The Plan

Gabriel Ledbetter had been riding for weeks. His sturdy mount, a giant of a sorrel, had taken him from the plains of New Mexico Territory to just south of the border separating Colorado and Wyoming. It wouldn't be long before he reached his destination, and could climb down from the saddle that was making permanent impressions on his backside. As it was, he probably had at least four more long days to go.

The day had been long, so far. He had shaken out his bedroll about an hour before daylight, prepared a hot breakfast on the small fire he had allowed himself, and was in the saddle even before shadows began to show in the dawn. Around midday he had to skirt the trail he'd been following due to a party of hunters. Most likely Sioux, he thought, and stayed clear of them. Since early afternoon, he had been keeping an eye on a mesa ahead of him, thinking that it might be a good place to make camp for the evening.

As he approached the mesa, the sorrel picking it's way through the scrub brush and Joshua trees, he realized he was right. There was a stand of cottonwood trees beside a small stream. He reigned in beside the stand of trees and found a hollow inside that was perfect for a camp. It wasn't long before the sorrel was unsaddled, and hobbled, browsing it's way contentedly through the grass growing in abundance.

It appeared that the site he had chosen had not been used, at least in the last hundred years. Nestled in the cover of the mesa, no one would have a reason to explore the area. If he had wanted to, he could have camped here indefinitely. There were even fish in the stream, and as the sun began to set beyond the mountains to the west, he had several fish cleaned and frying up in a small skillet.

It was turning out to be a very peaceful night. The stars had started to come out, flecking the sky with millions of pinpoint lights,. Fireflies began to flit through he cottonwoods, and the night birds were applying a subtle background of nature's music to the growing dark. The sorrel had finished browsing and had ambled back towards the campsite, wanting to be near the lanky cowboy.

The evening had finished perfectly. Gabe had spread his blanket and lay down under the star-filled sky. Within minutes, he was asleep, the sorrel keeping a wary ear towards the rest of the world, as if protecting his owner from dangers in the night. It was about an hour before sunup when a soul-splitting screech split the air, not far from the peaceful little campsite.

Gabriel Ledbetter was awake instantly, his hand filled with the reassuring weight of a Colt .44 handgun. The fire, left banked, had burned down to just softly glowing coals, giving no light to the surrounding copse of woods. Gabe slid his eyes left and right, trying to find the source of the screech. He saw nothing. All he heard was the deafening silence following the sound from hell.

Slowly, he rose from his bedroll, and silently circled toward his left, keeping by the edge of the brush surrounding his camp site. As he approached the opposite side, he became aware of a low-pitched rumble rolling out of the brush. He froze instantly. As the seconds passed, and the rumble continued, he realize that whatever it was, it wasn't getting closer. Swallowing hard, Gabe willed his feet to continue and he passed, silently, through the light scrub brush.

Making his way through the natural tangle, he couldn't help but notice the rumble. It wasn't a continuous noise, instead it started out at a higher pitch, and trailed off, becoming deeper and more solid before finally stopping for a minute or so. Then it would start again. Ledbetter still didn't know what it was, and he wasn't sure he wanted to find out. Whatever it was sounded mighty angry.

Just before he broke through the edge of the brush surrounding the cottonwoods he stopped. The source of the sound was very close, probably within ten yards or so. The distance he had traveled had been about fifty yards, or so, but still it had taken Gabe almost an hour to proceed that far. With the approaching sunrise, soon there would be all kinds of light. He would be able to see what was making the noise. Unfortunately, there was a two edged sword that Gabriel Ledbetter was all too aware of. He switched the Colt to his left hand and wiped his sweaty palm against his jeans.

Sunrise on the high plains towards the Rockies is a sight to behold, regardless of the time of year. The first arm of the sun pokes above the endless horizon to the east, and the gentle rolling relief of the low hills and wide valleys is made vividly apparent, the bright red light pours neon into the natural colors of the variety of prairie grasses and wild flowers covering the landscape.

One particular bush, towards the source of the noise suddenly exploded from the ground accompanied by the same ear-splitting, unholy screech from before. It traveled to a height of a good size barn before returning to the ground, a good deal closer to the brush surrounding the cottonwoods. Too close for comfort for Gabriel Ledbetter. It may not have been comfortable, but it was close enough to see what was making all the noise.

It was a cougar. Just an ordinary mountain lion. Well, not to ordinary. Actually, as mountain lions go, this one was a prime specimen. A good twelve feet from tip to tip, and probably tipping the scales at over three hundred pounds. There was no wonder, anymore, at the source of the noises. Now that he could see the cat, Ledbetter recognized the sounds. But he still couldn't believe his eyes.

Astride the mountain lion was a man. Like the lion, the man was a prime specimen of his species. From the way he was holding on, it was obvious that the cat couldn't get to him, but if he let go with either hand, the mountain lion would be able to turn, and instantly begin slashing with long, sharp claws. Not a good position to be in, thought Gabe.

The growls began again, as the cat began harboring strength. It was obvious that the lion had plenty of fight left. Gabe wasn't too sure about the man, though. From where he was, he didn't have too clear a shot at the mountain lion, so he couldn't shoot it without warning the man or moving. Either action would likely cause the lion to jump again. Gabe was sure that he didn't want to be under it when it landed.

Speaking softly, he said "Morning, mister. Looks like you're in a real pickle. Might a body be of service?"

Without turning, without reacting at all, the man, holding on with all his might answered just as softly "Wondered when you'd pipe up. Been watching you since before sunrise. Don't be getting trigger happy."

Several moments passed before either spoke again. The mountain lion was still growling. Finally, Ledbetter spoke again. "The name's Ledbetter, Gabe Ledbetter. I'm up from New Mexico way, figuring on setting up a spread for raising good horse flesh. Since you won't be needing my help, I'll just head back to camp and stir up the fire. By the time you're ready, so will the coffee..."

"Don't be getting hasty. Hadn't had a body to talk to for days. Not since I got into this predicament. I appreciate the offer, but just the same, I got myself into this, I ought to be the one to get myself out of it. All I need is a plan." The growling seemed to increase, but before the lion could jump, the man bit it's ear, and instead of launching straight up, it spent energy trying to twist around enough to return the favor. "The name's Crawford, Ben Crawford. I'm from Minnesota, came out through the Dakota Badlands. Had pretty much the same plan as you, until two days ago."  Gabe was pretty sure he didn't have to ask what had happened to change Crawford's plans.

"This here cat come on me out of nowhere, spooked my horse, and I found myself pretty much as you see me, somehow. Wasn't much I could do but hold on. Couldn't figure out how to let go and get away undamaged.  'Till yesterday morning. He took one of his giant leaps and I spotted them cottonwoods. That gimme an idea. Took me almost all day yesterday to figure out how to get him pointed in this direction. Since then, I think I worked it out."

"Wouldn't it be easier if you just let him jump, and I shoot him on the fly?"  Gabe was serious. He was as good a gun as they come without turning mean.

"Yeah, that'd be easer, but as I see it, he didn't mean me no harm in the first place. Hell, I'm sure I surprised him as much as he surprised me. No, I don't want to kill him. Unless I have to. Somehow, I gotta get quit of him so's both of us can part ways real quick like. If you wouldn't mind, though, I'd be beholding for a drink of water."

Two days on the back of a mountain lion, Gabe Ledbetter agreed, you'd be thirsty. "Alright, I'll go get my canteen and be right back." Gabe backed away from the two, as quietly as he could. The trip to his campsite and back took much less than the trip out in the dark. He retrieved the canteen and shaking it decided that there was enough. Approaching slowly, he was almost shaking, being that close to a very angry mountain lion. He pulled the plug from the vessel and brought it to Crawford's lips.

Ben Crawford took several long draws from the canteen, swallowing deeply. When he pulled away from the water, he let some splash on his face, shaking the excesses out of his eyes and three day old beard. The mountain lion felt the water and turned it's head far around, stretching it's tongue to get at the liquid on it's coat. Against his better judgment, Gabe Ledbetter did something he rarely did. He took a chance.

He offered the canteen to the mountain lion. Holding it above the large, tawny head full of sharp teeth, he began to pour a trickle of water. The lion's head suddenly came around and up, stopping just short of the canteen. Gabe was startled by the sudden move, but held his place. The lion was greedily sucking down the water. Gabe held the canteen until it was drained dry. The lion licked it's chops, and looked up at Gabe. He would swear to his dying day that the lion's eyes betrayed no malice, or menace towards him. But he still backed away.

No sooner was he clear of the two, when the lion jumped again. Ben Crawford bit the lion's ear again, and in mid-jump, the cat turned and landed closer to the cottonwoods trees. Hurriedly, Gabe returned to his campsite and rapidly prepared to leave. He unhobbled the horse, and throwing the saddle and blanket on it's back, he cinched the girth strap tight. In one smooth motion, he mounted and slid the Winchester repeater rifle from the saddle scabbard. Checking the chamber, he cocked the weapon.

From the crash in the underbrush, and the repeated soul piercing scream of the cat, Gabe knew that they were very near the trees. He reigned his horse clear of the copse and stood by, watching. As the cat began to jump more often, he could see it getting closer and closer to the trees. On one final mighty bound, the cat almost struck some of the high, spreading branches. Ben Crawford released the hold on the mountain lion and transferred his grip to the branch. The lion fell away, twisting viciously, trying to slash at the man and failing.

The big cat hit the ground in an very undignified manner and springing to it's feet, blazed a trail through the underbrush as it exited toward the other side, away from Gabe Ledbetter and Ben Crawford. That was when it occurred to Ledbetter that a man, like Crawford, that could plan his way out of a situation that bad would probably be a good man to have as a partner in a ranch.

Gabe rode off, following the strange tracks of the hopping mountain lion towards where Crawford and the lion had become partners. It didn't take him long to find the other man's horse and return to the cottonwood stand. By that time Crawford had decided that tree dwelling wasn't all it was cracked up to be, and seeing how the lion was going, decided to climb down.

Gabe hobbled both horses, restacked the campfire and prepared the coffee. While it cooked, he explained his plan to Crawford. Crawford thought it over while the coffee was getting ready, and after tasting a cupful, agreed, but with one stipulation. Gabe Ledbetter would no longer make the coffee.

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