Cliff Hawk tracked the big cat nearly three miles from his camp, near the base of Squaw Mountain.
Flaming Eagle (His chief) told him not to leave the area, "The air doesn’t feel right," he had explained.
The tracks were fresh and easy to follow. The young brave forgot the command of the chief.
Near the crest of a small embankment he heard a scuffling noise.
Stopped dead in his tracks he heard it again on the other side of the rise and over to his left. He crested the hill low on his belly. About 15-20 feet away was the mountain lion that had captured a rabbit and was engrossed in a feast.
Cliff Hawk drew his bow, slowly mounted an arrow and shot the cat before it was finished with the rabbit. A perfect shot, the big cat tumbled down into the ravine.
An exhilarating experience no matter how many times he did it. Now he must
gather the animal and make it back to camp. It was late, the sun was setting,
he didn’t want to carry the cat back now, nor leave it for the birds.
That is when Cliff Hawk felt it.
He was not a seer, others in his tribe took care of that, but the young brave felt something or someone else was with him.
As he skinned his kill he still felt the presence of someone else in the ravine.
Instead of attempting a trip in the dark, he quickly set up camp, under the shadow Squaw Mountain. The Indian strung the meat between two willow trees that
grew next to the dry creek bed at the bottom of the ravine. Birds wouldn’t
bother it until morning. Cliff Hawk wanted to scout the area before bedding
down. The agile brave climbed up at the northeast end of the ravine, near the
spot where he had shot the cat, then turned south following a game trail along
the top of the low cliff, next to the ravine where he set up camp.
Nothing else stirred, it was totally quiet. The sun had set and it was
quickly growing dark.
As he made his way along the ridge, he could still see the trees where the
carcass was hung. He continued west slowly, fully expecting to see another