Deer Hunting, The Cougar and Grandpa - Short Story

I had been out picking apples on a warm autumn afternoon. Soon we would all have to get out there in the orchard and get all those apples down and into the cellar. For now, I just had a basket full. I was anxious to get home, have supper and sit on the front porch with family, next to my Jeb with my head against his chest.

Standing at the top of the hill on the dirt road I looked out over the corn field. All the corn had been harvested. The stalks had been dried and were now standing as proud tipis throughout the field. Kids from all over the valley had their own little tipi with their own treasures hidden inside. It was an unspoken rule that no one entered a tipi, except their own, without a proper invitation.

The leaves of the maple, oak, and other trees had started turning and there was a glorious splash of color over the valley. The creek rippling over rocks by the road gave a peaceful ambiance to the scene with it's pure song of sweet, gentle notes.

Looking beyond the old oak on the hill opposite, I could just see the front porch of the old house. Smoke from the kitchen wood stove curling up into the clear afternoon sky told me supper would be on the table soon. Ma always lit the stove as soon as she had finished cooking for the evening meal. It was an old tradition in the house. Every mother back to her great-grandma lit the stove early every evening so the warmth of it would fill the house and creep up the old stairs to the sleeping lofts before everyone turned in for the night.

Seeing the smoke, I picked up my basket of apples and hurried home. Ma and I would be baking apple pies tomorrow. The smell of the apples, the crisp leaves crackling under my feet as I walked down the road, a slight, warm breeze coming up and blowing more leaves down, all told me it would be a wonderful autumn evening. As a few clouds began to gather in the west I felt a delight of expectation -- it would be a lovely sunset tonight.

On The Front Porch After Supper

"Spect some rain tonight or tomorrow," Grandpa said as he rocked back and forth in the old rocker which protested with squeaks and groans. Grandpa rarely spoke after supper. He just liked to mosie out to the porch and doze in the rocker that belonged to his Pa. It was his favorite time of the day -- "just a sittin' on the front porch with family as they gather roun' me" he often said.

"How's that Grandpa?" Jeb, asked, although he already knew the answer. Everyone thought Grandpa was sleeping there in the old rocker. When he did speak, folks liked to keep him goin' in hopes he would maybe tell a story or two. "Well," Grandpa rearranged his legs and sat up a little straighter, "didja see the old hog a runnin' roun' the barnyard with that piece a wood in his mouth?" Grandpa reached for his corn cob pipe and began to light it. This was a sure sign he was set to tell a story. "That sure nuff means rain if my memory serves me right," Grandpa puffed on his pipe as the tobacco caught. "That's what my Pa always told me anyways." He squinted his eyes as the pipe smoke curled up around his nose.

"Yup! Yer right, Pa," Jeb took out his pipe, lit it and sat down on the top porch step, leaning against the post. "Furgot about that ol' hog a doin' that 'fore the rain comes." Jeb looked up at me and grinned.

The kids noticed Uncle Jeb sitting at his post, so they gathered around and sat wherever they could find room on the steps or porch. Jeb's and my youngest daughter sat in front of him and leaned against his legs. Jeb reached down and pulled her ear softly. "Pa-ah," she scrunched up her shoulders and giggled, "that tickles."

Now Grandma's timing was always perfect. Just as Grandpa was about ready to begin a story, she comes out on the porch, the screen door squeaking as it opens then bouncing a few times as it slammed shut behind her. "Got warm oatmeal cookies for ya'all," she says as she begins passing the plate around. Grandpa was the first to take one and took a few bites, chewing slowly and pondering about what story to tell. He had told just about every story he could think of. I curled up next to Jeb and put my head back against his shoulder as he put an arm around me.

"Right over there, it was," Grandpa leaned forward and pointed to Old Mountain with his pipe. Old Mountain was sixty miles west of us. "Right there at the foot of Old Mountain, looking over the meadow where the deer grazed." He leaned back in his rocker, took a few puffs and blew the smoke out slowly. His eyes seemed to look farther than the mountain, as if he was looking back into the past. "Yup...that was the autumn I learned how not to hunt and met Ol' Coggins," he spoke slowly in his deep gravelly voice. All the adults looked at each other with surprise. They had never heard this one before. But, no one said anything. They did not want to break the spell Grandpa was under. They thought best to let him wander back there to an earlier time and maybe learn something new. Everyone had heard of Ol' Coggins, but no one had ever seen him. We all thought he was just a make-believe man of the mountains, a character in old folklore.

Many stories over the years had been passed around to folks all over the valley. The stories grew to such outlandish proportion that no one believed them. Ol' Coggins had grown into a legendary hero and sometimes a quite scary bogey man in these parts. Some of the stories told how his laugh was more haunting than a cougar's scream.

Grandpa was in a different place all right. He no longer sat on the front porch -- he was back in another time. "Ya see, I was only sixteen years old, thinking I was smart as a thirty year old man. Why...even as smart as my Pa, I thought. It was that time of year when it was perfect for snaggin' a buck. And I had been watchin' one with a pretty big set of antlers. I been watchin' him fer a few weeks. I knew whar he come from, whar he would head, how many steps it took him to get there and when he would look over towards the rocks where I was a hidin'.

"I had me a good place for spyin' from. There were these three big rocks I could scrunch down behind. I could peek through the two larger ones," Grandpa squeezed one eye shut and opened the other wide, as if he was looking through that crack between the rocks. "I could see the whole area down there where the buck would be. Wasn't long afore he comes slowly meanderin' down from the hill towards the lake. He took his time, too, lookin' roun like he had the whole place to himself and felt proud. Dang, he walked with dignity, I tell ya. Bold and beautiful, he was. I could just see his head over the fireplace in the keepin' room. Boy! Pa would be so proud o' me ever time he looked up at that buck's head and antlers a sittin' up there on the wall."

Grandpa's eyes began to mist over and he pulled out his handkerchief and wiped his face, covering his eyes for a few seconds. Everyone politely looked away so as not to embarrass him.

"Well..." he stuffed his handkerchief back in his pocket and continued. "There he was. The most beautiful buck I'd ever seen. I almost wished I had been a painter so's I could just paint him out there in the meadow by the lake. He was that purty." He hesitated a minute, recalling the picture in his mind, then cleared his throat. "Much rather have the paintin' than the head and antlers up there. But, Pa was no artist and neither was I. We liked the real thing.

"So...just when I knew he would, that ol' buck raises his head to look towards the rocks. I got my gun ready to aim and shoot and stood up ever so slowly. Just as I was ready to shoot I heard some rocks falling behind me. Then I remembered something Pa had told me, "That thar's cougar country, boy. You never want to go there alone."

"That ol' buck took off running and I knew something was wrong. I turned quickly to look up behind me and there was a big ol' cougar just leaping off the rock above me -- comin' right for my throat he was. I shot my gun but the cougar kept comin'. He knocked me down and I hit my head on the rock I had been hidin' behind. Don't know how long I lay there. I was out cold.

"Afore long I opened my eyes and couldn't see a thing. Thought I was dead right there. My head hurt, my eyes were blurred and my chest felt tight and heavy -- I could barely breath." Grandpa rubbed his chest then wiped his eyes with his shirt sleeve. "I was gettin' my sight back slowly and saw a blur of red and white standing over me. That blur cleared into an old man with whiskers down to his belt almost. He had on a red and white checked shirt and an ol' cowboy hat that must have seen better days years afore that. Then I saw a movement beside me and tried to get up, thinking that ol' cougar was comin' back at me. "It's alright, boy!" the ol' man said. "It's jus ol' Yapper, my houn. He won't hurt ya none." Ol' Yapper sniffed around my chest and began to howl. "Quit yer hollerin', Yapper!" The hound lay down and stared at my chest.

I felt my chest feel lighter as the ol' man pulled something off me. I looked to my left and stared right into the eyes of that ol' cougar and nearly passed out again, just from fright. The cougar lay on my left shoulder, his nose touching my cheek and one leg across my chest. He was dead. "You are quick, boy. Fine shootin' thar, too. Why look at this! Right in the heart ya got him." The ol' man poked his fingers roun' the hole where my bullet had gone into.

"Fine shootin', boy. Fine shootin." He hefted the cougar off me and let it drop to the ground. "Coggins, the name, Jake Coggins. Live up the mountain thar. Been trackin' this here cougar awhile. He's been at my goats and killed one month or so back. Thanks to you I ain't gotta worry no more 'bout him," Coggins pulled out a dirty old rag and wiped his forehead off. "Dang! That's a heavy cat! Yapper! Take this here rag," he pulled another rag out his pocket, "and get some water from down thar."

Why that ol' houn understood Coggins just as good as a person would. Yapper took the rag, ran down to the lake and came back with the rag dripping with cool water -- and dropped it right in my face! Coggins said, "That's a good boy, Yapper, good boy," as he scratched the houn's ears and rubbed his head. Yapper walked around behind me and sniffed the cougar again, then came back and lay down with a 'wumpf' sigh, as if he was bored. Coggins used the cold wet rag to clean the back of my head where I had hit the rock. "Ain't too bad there. Just a little blood. Ya gonna have yourself a fine lump though. Soon's ya feel like ridin', boy, I'll go with ya to your Pa's. He's gonna be worried bout ya bein' gone so long. Wanna make sure ya get home ok."

"My horse! Is my horse..." I just remembered my horse was hobbled not far away and feared the cougar might have got to him. "Ah...your horse is fine. Now dontcha worry none bout him. It was you the ol' cougar was after. He was gettin' quite old and was no match for a horse, even a hobbled one. Now you just relax here. I'm goin' down to get ya some fresh water to drink then I'll make us a fire and fix us some good ol' coffee. Best thing for a man out in the wild -- yup, coffee will bring ya roun', boy." He picked up an old bucket that came from I didn't know where.

"I turned and watched Ol' Coggins amble down the rocky hill to the lake. "Why he must be over a hunnerd years old," I thought. Grandpa slowly shook his head and looked down at his boots. "Why...I was more boon-doggled bout meetin' him, a man I thought was just a legend, than I was at the dead cougar a lyin' beside me.

"By the time Ol' Coggins got back with the water I was sittin' up, feelin' a little dizzy, but none the worse for wear, rubbin' my sore head in back. I had been a starin' at that ol' cougar and feelin' kind of sorry that he was dead. He sure was purty. I had forgotten all bout the buck I had come after. The buck was long gone by then. Coggins put some dry weeds or something in a tin cup, added water to it and told me to drink it down quick. For some reason I don't know, I did what he told me. It was a little bitter, but it went down ok. After a few minutes I began to feel much better. My head didn't hurt none after that.

As Coggins built a fire and brewed up the coffee I wondered where he was a gettin' all the stuff to cook with. He was fryin' up some kind of dried meat with more dried weeds. "Over by your horse there," he pointed with his knife. "What?", his voice startled me, not because I forgot he was there, but because he seemed to knowed what I was thinkin'. "My pack horse. This here is cougar country, boy. Ya never want to come here alone and ya never want to come out here with no fixins or supplies either. I seen all's ya got is your horse, a canteen and a gun. Did your pappy never tell ya right 'bout huntin?"

"My pappy..Pa...told me right!" I was a little burned that he would put down my Pa like that. "Well then...ya gotta listen to your pappy and do what he done tol ya. He's a smart man and wise bout huntin'. Good, too. Can shoot straighter than an arrow. You listen to him, boy. He knows what he's talkin' bout." I lowered my head, a little embarrassed with realizin' the ol' man was right. I never did think to ask him how he knew so much bout my Pa, but over the years I often wondered bout that.

I should a listened to Pa and remembered what he tol' me. I raised my head back up and looked at Ol' Coggins. "How come yer out here alone if it's so dangerous?" Coggins was not the least offended by my smart mouth, which I shut real fast thinkin' he might just throw that knife at me and have it hit home. Coggins speared a piece of meat with the tip of his knife and stuck it in his mouth, chewing slowly with one eye closed as he measured me up.

"Got my horse, got my pack horse, and got ol' Yapper here. And Yapper's got his family up there." He pointed with his knife behind his shoulder. I looked up to where he had pointed, squinted from the sun and then made out ten or twelve houns a layin' all over the place under the pine trees. Never seen 'em afore, they had been so quiet.

Coggins snapped his fingers and the houns come a runnin' down the hill. I froze, a thinkin' he was goin' to set those houns on me for being a smart mouth after he done helped me so much. When the houns got close to us they stopped and looked at Coggins. "Say hello to the boy, here, chillun." One by one the houns came over to me and sniffed my face or my feet then went back up the hill to lay down in the cool shade of the pines. I don't think I took one breath the whole time they were introducin' themselves to me.

Coggins threw back his head and laughed and the houns strated howlin' -- I tell ya it scared the bejeesees otta me, that sound! It seemed to travel all roun the mountain and come back a echo-in' in my ears. I managed to smile after a few minutes and he laughed again. I done never heard a laugh like that. Why I think a cougar would be embarrassed to have it's scream outdone by Ol'Coggins laugh. He handed me a cuppa coffee. It took me awhile to calm my nerves and I drank that coffee so fast it burned all the way down. Sometimes at night I still think I can hear that laugh and those houns as it echos roun the mountains here.

Coggins and I talked for a long time, We drank the coffee, ate the meat and talked some more. When I could stand up and walk straight, he done packed up everthin' and helped me on my horse. He rode with me far as the top o' the hill there and watched me till I got to the barn and off my horse. When Pa came out from the barn to meet me, Coggins waved to us and disappeared back to where he come from. Pa didn't seem too surprised 'bout Coggins, he just waved back to him.

Once I showed Pa where I was hidin' when the cougar jumped me. Right where Coggins had dropped the cougar, there was a pile of rocks bout long as the cougar was. A cross, made out o' pine tree branches was stuck in the rocks with a bundle of weeds tied to it.

Never saw Ol' Coggins agin -- but I heard his laugh over there a time or two when I went huntin' with Pa."

Grandpa stared at Old Mountain for several minutes then leaned back in his rocker, relaxed and dozed off again. Without a word being spoken, the rest of us stared at Old Mountain till the sun set behind it.
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© Copyright Phyllis Doyle Burns 2012

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