The log cabin in the give adoration

The log cabin in the give adoration

The lonely Mesa De Blanco wilderness was once more plunged into darkness as the sun began to set behind the overcast, gray plateau that Ethan was hunting on. It wasn’t long ago when the already threatening sky had turned an angry, boiling, black color, and it had begun to rain down hectic sheets of bitter snowflakes and tiny shards of stinging ice. In an effort to locate any trace of the animal he was currently stalking, he frantically squinted around him. The fact that the trail appeared to wind around the trees in the sparsely forested areas after he had discovered some spoor of the massive beast some distance back surprised him a little. It seemed to go straight to the snowline of Mount Blanco. He was aware that its den must be close by. The majority of people would have described the wilderness surrounding White Mesa as breathtaking, serene, or beautiful. But right now, in this bitter cold, he thought it might be better described as stark, bone-chilling, or bleak. This particular piece of God's good Earth had been seen by Ethan numerous times before, as had its trails, cliffs, streams, and woods. It was referred to affectionately by most of the people in Ethan’s profession as ‘Greenhorn’s Grave.’ He had not visited this region of the Southwest in a very long time, and for good reason. The land was inhospitable and there was little game. When Ethan was last at the trading post selling his furs, the people of Mesa Pueblo had approached him and told him that they had been afflicted by a huge ghost cat for three and a half weeks and that going out at night was the worst thing he could do. Apparently, not soon after the last full moon, the livestock around the sleepy village of Mesa Pueblo started going missing. Large animals. There were holes ripped through fences, and large tufts of white fur caught sticking to barbwire, but no bodies were left behind. The rumored pink-glimmering eyes of the phantom cat began to be claimed by those who saw it wandering around outside of town. Within a week, it had begun targeting children, despite its love of killing livestock. Poor children who strayed too far were frequently taken from them, especially at night. There was very little blood. Apparently, the giant wild cat was taking all of this food back to its lair to eat the majority of it and leaving nothing behind. It was the largest animal any of the people had ever seen, even larger than a grizzly in size, but only short glimpses had ever been seen of it so far. There was no noise made when it attacked, not even from its victims.

The majority of the people of Mesa Pueblo were elderly and children, with scarcely a man between 15 to 50. They said they would like to buy Ethan’s services and have him hunt down the giant ghost cat.

Ethan was intrigued by the idea of going on a dangerous and legendary game hunt in the harsh Mesa de Blanco region. And to think of what price the pelt would sell for when the deed was done! It seemed like a good time, but only fools plunge headfirst into the unknown, so he quickly began to learn more about this incredible beast. Most people were too scared to say anything useful, but a boy on a ranch on the eastern outskirts of town said he saw it and could even draw how big it was. The boy pulled out a piece of charcoal and began drawing long, hard lines along the wall of one of the outer barns as Ethan watched in stunned silence. He took a step back to admire the boy's work after he finished drawing and wiped his brow. On the peeling barn wall was the outline of an enormous cougar, and the height of its shoulder went above Ethan’s head. The kid wasn’t a bad artist, Ethan had to admit. However, the item was far too large. “Really, kid? You must be making a joke. That is much larger than a bear." To emphasize his work, the child threw his hand in the direction of the wall and gave a firm negative head shake. "Superior Fantasma Gato! Spirit of God! the boy exclaimed.

But when Ethan shook his head, the boy sighed dramatically in exasperation and then grabbed the cuff of his jacket and led him to the other side of the barn. There is where he saw the pawprint the enormous cougar had left behind in the mud. Ethan’s foot easily fit in it. Ethan was no small man.

When Ethan returned to trading post, a few eager locals looked up hopefully, wondering if he would take the job.

“I’m going to need an advance,” stated Ethan.

He was going to use some of the advance to upgrade his old equipment. Ethan’s current arms didn’t have enough power to do the job, and they also had distinctive quirks that made firing them extremely dangerous in life-or-death situations. If he was going to do the job, he was going to do it right.

Ethan was at the nearby gun shop shortly after meeting with the elder chief and receiving the advance. Old Bessy was a frail scattergun well past her useful service years. She was traded for the largest caliber rifle they had; a Winchester Model 1886 chambered to fire a .50 caliber buffalo-killing round. It held nine rounds in a rotating clip, and he was sure it would be able to put out the firepower he would need to put it down. If not with just one shot, perhaps two? The gun shop owner wouldn’t even hardly look at the worn Colt Paterson he was carrying. In those days, a cap and ball were looked down upon. As a result, he decided to keep the previous.36 caliber as a backup. When Ethan started haggling over the price of the Colt .45 Single Action Army, (*.45 SAA) the shopkeeper just put her hands meaningfully around his hands, which were still holding the gun, and said, “Tu mantienes.”

Ethan grunted in response. I'm just borrowing it, fine. Do you have bullets? Also, gunpowder." Ethan found a homestead on the west side of town, near where the majority of the sightings had taken place and where the ghost cat had destroyed most of the property, about an hour later. Grandma Theodora Ecketts produced horses in a respectable manner. When Fantasma Gato began hauling away her male studding stallions in the middle of the night, her business had recently collapsed. Now she only had a couple of foals and a mare or two to her name. However, her daughter and workhands refused to leave her. They declared that they would never, no matter how bad things got. Their life was on the ranch. Grandma Ecketts didn't seem to mind. In fact, she was in a cheery mood since she found out Ethan was going to be staying with them, because she had another person to cook for. She at once proclaimed Ethan too skinny and went about filling his plate with all sorts of tender meats, all seasoned perfectly and cooked to perfection.

After dinner, Ethan took a break and went back outside to sight-in his weapons. He cut a circle in the side of the barn itself to serve as some basic targets, then he placed several bottles and cans on various posts around the main barn area. As he began to wrap the.45 Colt SAA around his right index finger, the trapper smiled to himself. He then increased the speed of his twirling. Then he switched hands and continued to twirl with his left, all in one fluid motion. The gun stopped moving all of a sudden, and the barrel pointed directly at the bottle that was closest to it. The bullet that Ethan fired from the hip into the fence post below the target bottle hit the core. He fired once more, and it missed wide. On the third shot, the bottle exploded. Ethan finished with a last twirl and replaced the SAA in its shiny new hip holster, all in one smooth movement.

From behind him, clapping and then a low whistle could be heard. Ethan turned to see Christina, the pretty daughter of Grandma Eckett, standing there with her hands on her hips and a half-smile on her lips. Standing next to her was José, the ranch’s youngest occupant, and he was holding onto the top of his cowboy hat with one hand and had an astonished look on his face. The open mouth of José revealed crooked teeth. “Nice shootin’ there, stranger. That bottle didn’t know what was coming. And what fancy gunplay!” Christina said. “He is like some gunslinger straight from the Wild West! How did you do that, mister?” wondered José aloud.

Ethan nodded. I have a lot of free time, but I don't have a lot of things to do with it. This calms my nerves.”

The Cabin in the Cave

"Let's look at it once more, mister! Another thing to shoot. Ethan gave a nod and then stood still as he turned back to the targets. He remained there for close to ten seconds before a knife could release the tension. Right-handed, Ethan pulled out the old.36 Colt revolver and fired it three times in a row faster than a lightning bolt could reach the ground. Two cans and a bottle were lost at the wrong time. “Amazing!” cried José, visibly awed.

“Well, now that we've shot like that, we certainly don't have anything to worry about in regards to the white cougar that has been roaming the area eating our people and cattle. Where did you acquire that skill?” Christina, astonished by the impressive display of accuracy, pondered. "Some of my father's. The majority of it I taught myself. “Really! Very much like a gunfighter!” José, who was sleepy and stumbling because of the excitement, said. “I gotta sight in the rifle, now,” said Ethan, pulling the Winchester 1886 out of the holster on his back. Before knelt and aimed at the circular cut into the barn, he gave it some thought. He fired three times in a very short time. The sound was deafening.

"Holy cow, lord! I never heard nothing so loud in my life!”

Ethan offered the gun to José. "Would you like to try? However, I am advising you. It kicks like a snarling mules. José said "no" with a firm head shake. It was sufficient to witness such perfection. Ethan walked over to the barn and examined his shots. They were closely grouped, lower down and slightly to the left of center in the circle.

Before Ethan was content enough with his arms to enter and turn in, it was nearly dusk. Now he was out here on the snowy and desolate Mesa de Blanco Plateau with only his guns for company, and he was stalking an enormous, albino cougar through the unforgiving wilderness.

And Ethan’s prey was a proven man-eater.

He was certain that if it saw Ethan first, it wouldn't even notice him until it had its fang-pierced mouth around his neck. The struggle would not last long. After that, it probably would bring Ethan's bloody body back to its den so that it could eat whatever it wanted. That was a dark thought. Still, he was sure he could put the monster down with a good shot or two from the .50 caliber Winchester rifle. It really all came down to who saw the other first.

Ethan, on the other hand, was also starting to worry about the weather. It was starting to snow even harder, and the wind was picking up. Being caught in a storm like this could quickly result in death, especially since darkness is just around the corner. In an effort to find some kind of shelter or, at worst, a large snowbank into which he could dig his way and spend the night, he trudged through the icy, blinding snow. Ethan arbitrarily skirted to the left along an impassable, nearly vertical cliff wall after quickly coming up against it. Keeping the cliff within arm’s length to his right, Ethan stoically made it about another half-mile before finding the going almost impossible, and the visibility worse than nil. With each strenuous, aching step, the cold was numbing his face and limbs, making it harder to move. After that, Ethan was able to see something that looked like a torchlight from about 20 feet away, shining brightly like a sign of blessed hope. He was certain he would survive this terrible storm. Ethan stumbled into a cave just as quickly as he was about to lose all of his strength. A cozy series of somber lanterns were lit along the left cave wall, hanging from studs nailed into support posts or sitting ensconced in cleverly made recesses notched into the rock wall.

The cave was unusually warm and inviting, at least when compared to outside. Because of the care that had been taken while the hard, mineral-strewn rock had been thoroughly blasted by dynamite by at least several men for a very, very long time, it appeared to be mostly made by humans and was almost smooth. Not far in, maybe about fifty yards from the cave entrance, and relieved to be out of the storm, Ethan came upon a quaint mining shack, its wooden planks built right into the side of the shaft itself.

The shack's door was wide open and nearly off its hinges, hanging at an extreme angle. Ethan also noticed there were some scratches on the wall near the door jamb, but his brain was becoming foggy, and it didn’t completely register. He was just so god-awfully cold and tired. In that old shack, there had to be some kind of bed or chair where he could sleep for a short while until the storm passed and daybreak arrived. The weary trapper stumbled into the cabin and ineffectually tried to close the broken door behind him. He soon gave up and looked around the room in slumped lethargy. There was only one dimly lit lantern on a improvised wooden table in the middle of the room. In the room's far corner, the only other piece of furniture was a battered cot. But, at least it seemed to be roomy enough to sleep two normal sized men comfortably.

Ethan stumbled over to the bed to lie down after putting the rifle down haphazardly on the center table. Before falling into a deep, seemingly endless sleep in which he had no dreams, he had barely taken off his boots and rested his head on the straw-filled pillowcase. The alarming odor of cat urine was the last thing Ethan noticed before entering the warm sea of uncountable darkness. When Ethan awoke, he found a half-ton of a homicidal, purring feline on top of his chest. It appeared that the feline was not afraid to use Ethan as a bedwarmer, and it seemed like the feline had eaten a lot that night. I should’ve known better, Ethan thought bitterly as he eyed the massive canines poking awkwardly out of a foul-smelling cat jaw not inches from his face. He could see that its enormous fangs still held small pieces of meat. It didn’t look like it could close its monstrous overbite, and right now the thing was sawing logs away in a loud and sonorous purring rumble that vibrated Ethan’s chest.

Its eyes were closed. Maybe. His arms were pinned to his side, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to reach The SAA with either hand, because the holster was in the wrong place to grab it under the mass of white fur and teeth that nearly smothered him.

He couldn't use the rifle until he got rid of this cat. The .36 Paterson, however . . .

Ethan drew the .36 in one smooth, slow motion of his right hand, barely even rustling the beast cougar’s shaggy fur coat before thrusting the barrel into the cat’s side and firing off three shots as fast as he could.

The effect was instantaneous, loud and very bloody.

The cougar leapt to its feet and staggered off the bed, before jumping back in shock. The rifle and lantern were thrown to the ground, shattering the table and leaving behind a flaming puddle of kerosene. The enormous ghost cat faced Ethan with its bulbous, pink, glittering eyes, staring hatefully at him through the haze of gun smoke from the .36.

It kept its wounded side carefully toward the rocky cave wall.

Ethan wiped warm cougar blood off his bearded face. This was going to be unpleasant. Due to the tiny lake of fire burning in the middle of the room and the broken door, the cabin was somewhat dim, and shadows were abundant, merging, and mixing in a dizzying manner. Ethan pulled the .45 Single Action Army from its holster and aimed it directly at the snarling beast’s skull with deadly precision and a steady arm.

As he pulled the trigger, Ethan exclaimed, "Good night, 'Espiritu Gato'." The thunder roared. Later that morning, a bedraggled, snow-studded Ethan stumbled back into town. His leathers were deeply slashed by what appeared to be a monstrous beast's paw, and the locals gasped. The pelt of a massive, white, now-docile cougar was carried by the trapper on his broad shoulders. This cougar, known in Mesa Pueblo as "Espiritu Gato," or the Midnight Ghost Cat, was killed by the lone trapper Ethan in combat, finally bringing peace to the beleaguered town.

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