“A Rio Grande Panther”
With a sudden awakening, Ben sat upright in his bedroll. For a moment, he didn’t know where he was. From a deep sleep, something had woken him up. All was quiet, except for the slow tinkle of the bell on Beauty hobbled nearby with the other horses as they grazed. The fire in the camp fire had burned down to just coals. Just above the rim of the canyon wall, the half moon was shining so he could see a little of the cottonwood trees near the spring.
Now he was awake and he knew where he was. He was camped on Alamo Creek in the Christmas Mountains. He was hunting Mustangs in the Big Bend wilderness area in western Texas. Near the end of summer, in 1934, at the height of the Big Depression, he had given up trying to make a living in Weatherford, Texas. He packed up all of his belongings and put them on three of his four horses and, riding Beauty, he left to go west to hunt a better life.
Three days later, in the lobby of a hotel in Fort Stockton, he learned from some ranchmen that an Indian cowboy, who worked for one of them, had said that there was still a herd of wild Mustangs down in the Christmas Mountains close to the Rio Grande River in the Big Bend wilderness area. So the next morning before daybreak, he turned his horses south and headed toward Big Bend to see if he could find that Mustang herd. He figured that maybe he could catch them and make some money.
On the way, he bought a side of salt pork bacon and some other supplies in Marathon and continued south. After three days, he was in the Christmas Mountains and started looking for the Mustang herd. At that time there were very few people that lived in that vast desert area. He had met a couple of them on the way down. They were both hermit types who lived in shacks up closer to Marathon .
Day before yesterday, he found the herd near a box canyon. In looking around, he found a small spring up near the head of that box canyon. That’s where he made his camp. Since this creek had some cottonwood trees, he assumed it must be Alamo Creek. He went back down the canyon and set up a loop trap on a trail that looked like it was used by the Mustangs. Yesterday morning, he had checked his trap and found a bay mare in it, however she had broken her leg trying to get out. So he had shot her and skinned her.
Now that he was awake and knew where he was, he thought he would put some more wood on the fire. He held his watch near a coal and could see it was about ten minutes after midnight. Just as he reached for a mesquite log to put on the fire, down the canyon, a woman screamed and the scream echoed back and forth on the canyon walls. Every coyote in hearing distance started barking and howling and their howls were now echoing back and forth in the canyon. He froze with the mesquite log in his hand. She screamed again and while the scream echoed back and forth, he realized that it was not a woman…it was a panther.
He could tell from the tinkling of the bells on Beauty and the other hobbled horses that they were coming back to camp. Just as they were coming into the fire light, awful and terrifying sounds started coming up the canyon echoing back and forth. There was more than one panther and they were fighting over the dead horse. His horses were snorting and trying to get closer to him and the fire. The moon went down behind the canyon walls and the night became pitch black. He wanted to leave; however, the only way out of the canyon was back toward the direction of the dead horse and the fighting panthers. So for the next hour, he and his horses listened to the dreadful sound coming up the canyon. Then there was just silence…absolute silence.
About an hour before daybreak, Beauty suddenly threw up her ears, snorted and looked out into the inky black night. Then the other horses were also looking at something. Then he saw what they were looking at. Two yellow eyes were out there in the darkness across the creek. The eyes were reflecting the light from the camp fire. They would flicker when the camp fire flickered. Then off to the left, two more yellow eyes suddenly appeared. The horses were snorting and the whites of their eyes were showing.
Ben got his Winchester .30 .30 and tried to figure out what to do. He didn’t want to shoot, because the loud noise from the gun would spook the horses and no telling what they might do. Then suddenly the eyes were gone. In about ten minutes, the horses all turned and were looking up the creek. He got to the other side of the horses and looked. Sure enough, there were two sets of staring yellow eyes. The panthers were circling the camp. They circled the camp until daylight and then disappeared.
After daylight, Ben, greatly relieved, packed up his stuff to move out to a more open area to camp. On the way out, they passed by the dead horse. Several coyotes were feeding on the horse. They got up and trotted away. Buzzards were circling overhead waiting for the coyotes to leave.
It was a night that Ben would remember all of his life. Ben would go on to catch the Mustang herd. Then he went down into Mexico and captured more Mustang horses. After many adventures in Mexico with Indians and bandits, he would herd his horses up into Arizona and Colorado, and eventually sold them for a profit.
Cheers,
Acree
Note: This story is mostly fiction. It is based on one of the experiences of a cowboy named Ben Green who wrote one of my favorite books, A Thousand Miles of Mustangin’, published in 1972 by Northland Press, Flagstaff, Arizona, His actual experience on this incident, page 33 in the book, didn’t happen exactly this way. This is my story, embellished considerably by my imagination.
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