The Black Panther of the Navaho — John Stuart Mill — John Shaqi
The Black Panther of the Navaho
John Stuart Mill · en
Then he turned his attention to the back of the high cave roof overhead
whence came the odor. It shelved down behind the pueblo, and as he
walked over to the inner walls, Sid could make out a black and dusty
area in behind them, where the cave came down to the ledge floor. Here
the shelf slabs were not three feet above the ledge floor, a slit of
dense gloom, where water had once scoured out a soft stratum of rock.
His eye gradually made out bones strewed on the soil under here, ribs,
skulls, leg bones, all of sheep or deer; he could not say which.
“Phew!” he muttered, drawing back to the fresh air. “It’s either a
cougar or a bear den--it can’t be the latter, unless it’s some small
black bear, for nothing but a fly could come through those spruces
on the cliff. It _is_ a cat! Cougar--perhaps the Black Panther
himself!--Why not?” he declared, with growing conviction. “I’ll just
bet it was him, last night! He hunts around here, or did, until he
found that stealing the Indians’ sheep was free, to him! Gosh, the
beggar might be paying rent and taxes!” sniffed Sid. “Of all the nerve!
He’s got a pretty soft thing--I’ll say!--until someone of us gets a
shot at him, out here. And that’ll be me, I hope.”
But then he remembered that he had not his rifle with him. Nothing
but the little inadequate .32-20. The quicker he got back and came up
here with that rifle, the better, for the Black Panther would be quite
likely to revisit his lair, perhaps this very day.
Sid climbed down by the pueblo trail he had first discovered and worked
up through the spruces up the valley, confident that he would soon
find a way out and speculating on how to get down from the plateau
above into the chasm where his camp was. But the rim walls of the box
canyon offered him little encouragement. Three hundred feet above him
they towered, with bare, stratified and perpendicular walls after the
lower slopes of talus ended. The large spruces in the valley contented
themselves with a root hold in the wet soil in its ravine. Nowhere did
they come near enough to the cliffs to be of any use in climbing out.