Mill Plains could've been Valentine, for all the same the two looked. Only difference was Mill Plains didn't smell like sheep shit.
Arthur dumped the buck on the butcher's table careful as he could, slick as it was with rain. The downpour hit him just outside town, skies clear as anything the whole time he was out stalking the buck. Too focused on the hunt to see the clouds making their lazy descent from the western mountains.
"Good clean kill there, sir." The butcher handed him a roll of bills. Arthur dug out a few other pieces of game he didn't need.
" 'ppreciate it, lightens my load."
"Anytime, sir."
Arthur nearly walked into the man who'd stood too close behind him, waiting his turn for the butcher. The man stepped sideways with a mumbled apology. Calliope had wandered a bit away, tucked up against the side of a building trying to keep the water from her eyes. Arthur brushed her mane out of her face and idly adjusted his saddle and tried to think what to do next. Could head back to camp, could head to the saloon and see if he could get any leads. Hadn't been bringing in much since the fiasco that got him Calliope.
"You're full of shit, Johnson."
"Swear! Black panther big as a bear and eyes like a demon!"
Arthur glanced over his shoulder at the butcher and the other man. He had his arms spread wide; the butcher eyed him with great skepticism. "You said the same thing about that pig last month. Ain't no such thing as black panthers."
"I did not. I'm tellin' the truth! Damn thing nearly got me! Look—" he showed the butcher something Arthur couldn't see. The butcher laughed, loud and cruel.
"That little scratch? Just take your money and leave, Johnson, go back to disappointing your wife."
Johnson slammed something on the table. "Just you wait till I come back with it dead."
"Alright, see you around."
Johnson stomped down the muddy road towards the saloon. Arthur gave it a moment before quietly following him. Calliope did not care for the way the mud sucked at her hooves. Arthur kept one hand on her neck as they slogged through the street. The rain finally let up as he slid from her back and offered her a peppermint for her troubles.
"Stay here girl, won't be long."
She nosed into his jacket, around his side, trying to find the treats. He'd had to get clever about hiding them, made sure never to take them out in her line of sight. Hoped he could keep her thinking they just magically appeared in his hand. Damn horse had found the camp stash of vegetables once, devoured them all in one sitting, and spent the rest of the day laid on her side, moaning. Arthur had no sympathies for her and had to take a wagon into town to replenish the stock from his own wallet.
Arthur hitched the reins to the post and went into the saloon.
Johnson was easy to find. Leaned up against the bar gabbing at anyone within earshot. Two men seemed vaguely interested in what he had to say, like maybe they knew him.
". . .out by Blackshear Butte, I swear!"
The bartender didn't look up from cleaning his glass. "That where you been? Wife came in looking for you yesterday, Danny, you should go home to her."
"Not til someone believes me!"
Arthur leaned at the other end of the bar and signaled for a whiskey. One of the other men sighed. "No one wants to hear your stories, go home to your wife and make her suffer through it."
Arthur knocked back his whiskey and cleared his throat. " 'scuse me, gentlemen, you say something about a panther?"
Johnson whirled on him. The two men muttered good luck and wandered over to a game of blackjack in the corner. The bartender went back to cleaning glasses.
"You ever been out near Blackshear Butte, mister?" Johnson slid closer. Brown eyes wide and earnest.
"Can't say that I have."
"Well it's down past the river, can't miss it across the plain, shoots right up real high. Forest on the other side—"
"This don't sound like it's about a panther."
"Oh, oh, right, sorry mister. Anyways I was up there, got a little spot I trap rabbits, big warren up there, traps are always full—"
"I still ain't heard nothin' about this cat."
"Oh! Oh, yeah, well I was up there gettin' my traps back, only they wasn't full. Something ett 'em all. Weren't nothing left but legs, ground all tore up and bloody. Never seen anything like it, no one else goes up there."
"Mister, I'm startin' to understand why you don't seem to have any friends round here. I ain't got time to sit here all day listenin' to nonsense." Arthur moved like he was ready to walk away.
Johnson grabbed him by the elbow, released it when Arthur shot him a look. "Right, right, right, so I'm followin' my string and my horse starts gettin real worried, fore I know it this giant black cat comes runnin' out of the bushes! Black as night, eyes red like coals. Swiped at me, see?" He lifted his shirt. Arthur squinted.
"Don't see anything."
"Right here! Look!" The man pointed low on his stomach, past his navel. A tiny red line, maybe as long as a finger.
Arthur snorted. "You expect me to believe you saw some big black panther and only came away with that little scratch? How come you ain't dead?"
"My wife asks that a lot, mister." Johnson dropped his shirt. "I swear, it's true though."
"Never heard of a black panther before."
"Neither have I! I didn't rightly know what it was til I was run screaming with Rose back down the Butte. My horse, Rose, not my wife."
"You named your horse after your wife?"
"Had the horse first."
Arthur waved a dismissive hand and started to walk away. "Ah, ain't none of my business. Take good care of that wound, mister!"
Johnson called something after him. Arthur ignored it. Considered things. The man seemed prone to tall tales, from the way everyone around him reacted to the story. Probably too ashamed of empty traps to just tell the truth, sounded like he was an all around disappointment. Arthur felt a little bad. The man probably had a very boring life. Arthur'd seen people do some downright weird things when they were displeased with their lot, or their spouses. Making up some story about a huge predator was tame compared to some of the things he'd seen.
Calliope made noises at him when he emerged. He gave her another peppermint, was probably spoiling her, but she still spooked in towns too easy. Lucky a wagon hadn't gone by while he was inside.
Arthur thought back to the first time she'd been near a train. Girl fought a cougar and won, but a train whistle scared her stupid. Arthur had returned to the town that evening, Calliope safely hitched in the woods a half mile away, and apologized to the people he'd knocked over. Smoothed things out with a round of drinks. Charles had been very amused by the story.
The rain started up again. Clouds darkened the sky, but there were enough hours left before dark Arthur felt he could strike out again. Sounded like the Butte wasn't too far, couldn't be if someone was willing to go there just to trap rabbits.
"Let's go, girl."
- 0 - 0 - 0 -
Arthur allowed himself a moment to appreciate the view. Dry plains stretched far out towards a river, swallowed by the dusty haze of distance. He'd crossed it early that morning after tearing down camp from the night before. Calliope had complained and tossed her head as the water reached her belly. He thought he felt her stomp a few fish, but she lunged away from the river before he could check.
Still breaking her in. Calliope liked him well enough, but he knew the wild would never quite leave her. Figured a long hunting trip might help her settle in and listen to him a bit better. She did fine in camp, but soon as they got too close into a town she started to spook. Something about wagons set her off.
Calliope bumped Arthur's shoulder. Absently, he laid a hand on her neck, drew deep on the warm air at the base of the butte. Hadn't seen much game since leaving the river.
The ruddy rock jutted up in a straight wall a hundred feet tall and enough miles wide that it stretched to the horizon. Arthur thought maybe he could see the end, probably not more than a few hours' ride. The rest of the land rose gradually behind the steep butte, looked like it turned back into mountains farther out. Couldn't see much green, but the rock obscured everything except the distant mountains. Not the biggest or most impressive piece of rock he'd seen, but Arthur supposed it was impressive to people in a town as little as Mill Plains. Could've made it there in a day if he'd set out in the early morning.
Low scrub dotted the pale ground between the butte and the river. A few large birds circled overhead, too far for Arthur to tell what they were, looked like vultures. Heat shimmered. No wind. Saw what might be some deer or pronghorn, not close enough to shoot.
Arthur turned back to the butte. Weren't fool enough to even try climbing it a little. If there was forest on the other side as the man had claimed, all Arthur had to do was ride along the side until the rock sloped back down.
He nudged Calliope into a trot, close to the wall to keep in the shade. Her hide blended in, covered in dust as she was. Hadn't been riding hard but the heat had picked up and lather dripped from beneath the saddle. Arthur felt it dampen his calves. She'd need a good and thorough brush down, after this. Hopefully he could find some water for her by the end of the day. She'd drunk her fill at the river; Arthur's canteen was full, but he wanted to ration it. Would empty it for Calliope first if he had to.
But if there were rabbits as plentiful as Johnson claimed, they'd have to have a good water source near their warren. Arthur wasn't too worried.
The butte finally crumbled into the plains. Arthur slowed Calliope to a walk, dismounted to inspect the best way to the top. Almost looked like there were steps, steps built for a giant—not a clear path a horse could manage, but he could hoist himself up the ledges. They went about halfway before turning into a gentler slope. As Johnson described, there were a fair number of trees. Nothing near what Arthur would call a forest, but it looked enough to keep rabbits going. Further to the right, the dry plains stretched on and on.
Didn't think he wanted to risk getting Calliope up there. Arthur dismounted and led her over to the deepening shade of the the saddle, removed the blanket, started brushing her down. Dumped some hay and apples in front of her to keep her busy. Checked her hooves. Rubbed her down until there wasn't a speck of dust to be seen.
Wild as she was, Arthur sometimes hated tying her up. With Nero, all he'd had to do was toss the reins around the tree and the Tennessee Walker was content to sleep through the night. Calliope. . . . Calliope was a little shit. Chewed through two sets of tack before Arthur finally figured out she just wanted to sleep next to him, or graze. If he had to leave her for more than an hour, everything came off and he slipped a loose rope around her neck, tied to an old railroad spike he drove into the ground. She could probably slip free of it, if she yanked hard, but the tug on her neck seemed enough to keep her in place.
Arthur got to work with the setup. Calliope was hot enough not to fuss much, soothed by the food and the long brushing. The sun had climbed past the lip of the butte, but even in the shade it was hotter than either of them was used to. Arthur tossed his jacket over his saddle where it leaned against the rock, shucked his vest. Rolled up his sleeves and unbuttoned the top buttons of his black shirt. Decided just to take one rifle with him; if he was going to be scrambling over rock, he wanted as little weight on his back as possible. Climbing with just the guns on his hips was hard enough.
"Alright girl, just wait here a bit, I'll be right back."
He'd hunted "legendary" animals before, but the friendly Canadian trapper had never mentioned anything about a big black cat. Most of the so-called legendary animals Arthur had seen were white, or just especially large. The only big black cat Arthur had ever seen was some kind of tropical panther on a cigarette card.
If this thing was real, he'd have a beautiful pelt to work with. More than likely it didn't exist, or was a different animal entirely. Probably just some mangy coyote Johnson blew out of proportion for a little excitement.
Arthur hadn't been to this area before, wasn't sure exactly what kind of wildlife there was. But he'd been through similar terrain and figured he knew what to expect. The hot, open area didn't invite much life into it in the first place. Couldn't be too different here from what he'd seen.
The sun pounded onto his shoulders. Arthur was glad he'd swapped his old hat for a wide-brimmed one before leaving camp, thinner than the worn leather he was used to. Sweat rolled down his neck but the hat kept the skin there from being burned.
He paused halfway up. Couldn't see Calliope. Girl was probably laid out in the shade, near his saddle. She was obsessed with nibbling his jackets, nibbling just about anything he sweat in, really. She'd even yanked on his satchel once, when he ignored her too long during a conversation with Charles at the edge of camp. Arthur had never known a horse who had such a fondness for chomping.
A cloud of dust across the plain caught Arthur's eye. He brought his binoculars up to his face and brought the distance into focus. Blinked a few times, not sure he trusted what he saw.
Horses that looked almost exactly like Calliope. Mustangs, couldn't be anything else with their thick builds and feathered legs. A big yellowish buckskin stallion led the herd. A few were a red-brown similar to Calliope, a bit lighter, no white on their faces. The rest were deep grey like rain-heavy clouds. Arthur could just make out a handful of foals in the middle of the group. He looked down the butte to where he thought Calliope must be, strained to hear if she was agitated at all.
Nothing. He'd be able to see if she played out her lead, he always gave her the full length of his rope.
Arthur tucked the binoculars away and watched the wild mustangs shrink into the distance towards the river until only settling dust was left of them.
Arthur returned his attention to the rock. One more ledge and the rock turned into a gentle slope with the beginnings of actual grass. Farther ahead, blocked from his view on the ground, the land gradually turned greener. Young trees dotted where butte turned to gentle hill, growing thicker and darker the farther Arthur looked. An honest-to-god forest, far as he could see until it got interrupted by snowy far-away mountains.
Arthur stumbled the rest of the way up, not realizing how sore his legs were. The air was a lot cooler up here, enough he wished he hadn't taken off his vest. He could hear songbirds over the pound of his heart. Took a moment to scan the area, tried to suss out where some fool might try to trap rabbits. Walked west, hat pulled low over his eyes while the sun worked its way towards the mountains. Picked up the beginnings of a stream and spotted the prints of small game, undeniably rabbits, raccoons, deer. Fresh, most of them, though the smaller critters were probably hiding during the peak of day. A hawk shrieked from one of the trees, out of sight. Arthur drained his canteen, dumped a little on his neck to cool down some. Refilled it and decided to follow the stream.
Followed it for an hour, give or take. It meandered through more clearings, none of them quite as open as Big Valley was, where Calliope'd killed that cougar. Big enough deer comfortably grazed til he startled them. Didn't bother being quiet, wasn't keen on the idea of hauling deer down a butte. The trees grew in scattered copses, some kind of skinny deciduous with pale peeling bark. Looked a bit like what he seen around Cumberland, just different enough he could tell they weren't the same. Knew more about plants he could eat and make cures from, didn't care much about trees. Never mattered, much. Just thought they were kinda pretty.
The stream widened. Trees close on either side. Opened up onto a puddle. Arthur wouldn't call it a pond; the water looked stagnant, covered in slime. Smelled awful.
Wait a second. . . . Arthur squinted. Weren't the water that smelled awful—there was some kind of decomposing body on the other side. Dried bulrush crushed in a wide area around it, looked like it'd been broken in a tussle.
Arthur drew the rifle from his back and slowly approached the carcass. It looked old, and he wondered why crows and vultures hadn't set upon it yet. A buck, a big buck, eight pointer at least. Arthur crouched to get a better look at it.
Thing's throat was tore up good. Shredded like ground chuck. Long claw marks scored the hide at the shoulders, the flank, the haunches. Didn't look like a wolf'd done it. Wolf would've finished eating it, too, 'specially if it were in a pack. Not leave it here for a day and let it rot.
Didn't look like much of the buck was eaten. Something angry had killed it and left.
Something tickled the hair at the nape of Arthur's neck. He slowly rose from his crouch, readied his gun. A breeze rattled the dead bulrush. Sounded like hollow bones knocking together.
Arthur scanned the area around the pond. Felt eyes on him. Saw nothing. Weren't a lot of bushes between the scraggly trees, not many places for something to hide.
A hawk screamed above him. Arthur jumped. Just managed not to fire.
Felt eyes on him.
The sweat had cooled on his neck, his back, his chest. The sun had disappeared behind the mountains. Still light out, but getting cooler. He needed to head back to Calliope. Didn't want to be here anymore, didn't care to find out what mauled a buck like that and didn't even bother to eat it. Arthur shivered.
Followed the stream back the way he came, moved farther from it until he couldn't see it well but kept it to his left. Calliope wouldn't be able to get to him up here. She would try, he knew, she'd followed him through places horses were not meant to travel, and they'd had some scares. Slid halfway down a mountain one time. Arthur had scolded her, gently, while he rubbed salve into the scrapes on all four of her legs, cooed over the long cut on her belly. Spoiled her near rotten for the week after that.
Arthur stopped to button his shirt and roll down his sleeves. The temperature was drastically different, up here as the sun set, than it had been on the steppes below. He shivered again as the wind shook the trees harder. Had to shove a hand on his head to keep his hat from flying off. He drank deeply from his canteen before moving forward again.
The mountains were higher than they first looked, got darker on the butte faster than he would've thought. He'd only walked for an hour or so, thought he had more daylight left but by the way things were looking, he'd be climbing the rocks in near-dark.
A big tree he hadn't noticed before loomed not too far ahead. It spread wide, like the lone trees he spotted in the grassy Heartlands. Leaves a deep dark green, stuck thick together despite the turn towards autumn. Arthur stared at it, committed it to memory to draw later. Wanted to just get back to Calliope and back to the river, make camp and amble home the next day.
Something big fell from the tree just as Arthur started walking again. It landed with a thud and didn't move.
"The hell?"
Arthur crept forward. Didn't even think to get his gun out, perplexed. Big things like that didn't just fall from trees. Would've heard a branch break off; weren't like the wind was strong enough to be ripping limbs that big.
Finally he got close enough to see it was the mangled body of a deer. Arthur edged closer to it.
His foot snapped something and he stumbled, looked down.
A bone.
Arthur's heart shot into his throat, lips dry, stomach curdled and dropped somewhere near his feet. He looked around the tree. Bones everywhere. Ribs. Skulls. Feathers. Fur. Adrenaline spiked into his fingers, made them numb. Arthur couldn't hear anything except his heart trying to beat out of his chest.
He looked up into the tree. Eyes like fresh yellow poppies stared back at him, the black face they belonged to nearly lost in the dense foliage as the sun set lower and lower. Seemed to be setting faster than it should be able to. Arthur could hardly see anything, nothing, nothing past those glowing unblinking eyes. A mouth opened in the blackness. White fangs and a lolling pink tongue. He couldn't hear the panther smell the air, couldn't hear anything. Wouldn't even have known it was there.
Arthur's rifle was on slung across his back, not just over one shoulder like it should've been, stupid, Morgan.
The mouth snapped shut. Arthur knew better than to run. Preferred to face death head-on.
He reached for his rifle. The panther reached him first.
It slammed into him. Arthur felt claws sink into his chest, his side, the back feet scrabbling at his legs and tearing his pants open, raked down the thighs. Ripped the top of his boots. Arthur just managed to get an elbow up before it could bite into his throat. Got his forearm, instead. The bones didn't quite crunch but the pain was too intense for them not to be broken.
Arthur snarled as the panther took them both to the ground. It still had his arm in its mouth, and Arthur's free hand yanked his knife from his belt and slammed it against the panther's head. Couldn't quite manage to get the blade in, thoughts muddled by pain and panic. The panther grunted deep in its throat but released him.
Only for a second but long enough for Arthur to get a leg in its chest and shove. The panther rolled but recovered too fast for Arthur to draw either sidearm. Got a foot up in time to intercept the panther's jaws.
It took the offering, mouth closing around Arthur's ankle and shaking. He cried out, tossed around, knife flying from his hand and landing somewhere he couldn't see. The panther suddenly released him and in the second before it could land on his chest, Arthur fumbled the sawed off from his hip and fired both rounds.
Didn't see where they hit the panther. It yowled in the dirt and Arthur struggled awkwardly backwards one-handed. Got ten feet before the panther was back up.
No time to reload. Arthur yanked the revolver from his other holster and emptied it in the panther's direction.
The panther slid to a stop next to him. One yellow eye remained, the other blown out by a bullet. Blood gurgled in its throat and a last rancid breath shuddered through its open mouth.
Arthur stared into the dead eye. Part of him not convinced the panther was gone.
Flopped onto his back. Still some daylight left. Everything felt very cold. Sounds and sensations returned to him all in a rush. His arm throbbed in tandem with his heart, pain pulsed all the way down to his fingers. Ankle came next; Arthur rolled it and didn't bother stifling the cry of pain. Might be broken, too. The boot was a lost cause. Miss Grimshaw would have his ear for how many clothes he kept ruining on his little adventures.
Arthur made a lot of noise as he struggled to stand. He used his rifle as a crutch. Was probably going to ruin the damn thing and need to buy another one, if he made it off this goddamn butte. He weren't bleeding like a stuck pig, but he was bleeding enough. Didn't think he could stitch one-handed. Didn't want to think that far ahead. Focused on staying on his feet as he swayed and the world danced around him. Color washed out from everything and he forgot where he was, what he was doing, why he was here.
Forgot his ankle was chewed to all hell and back as he took a step forward. Caught himself by jamming the rifle into the dirt. Arthur reminded himself to breathe. Take better stock of his injuries. Didn't want to sit, knew he wouldn't be able to get back up if he did that, and Calliope couldn't reach him up here. Probably too far away to even hear him call her.
Tried to move the fingers of his left hand. Sharp pain jolted up his arm, all the way up through his shoulder and up his jaw, made him clench his teeth against it. Alright, broken. Couldn't get a good look at the gouges under his black shirt in the low light, but they didn't feel too deep. Felt blood cooling along his chest in the breeze, not enough to be worried about just yet. His jeans were tore up but the cuts there were shallow.
Wiggled his toes alright. When he curled them it tugged on something in his ankle that felt all stretched out and loose and wrong.
Arthur held his breath and tried again to put weight on it. Whole leg shook and buckled, the rifle the only thing keeping him up. Vision greyed at the edges.
Breathed deep through his nose and tried not to bite his tongue. Gave himself a moment.
Slammed the butt of his rifle into the panther's head as he limped past it.