Mountain Lion

Mountain lion hunting true Western sport for the best of hounds, horses and men and some of the best of it is found in Arizona.

Giles Goswick, Floyed Pyle, Frank Colcord, Leo Greenough, Jess Burke, Art Martin, the Lee Brotherslion hunters all, are products of this most Western of outdoor sport.

Even their dogs: Leader, Trailer, Snuffy, Old Drum, Redsides, are pack leaders, everyone, and produced by miles upon mile of trailing on the desert, over mountains, in canyons, along ledges over terrain that only Arizona can provide, the best in lion country.

Yes, and the horses, too, big, strong and rugged, yet sure-footed as mountain sheep, never stumbling, always certain of their balance, asking only that you stay aboard; they get you there and back.

Preparing for a lion hunt is interesting, and exciting! Everyone of the lion hunter's family pitches in to make it a good trip. The grub box is packed. Heavy dutch ovens are stowed away in the truck. Everything goes: axe, shovel, rifles, saddles, feed for the horses and the hounds. Or if you leave from the hunter's house, everything goes on pack animals. Either way you will marvel at the casual manner in which these men prepare for a week's trip into the wilderness.

There will be plenty of kidding about your bed roll. Don't fall for that “Tucson bed”: you use your back for a mattress and your stomach for a blanket in that one! Take a “Montana bedroll”, that's one for cold weather. “You can always take 'em off, but it's hard to find an extra one out there in the brush.” Your camp will be in the most fascinating place. It may be beside a running stream, near a spring, in an abandoned cabin, or the summer camp of some rancher. It might even be a “dry one”, with no water for miles, but don't let that worry you! Relax, tenderfoot, this man you're with has spent a heap of his livin' getting along on with what he has, and it will be plenty until you can get to where there is more.

Your appetite really won't get hold of you until “some time between daylight and sunup.” You become aware of it all at once. It's awakened with the ringing of a real Arizona alarm clock the grinding of two dutch oven lids together! As your head comes out of

To your experienced hunter the ride through the country is direct. Suddenly you are out on the rim of a canyon.

the blankets your nostrils will pick up the mingled odors of burning oak, mesquite, cedar, brewing coffee, frying eggs, home-cured bacon.

The hearty greeting you get as you pull on your britches will make you glow with good fellowship. "Better eat up; might be the last meal 'til dark", will be the warning. But, you'll need no encouragement. Your plate will hold everything but the biscuits. Your host will take his gaucho stick, lift a flanged dutch oven lid, heaped with coals and there will lie, Wonder of wonders, golden brown biscuits, big, generous ones, that'll stick to your ribs.

To top off all this you'll be introduced to a new gastronomical delight at least for an amateur lion hunter it's a big spoonful of peanut butter, thoroughly mixed with an equal amount of mesquite honey, real energy food! You'll need it.

By now you know the dogs. They are big chested, raw-boned fellows. The split ear on Red was caused by a "big tom lion we caught over at Hell's Gate." Lead is still a little sore-footed from running a cat through Bloody Basin, "but he'll go!" That compact, muscular one, whose skin fairly ripples with strength and endurance, stepping up confidently, head and tail erect, hackles half raised to take a portion of biscuit thrown to two other hounds, is the fastest trailer of the pack and named, Trailer. Old Drum is still taking it easy. He's moved around in the early sun to a warm spot in front of a log and rolls his red, blood-shot eye as he watches camp. Yes, he's the one that cold-trailed a lion for half a day, when the others couldn't even smell the track. "Finally got it hot and jumped him out of Horton Thicket and ran him right up over the Tonto Rim."

Some of the hounds are already working through the rough cover below, others are skirting the ledges ahead of you as you follow the edge of the void.

You, too, begin to feel the excitement of the hunt when they bring the horses up to be saddled. The hounds are trotting around impatiently. Now and then one throws up his head and barks. Even Drum has shaken off his lethargy of a moment ago. He stretches front quarters, then hind. His long ears drag on the ground as he trots smoothly, nose down, testing every scent his breed is bloodhound, trained for lion hunting.Your hunter calls the dogs by name as he swings into the saddle. They fall in behind as you ride off, eager and impatient to course ahead. He lets them go, too, before you are a quarter of a mile out and they run ahead, fanning out.

One, a young hound, and too charged with the excitement of the moment, bays and in turn is scolded severely. He drops head and tail. but only for a moment, then wheels away a more serious-minded lion hound, intent on business.

The ride through the country is direct, a course as defined as a city street to your hunter, and suddenly you are out on the rim of a canyon. Some of the hounds are already working below, others skirt the ledges, a few are ahead as you follow the edge of the void.

The moist nostrils test every overhanging twig, sides of rocks close to the trail, the length of logs, a pile of leaves and twigs-and, then you notice a sudden change in them. There has been no sound from the dogs, yet they all rush to a certain spot. Tails, instead of being erect whip from side to side, fast!

It is the bloodhound that "strikes." He lifts his massive head, and from his half-opened mouth rolls a long, deep, marrow-softening bay. He recognizes the

And there with fangs exposed will be the lion, snarling, spitting, ears laid back, holding at flashing claw length the baying ring of hounds.

scent coming up out of the flattened pile of forest debris -mountain lion! The others are already in action. Heads down, tails whipping, they line up on an invisible thread of scent. Drum sounds off again. Lead yips once. Trailer, impatient, jumps out of line and runs ahead, circling wide, "cutting for sign.". Even your hunter sounds off with a hissing whistle to the hounds and yells of encouragement, "Get him, Sport! Get him!" That's all that's needed! The pack opens in full voice. They break into a run, circling, stringing out. Some come back to check the trail, but the others are in the lead, baying faster now. It's a race! Trailer is sounding off down in the canyon. There is something vaguely familiar about it, even if you have never heard a hound, like Trailer, bay before. Your hunter will give you the answer. He may raise himself out of his saddle, may even swing down and look over the edge of the canyon, but when he speaks to you he'll say: "That hound's sure givin' tongue, regular 'bell-mouth', that Trailer!" And suddenly you will know why the sound was within your ken, it rings, in the canyon like the tolling of a bell, as clear, as melodious. If you listen closely to your friend the lion hunter you will hear expressions and comments as he listens to the baying hounds, "running hot." "Man, Man, That's music! Listen to that Trailer. He's sure ringin' right up that cougar's tail." A distinct, gobbling bark, much like a deep-throated whistle with a ball inside would give, brings the comment, "There! Did you hear him! That 'turkey mouthed' potlicker's running breast deep in scent. They've got him up!" And then is when you will learn to ride to ride Western, with wind whistling in your ears, branche As reaching for you, whipping at you as you go by. You'll thrill with the chase!

Your mount will follow the pack without guidanceall you need do is hang on, stay with him and ride, he'll get you there maybe a little tattered and torn, but you'll be there when that lion takes to a tree or bays up!

All during that wild ride you'll hear the music of the chase. Bell-mouthed dogs will give it the melody. The Turkey-mouths will 'jam' the session. Old Drum will keep the cadence. His steady, rolling bass will come up out of the canyon.

The heavy pines and spruce will mute this wild symphony. The lime-stone ledges will give it brilliance. The sheer cliffs will give it depth. But, through it all you will feel the rhythm, ever faster-until the endwhen it will come in a rising crescendo, ringing in your ears and thrilling you to the depths of that thing we call a soul.

And there will be the lion, snarling, spitting, earslaid back, holding at flashing claw length the baying ring of hounds.

If you can get close enough to see his eyes, you will look into pale green agates of hate. His lip will curl with scorn, exposing fangs and jaw teeth capable of cracking the ribs of a full grown beef or cutting a 3 inch hemp rope in two with one bit. Even as you watch him he will flex his muscles and run out the inch and a half claws that hold him to the back of a plunging thorough-bred horse or a prime buck deer, while he crushes the life from it with those powerful jaws.

You can have this cat, this cougar, this panther, this mountain lion, any way you want him as a rug for your trophy room, or alive!

Your hunter is capable of anything, even of roping and pulling him out of the tree and tying him up. Yes, and putting him in a sack for mailing and delivery!

But anyway you take him, you will find that mountain lion hunting in Arizona will give you something memorable of the West.