“They are great hunters and pets,” McCain agreed. “Jack here, he’s mostly a chow hound. But once in a while he earns his keep.”
Jack was looking around to see if there were any squirrels that needed chasing.
“Right here is one of the cougar tracks,” Thomas said, pointing to the dirt road. “See it. The thing’s been prowling around here for days.”
Sure enough, there in the middle of the road, just as plain as day, was a mountain lion track. And by the size of the track, it was a big cat.
“Has anyone actually seen the cougar?”
“We’ve only caught glimpses of it in the headlights driving in and out of here at night. Well, that is, until I saw it today ready to pounce on Duke.”
“Any other pets missing besides the cock-a-poo?”
“No, but after Sheryl’s little LuLu went missing, everyone has kept their dogs close by.”
“Good plan. Now where did you shoot at the cougar?”
Mrs. Thomas led him past three more cabins and then turned to go around the back of the fourth.
“This is our cabin here,” she said as she walked quickly toward the back. “I was finishing up some dishes and looked out the window and saw Duke over by those trees. He likes to chase the squirrels. Then I saw a slight movement past the trees, and when I looked closer I could see it was a cougar, and he was staring right at the dog.”
The woman told McCain that her husband had passed away the year before, but he had taught her how to shoot, and she always kept a loaded rifle in the closet for protection.
“I’ve shot a couple coyotes that were slinking around here,” she said. “But never a cougar.”
McCain had her walk him over to where she thought the mountain lion was when she last saw it. Then he asked her to go back to her cabin.
“I’m going to go back to my truck and bring it up here. Then Jack and I will see if you hit the cougar, and if we can find it.”
“Oh, I hit it,” Thomas said. “I rarely miss.”
When McCain got back to where the cougar was last seen, he was carrying his shotgun. He figured buck shot at close range would be a better option if they were dealing with a wounded cougar. He searched the ground for a bit, keeping Jack at heel, and found the cougar’s tracks. He followed them for a few yards and then he saw blood. Sure enough, the confident little lady had not missed. Now, he hoped she had delivered a fatal shot.
McCain put Jack on the track and let him go, knowing that cougars will almost always climb a tree if pursued. But he didn’t need to worry about it. The dog only had gone about 200 yards when he found the cat, dead in a puddle of blood.
“I guess this old tom cat has eaten his last cock-a-poo,” McCain said to Jack. “Good job!”
As McCain dragged the dead cat back to his truck, he was trying to decide whether he needed to issue any kind of ticket to the nice little Hilda Thomas. He certainly could make a case that she had shot the cat out of season, without a license or tag. On the other hand, she was protecting personal property, even if it wasn’t hers.
Back at the truck he lifted the cougar up to his tailgate and examined it a little closer. The cat was very skinny, and his teeth were worn down to about nothing. No wonder he had turned to poaching pets, McCain thought. His days were numbered.
Based on that, he decided to not bother Mrs. Thomas with any tickets or fines. He went back, knocked on her door and told her that Jack had found the cougar, dead from a 30-30 bullet.
“I knew I hit it,” the little lady said. “I rarely miss.”
“Well, even though you got this one, it would probably be best if you call us if you see another cougar around the cabins. And, tell the folks around here to keep their pets close,” McCain instructed as he handed her his card.
As he was driving back toward town, McCain tried to envision Mrs. Thomas shooting the cougar. He was pretty impressed.
Soon after, McCain met Sinclair at the offices of Jeffry Smith, one of the owners of the accounting firm. Smith, a slim man of about five foot, ten inches, looked like a runner, or a bike rider. McCain couldn’t tell which. He was one of those guys that McCain always felt like offering a hoagie sandwich and a big piece of chocolate cake. With a thin face, and sunken cheeks, the man looked to be in a perpetual state of hunger.
“I saw your post on the Washington Bowhunter’s site,” Smith said. “I use the trail cameras for scouting purposes and just finally had the chance to go through the photos. I like to keep the cameras up all year just to see what’s out there. I’ve had a few stolen over the years, but most of the time if you place them right, you won’t lose them. And I’ve gotten some amazing photos.”
Smith explained that as an accountant he was extremely busy during March and April, filing taxes for businesses and people, so he hadn’t had a chance to check his cameras. And then, he had injured an Achilles tendon during a 5K mountain run up by Clear Lake, so he was on crutches for three months. He was only just now finally fit enough to get up to his cameras and
