Fire on the Mountain (8 page)

“Thanks,” I said. “But us real cowboys always wash our dishes in the sand.”

Lee was silent.

“Lee, you lose,” Grandfather said. “You wash the dishes. The boy’s whipped you again. Billy, you’ll find another old bucket inside the corral.”

“Why can’t I just take the horses down to the spring?”

“That boy asks a lot of questions,” Lee said.

They stared at me hopefully.

“All right,” I said, “why not? That’s all I asked. Wouldn’t it be easier to take the horses to the spring than to carry the spring back here to the horses?”

“A bucket is lighter than a horse,” Lee pointed out.

“The horses can
walk,”
I said.

“But they’re tired.”

“Will you please answer my question?”

The old man smiled and patted my knee. “You’re right, Billy, it should be easier to do it your way. But the horses don’t like it down in there. And the trail is too tight for all three at once; you’d have a rough time. And besides, think what a mess three big horses, full of water and grass and grain, would make of one little spring which is barely big enough to dip a pail into. We drink out of that spring too.”

“I guess you’re right, Grandfather. I should’ve thought of that.” I stood up.

“Someday we’ll cover the spring, run a pipe from it down to a water trough the horses can get to.”

“How long have you been using this place?” Lee asked, winking at me. “How many years, John?”

“You shut up and wash your dishes.”

I walked to the corral, found the bucket and started down the path to the spring. Lee and the old man rose to their feet, stretching. “We’ll give you a hand, Billy,” Grandfather said, “as soon as we clean up.”

“Yes sir.”

The twilight was moving in. I had to go carefully to find my way, for the trail seemed awfully vague in the deep shadows under the cliff. When I reached the spring the tree toads were bleating, a dismal noise and a sure sign of night. There was no other sound, except the murmur of the flowing water. A few fireflies twinkled in the gloom above the weeds.

The long day in the desert sun had drawn a lot of water from my body. I was thirsty again. I squatted close to the spring, scooped up a double handful of water and drank. I dipped up more and bathed my face.

When the last tinkle of falling drops had died away I became aware of a deep and unexpected silence. The toads had gone silent and the water seemed to run more quietly than before. Even the fireflies had disappeared. I waited for a moment, listening to the silence, then reached cautiously for the bucket and dipped it into the water as quietly as I could, afraid to make too much noise. Looking around in all directions I could see nothing, nothing but the damp weeds, the wall of rock, the grand trunks of the yellow pines, the dusky woods. I looked up.

I should not have looked up. On the brink of the crag above the spring I saw a pair of yellow eyes gleaming in a sleek head, saw a dark powerful shape of unforeseeable hugeness crouched as if to leap. I could not move, I could not make a sound. I stared up at the lion and the lion stared down at me. Paralyzed, I squatted by the spring, gripping the water bucket and unconscious of the ache in my muscles, and waited for death to fall upon me.

My grandfather called through the silence, from the far-away cabin out of sight and out of reach beyond the twilight: “Billy?”

I tried to answer but my throat was numb. The lion watched me.

My grandfather called again: “Billy? Where are you?”

This time the lion turned his massive head and with
his yellow eyes looked blandly, without curiosity or fear, up the pathway.

I heard the old man’s boots scraping on the stones of the path, coming toward me, and at last the big cat stirred himself and rose and vanished, all at once, suddenly, with uncanny grace and stillness, into the night and the forest.

Grandfather called me for the third time, coming closer, and now I thought I could answer. “Here,” I croaked. “I’m here.” I managed to stand up, the heavy bucket frozen in my grip. As the old man came toward me down the path I took a few leaden steps to meet him.

He stared at my face. “What happened to you?”

I told him.

He put one arm around my shaking shoulders and with his other hand unwrapped my fingers one by one from the handle of the water bucket. Carrying the water himself, he led me up the pathway among the boulders to the cabin where Lee waited for us in the welcome glow of the lamp.

“What’s wrong?” Lee said, wiping a tin plate with a bandana.

“He saw it.”

“Saw what?”

“The lion.”

“Ah. …” said Lee. He looked at me and smiled, his deep eyes tender. “You’re a lucky boy.” He gripped my arm. “How about a cup of your grampaw’s coffee?”

“Yes,” I said calmly. “I can drink anything.”

A little later all three of us went back to the spring, with both buckets, and looked around. Lee even climbed up to the ledge above the spring but by that time it was too dark to see any tracks. We went back up the trail, watered the horses, built a little squaw fire outside between the cabin and the corral, and unrolled the sleeping bags which the old man kept in the cabin. We sat around the fire for a while after that, watching the moon over the eastern ranges, and talked of the
lion, the lost horse, the next day’s work, in which Lee announced he would not be able to join—he was leaving us in the morning. But he promised to come back to the ranch in two or three days.

“What does a mountain lion sound like?” I asked.

“Well,” Grandfather, “like a woman. Like a woman screaming. How would you describe it, Lee?”

Lee considered.
“Compadres
, a lion does sound something like a woman. Like a vampire-woman wailing for her demon lover.”

“Are we going to hunt the lion, Grandfather?”

“No, we’ll let well enough alone. If we don’t hunt him, why he won’t hurt us. Besides, it’s the only lion left on the place. I can’t afford to lose him.”

“Do you think he’s watching us now?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Nobody said anything for a minute or so. The moon crept up into the stars. I added more sticks to the fire.

Grandfather stretched his arms and yawned. “I don’t know about you men but I am tired. Anybody want to sleep on the cot inside?”

Lee grinned. “Is there room for all three of us?”

“Not with me in the middle there ain’t.”

“Then let’s all sleep out here.”

“By the fire,” I said.

“You boys do that,” Grandfather said, “but somebody might as well use that cot. I’ve been sleeping on the ground for about seventy years now, give or take a few.”

“You ought to be used to it,” Lee said.

“I’m used to it. But I never did like it much.” Picking up his bedroll, the old man walked toward the cabin door. “Goodnight, gentlemen.”

“Goodnight,” we said.

Lee and I shook the scorpions and black widow spiders out of the sleeping bags, spread them out again on the ground close to the fire, removed our boots and hats and crawled inside. We did not use our saddles for pillows. A saddle is hard enough just to sit on.

At first I lay on my side, gazing at the coals of the burning pine. Then I lay on my back and stared straight up at the marvelous stars. The flaming blue stars. Out in the little park the horses stumbled around, munching grass, and I heard one of them staling on the hard ground. A meteor stroked quietly halfway across the sky.

“Lee?”

“Yes?”

“Up there on the peak: Was it—something like the lion?”

He did not answer at once. “Would you mind repeating that question?”

“What you found up there—was it something like the lion?”

“Oh. Yes. Yes, Billy. It was something like the lion.”

I thought about that as I looked straight up at the stars. The marvelous stars. A marvelous day. The stars became dimmer as I watched them, as if they were drifting farther and farther away from us. I closed my eyes and slept and dreamed of the missing pony, fireflies, a pair of yellow eyes.

Billy!

I opened my eyes. Dark.

Wake up, Billy
.

I poked my head out of the sleeping bag and for a moment thought I had not slept at all. Then I saw the blue streaks of dawn and the ashes of the fire. I looked toward the cabin and saw the old man already at work by lamplight, serving breakfast at the table inside the open door. I smelled coffee and bacon. He looked out and called me again: “Out of the sack! Let’s eat!”

I struggled out into the chill mountain morning. Shivering, I pulled the cold stiff boots onto my feet, found my hat, and stood up. Lee was bringing in the horses. Blinking, rubbing my face, I hobbled toward him and helped tie all three near the cabin. My legs and back were so stiff and sore I thought the horses
must have spent part of the night tramping on me to keep warm.

“How do you feel today, Billy?” Lee Mackie grinned at me in the morning dusk; all those white teeth—no wonder he thought people would vote for him.

“I feel pretty good,” I said. “Pretty damn good.”

He laughed and slapped my back. “Come on, let’s eat.”

The old man was banging on the skillet with a big spoon. “Get in here!” he hollered, “or I’ll throw it to the bluejays.”

After breakfast we grained the horses and saddled up. Again somebody had to go after water: I volunteered. Wanted to prove something. I made two trips down to the spring, and the second time climbed the rocks to the place where the lion had been crouching. I could not see any tracks but thought I detected a strange odor in the air—a feline smell. No, something else: ozone and summer lightning.

We closed up the cabin, climbed on our horses and moved out, starting down the ancient trail road toward the foothills. Grandfather and I planned to explore the territory between the mine road and the windmill. Lee would ride with us as far as the junction of the two roads.

My bones felt like cast iron, my rear like one unanimous saddle sore, but once astride the bulk and power and restless life of Blue I didn’t care. The feel of the reins in my hand, the creak and squeak of leather, the big horse beneath me, gave me all the strength and confidence I needed. I felt like a lion: an aged, battered but still mighty lion. With joy in my heart and satisfaction in my mind I rode beside my friends and watched the shoals of green and yellow clouds spread out like burning islands on the sea of the eastern sky.

“We’ll have rain today,” Grandfather said, squinting at the sky through his wise steel-rimmed spectacles. “Not much, naturally, just a thundershower. About one
sixty-fourth of an inch of water and all the thunder and lightning we need.”

“When?” Lee asked.

“Oh, about one-thirty. Make it one forty-five.”

“I’m going to check that prophecy with the Weather Bureau. If you’re wrong it’ll cost you one gallon of Bacardi. In a wickerwork basket.”

“You’ve got yourself a bet, young fella. Shake.”

They shook hands.

The nighthawks soared and plunged against the light, aware of the imminent sun. A raven croaked like a witch from a dead pine down below, reminding the nighthawks that their time was almost up. Magpies appeared, hungry birds in academic black and white, who squawked and squawled like quarreling theologians as they gathered. A canyon wren woke up, singing her trickling-water song.

“Is Heaven better than this place?” I asked.

“The climate’s a little better here,” Grandfather answered.

“Less humility,” Lee said.

Three long switchbacks down through the woods brought us to the joining of the roads and the separation of our little band.

“I’m sorry I can’t stick with you today,” Lee said to Grandfather and me. “But I wish you luck; I hope you find that invisible horse.”

“I have a hunch that horse would be better off if he was invisible,” the old man said, scanning the ridges north and east.

“You’ll find him,” Lee said. “Anyway, I’ll see you both in a couple of days.”

“Bring Annie along next time.”

“I’ll try. I’ll try to do that.” Smiling, he gave us a salute, turned his horse and rode down the trail, through the high hairy weeds and whiskery flowers thriving among the rocks and faded ruts of the road.

I was sorry to see him ride away. Most of the magic I had felt during this expedition seemed to float away
with him. I thought of our glorious victory on the day before and wondered if we’d ever have another like it. Certainly not today. Lee Mackie gave us a final wave and disappeared around the first bend below.

“Let’s go, Billy.”

I rode beside my grandfather over the same road Lee and I had taken. The old man apparently shared my mood. He was silent for a long time as we pushed our horses north.

“I see we had a jeep in here not too long ago,” he finally said. “On a one-way trip. I know how they came in; I wonder how they went out.”

I didn’t say anything.

“I hope they found their way out all right. I mean, without coming across any of our livestock. Our gun-happy friends from the other side of the wire seem to have trouble, sometimes, in distinguishing a beef cow from a wild jack rabbit.”

“Yes,” I said.

He looked at me. “You feel all right, Billy?”

“Yes sir. I feel fine.”

“You’re not tired, are you? I realize you had a rough day yesterday, all that mileage on a horse after nine months on your—at your schoolwork.”

“Honest, Grandfather, I feel fine.” I sat up straighter and looked at things sharply, taking an interest. And almost at once I did feel better again.

“That’s good. We have a lot of ground to cover today.”

We covered a lot of ground. We left the old mine road and picked our way through the brush and cactus of the hills below it, following cattle trails, deer paths and no paths at all. It was hot, sweaty work, with the sun and humidity rising, the dust getting in my teeth and eyes, the juniper branches whipping in my face. All morning we scouted the hills and searched the canyons, working our way gradually downward until, close to noon, we came out on the desert not far from the gathering pen, the windmill and the big tank full of all
that cool green water. Nothing ever smelled better to me as our tired brutes trotted toward it, picking up their pace. Nothing ever tasted sweeter. Faces dripping, the old man and I smiled at each other and dipped our heads for more. Rocky and Blue did the same and the flies buzzed happily over us all.