Time of the Cats

By Gail Webber

It is 1883, and Ted Reynolds feels older than his thirteen years. His mother died two years ago, and now Ted has been shipped out west to live on a cattle ranch with his father, a stern man he barely knows. The only time Ted feels at home in his new surroundings is when he is riding his horse, Gypsy. Teds life changes, however, on the day he catches a glimpse of a powerful mountain lion while out on a ride.

He tells his Indian friend, Buffalo Horn, about his discovery and learns about cougar folklore and that there is also a female mountain lion that roams the land. But when he returns home to share the exciting news with his father, Ted is horrified to hear that his father intends to kill the lions. Desperate to find a way to save the cats he has put in harms way, Ted heads out on a secret expedition with Buffalo Horn, who helps him communicate a warning to the cougars. Now only time will tell if it will workbefore his father secures his kill.

As Ted does his best to figure out whats important, find out who he truly is, and chisel out a place for himself in the world, he risks his life for unexpected friends who may just lead him in the direction he needs to go.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Abbott Press
• Release date: Nov 5, 2013
• ISBN: 9781458212344

Gail Webber

Gail Webber is a retired science teacher who grew up fascinated by the interaction of animals with their changing world and with the lessons people can learn by careful observation. She currently lives in western Maryland.

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GAIL WEBBER

Illustrations by Kate and Will Ansalvish

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Copyright © 2013 Gail A. Webber.

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ISBN: 978-1-4582-1234-4 (e)

ISBN: 978-1-4582-1232-0 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4582-1233-7 (hc)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013918235

Abbott Press rev. date: 11/04/2013

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 1

As one big cat moved farther back into the darkness of the cave, he whistled to the other. A smaller mountain lion stepped out of the shadows, coming toward him. When she reached him, she ducked her head and rubbed it against his shoulder, a rumbling purr sounding from her throat.

He was nervous. Until recently, they had kept hidden from man, but now he and his sister had been seen. It had happened two or three times in the past few weeks, and he was sure it had happened again today. Today was the worst. He shook himself. He didn’t understand the two-legged beasts and their killing. He’d seen how they killed—not to eat, but simply to kill. He had seen it when they killed his mother.

He had watched from hiding when it happened. His sister had been playing deeper in the den, but he saw it in the distance, when the man pointed the long black thing at his mother and made the thunder noise. He heard his mother scream. Then he saw her run a few yards and fall, struggling and twisting over and over in the dirt. When the man made the noise twice more, she stopped moving. They tried to lift her onto one of the animals they sat on, but it wouldn’t let them. So they cut off her tail, with its shiny black tip that he and his sister always chased in play when they were little, and they let her body fall back to the ground. He ran into the cave then and herded his sister farther back into the depths. When it got full dark, he went out to check. She still hadn’t moved, and she never did—not even when the foxes and coyotes came to fight over her.

After that was a long time of constant hunger. Their mother had been teaching them to hunt before it happened, but they weren’t yet very good at it. Their bellies often hurt, especially during the first winter. That winter was hard. Winter was coming on again now, but they were older. They’d fare better this time.

He paced over to the cave wall and lay down. His sister came closer and sat washing her face in front of him. She was slender now but well-muscled. Back then she had been skinny. It took a lot of mice, lizards, and locusts to feed them. There were never enough. Later they’d caught an occasional marmot or slow-moving bird and once in a while the leftovers from another animal’s kill. It was only when they learned to move more silently, to be more patient, and to work together on the hunt that they started to make bigger kills. Then their stomachs were filled more often.

All this he knew somewhere deep inside. Though he could never actually think these things, all that had happened in his short life determined how he acted now.

He got up, restless, and paced to the cave mouth and then back. He knew he’d been seen again today by one of the young humans, and it made him jumpy. Man was around this place too often now. He knew he and his sister must leave for somewhere safer, a place where man with the long black sticks never passed.

There was one place inside their hunting range where he’d seen only the other kind of man. This kind looked like the humans who killed his mother, standing up to walk on two legs just the same, but they were different in other ways. They were quieter and didn’t smell the same, and somehow they were not as threatening. A den near them was not as good as a den away from all kinds of men, but it might be safer than staying here.

Right now he needed rest. With his back in a corner, he curled his muscled bulk into a sleep position and covered his nose with his tail.

When he awoke, the dark lay damp and heavy in the cave. Darkness was good. He, his sister, and all their kind could see well in the dark when many others were nearly blind. Man’s time seemed to be during the day, but night was the time of the cats.

He lay there for a while, very still and watching with one eye, enjoying the warmth of his own body. His sister stirred in her corner too, yawning and stretching her forelegs with her claws unsheathed. He stood and flexed his own muscles, stiffened by sleep, then arched his back and stretched forward. Pacing to the cave entrance, he paused, turning his ears in all directions while he sniffed the wind. He sifted through the night sounds and smells, determining that all was well.

He whistled softly back to his sister. When she came up beside him, they trotted together away from the cave toward what would be their new home. They had covered a lot of ground, far past their normal hunting limits, when she stopped and looked around, and then straight at him. She flicked her tail up and down, the quick contractions of the skin on her back showing something was wrong. Then she turned and padded back the way they had come, stopping once to look over her shoulder at her brother but then continuing away from him. She wasn’t going with him, because somehow she knew it was time for them to separate and live apart. Confused, he watched her melt into the dark. Then he struck out again, for the first time alone. If only they hadn’t been seen …

Chapter 2

Ted Reynolds wasn’t the first to actually see the big cat that day. Gypsy was. It wasn’t until he felt—even through the saddle—the long shiver pass through her, that he realized something nearby was upsetting the sensible bay mare. It was cooler as winter approached but not cold enough to make Gypsy feel it. He’d heard a low whistling noise but thought at first it was another kind of bird he didn’t recognize. But that wouldn’t scare his horse. Then he thought it must be his friend Buffalo Horn, hiding up there in the rocks, and he scoured the hillside for a sight of him.

That was when he saw it—a huge dun-colored cat, so powerful-looking, a graceful almost-shadow that stood there for a moment and then flashed out of sight, quick as a lightning bolt. Mountain lion! It had definitely been a mountain lion! He didn’t believe his luck! After all, it was 1883, and there weren’t that many of the big cats left around. He’d always wanted to see one. Three times in the last month he’d thought he’d seen something, and once even thought it might be a mountain lion. But this was the first time he’d been close enough—or quick enough—to finally get a good look at it. Now he was glad he hadn’t told anyone about the almost sightings, because there was no doubt about what he saw this time: a mountain lion!

Gypsy arched her neck against the reins and danced sideways under him, sideling away from the hillside and making huffing sounds as she moved; it was very abnormal behavior for his usually easygoing and reliable horse.

Easy, girl, easy, he said, patting her neck. Nothing there now.

She was still nervous, and Ted didn’t understand why. As far as he knew, she’d never even seen a mountain lion or puma, as some people called them. His father had told him that though there were still some wolves and an occasional bear in the high country, the biggest animals left on this ranch or any of the neighboring ones were coyotes. It was unlikely Gypsy had ever encountered one of the big cats before. Maybe this was one of those built-in fears horses had, like their fear of fire. He wondered if people had those same kinds of fears.

He stroked Gypsy’s neck again and clucked to her as he turned her away from the hillside, leaning forward to tell her to move on. She started off a little faster than he expected, but he just smiled. Before he’d come to live with his father on the ranch, he would certainly have fallen off, but he’d gotten pretty good at riding in the year since then. For a moment he considered going back to the ranch to tell