The Cougar 



for, with almost a single bound and a blood- 

 chilling screech, by the time I had put anoth- 

 er cartridge into my single-shot rifle, he was 

 practically on top of me. Fortunately, his 

 spring had landed him short, and in another 

 instant I had very nearly blown his entire 

 head off. He was a monster. I skinned him 

 and hung his pelt on a tree ; and, on foot, 

 made my way into camp, after a fruitless 

 search for my bronco. 



I have killed five cougars, and this is the 

 only one that ever gave me a fight. I record 

 it with much pleasure, for there is an uncer- 

 tainty about the cougar's temperament and an 

 alacrity of movement that are altogether un- 

 settling. You never know in what mood you 

 find the mountain lion, and he does not seem 

 by any chance to be in the same one more 

 than once, for those I have shot have evinced 

 different dispositions; generally, however, 

 bordering on the cowardly. At times their 

 actions are sufficient to characterize them as 

 the veriest cowards in the world, and yet 

 again, on very slight provocation, they are 

 most aggressive and cruelly ferocious. There 

 are many well -authenticated stories, to be 

 had for the asking of any old mountaineer, 



245 



