Eagles of El Capitan

Sandtana, Brady, Benny and Hawk Eye made good time over the mountains to the west toward the valley of the Guadalupe Trail.  The mountain sides with buckbrush, ash, and juniper had opened up now at the higher elevations into wide ridges where the larger pinyon trees, the Ponderosa Pines and spruces grew in abundance, allowing enough space between the large trees for a horse and rider to move through at ease.  As late evening approached, they neared the summit of the mountain range at almost 8500 feet elevation.  The air was thin and crisp with the fresh scent of the pines.  The heavy carpet of pine nettles cushioned the forest floor so the horses made good time despite the upward grade of the land.  Large flocks of mountain jays that frequent the pinyon and pine would move ahead of them in the fading sunlight, their blue winds flashing in the fading light.  A lone Bobcat suddenly bounded from a rocky den in front of the group of riders to disappear quickly in the heavy forest.

But once the sun was almost down the temperature began to drop rapidly.  Soon it was near freezing and large dark clouds descended and hung heavy over the mountaintops.  The weather began to become foggy as the group proceeded toward the summit and then the gray fog began to turn into a light sleet mixed with snow.

The horses had suddenly become restless and kept turning their heads toward the wind as if in fear of some scent that the brisk breeze held.  The reason for the horses' fear soon manifested itself.  A pack of ten Lobo Wolves appeared through the snow.  They had been following the group and now moved closer as the sleet and snow thickened as if sensing or smelling death.  Their light gray colored bodies would move almost ghost like in and out of the trees and the wind swirls of the heavier sleet and snow gusts.  The wolves were lean and lank, their ribs showing on their long bodies.  They appeared near starvation.  The apparent leader of the pack was a very large male wolf with a reddish tint to his fur.  He would dart in close to the horse that carried Brady with his mouth in a deadly snarl showing his terrible cutting teeth.  His eyes were very intent and almost seemed like burning red coals from the reflection of the white snow against his reddish coat.

Sandtana was very concerned that the wolves might attack their group or try to bring down the horse that carried her sick dad.  She knew that wolves would seldom attack a human on horseback but in their bad starving condition, anything was possible.  She had heard of several cases where lost children in the Sierra Madre mountains near the Copper Canyon were believed to have been killed by the wolves.  Their usual prey were deer or sick livestock, but with the weather conditions having been so dry and cold in this part of Mexico for several years now and the deer few, anything was now possible with the brutes.  Sandtana touched her carbine, a shot from a rifle or pistol might scare them off but the sound could be heard for miles from the mountain top to give away their position.  Even if she shot, she was sure that the wolves would just circle around and return shortly.  Once they were on to a kill of a sick or wounded animal, they would not let up until their hunger was satisfied.  

Sandtana turned the group of riders toward some rock outcrops to get the wind driven snow to their backs and in a better position to watch the wolves.  Then suddenly she saw on one of the nearby rocky ledge, a large yellow mountain lion or cougar laying flat against the rocks also watching the group of riders approach.  Seldom are cougars seen in daylight but this one also appeared very lean and starved with little fear of the approaching humans.  Sandtana pointed at the cougar and yelled, but the cougar remained.  It had drawn its body close together and arched its back up, pulling its legs under as if to spring.  Its face turned into a hissing snarl as it starred at the riders.

Hawk Eye understanding Sandtana's reluctance to shoot, quickly unstrung his bow from his back and notched an arrow.  He aimed at the cougar while holding the horse steady with pressure from his knees and let the arrow fly.  The arrow whistled in the thin mountain air until its flight suddenly ended as it hit the cougar in the midsection of its body.  The cat jumped high in the air with a piercing scream.  It hit the ground at the base of the rocks and then bounded away in its injured hurt condition, down the mountainside right in front of the wolves.  The feathered end of the arrow was still protruding from the cat's side with blood dripping bright red against the yellow fur of the big cat.

The wolves were quickly on the wounded cat's bloody trail in a howling race for about thirty feet, to be climaxed in a fiery rolling battle of yellow and gray fur.  Snow, sleet, pine nettles, and dirt all mixed together were going in all directions.  All kinds of screams, loud growls and noise were also coming from the encounter.  Several of the wolves would be thrown several feet from the fight, some to return to battle but some severely wounded, to lay subdued nearby with their sides opened from the cat's long sharp claws.  Suddenly as it had all started, the screams stopped.