. Buck had no idea what all the animals were in these woods or if they were nocturnal or not. But he was at the point of not caring. His head dropped down to his chest and he dozed.
Brooks sat before the fire, coffee cup in hand, a cup with the remains of his supper sitting on the ground next to him. Mathews sat across from him, while Baker checked the horses one more time. “It was a good hunt today. You chose my prey well. I’d say that he probably has another day in him. Then he’ll start getting careless.”
“I don’t know Mr. Brooks. That tumble down the hill might have done some damage.”
“If he was hurt badly, he’d have left more of a trail. No, he’ll last at least until tomorrow afternoon.” Brooks tossed the dregs of his coffee into the fire. “It’s time to turn in. We need to keep a watch out, just in case one of my little pets decides to come and visit. You and Baker take turns. I’ll take the last watch. I like to watch the sun come up.”
Buck stirred. At some point in the night he had shifted his position and was now lying on a bed of pine needles under the tree. He fought to awaken, sleep trying to keep possession. His ears picked up the sound of movement and he was instantly awake, his eyes open and searching even as he tuned his ears to the sound. There were no night sounds, which was a warning that whatever he had heard wasn’t friendly.
He finally determined that the sound was that of a large animal breathing. Occasionally there was a low growl as the beast searched through the night. Buck tightened his grip on his crude knife. He lay perfectly still, barely breathing himself, in hopes the animal would pass him by.
But the beast had his scent. He heard the animal draw closer, a small twig breaking under one of its large paws just a few feet away. Buck had no chose. He jumped to his feet, forcing his aching muscles into movement. He felt, as well as heard, the animal approach him as he jumped upward, grabbing a low hanging branch. As he pulled himself up he felt a large paw swipe at him, sharp claws connecting against his thigh. He couldn’t stop the cry of pain from escaping his lips even as he pulled himself up higher. He grabbed the next branch and continued climbing, the animal lunging upward, and Buck began to wonder if the creature could climb. But it dropped down to all fours and began to pace, looking upward at Buck and growling.
Buck studied it from his perch. The light was limited, with just a sliver of moon to illuminate the night, but it was enough for Buck to tell that this wasn’t the same animal he had seen earlier. When it paced into the moonlight he could tell that it was another form of cat at least the same size of the earlier one, but in more of tawny color, with a huge mane around its head.
When Buck felt he was high enough, he examined the scratches on his leg. They were bleeding freely, the scent of the blood seeming to keep the animal below somewhat agitated. The wounds stung, and Buck pulled out a bandana and tied it around his thigh. He pressed against them, trying to stop the bleeding as he continued to watch the animal below him.
Before long it became apparent that the animal was settling in for a long wait.
On to Chapter Eight
