THE RAIDER

Auckland Star, Volume LXVII, Issue 59, 10 March 1936, Page 19

THE RAIDER

By GEORGE W. HOLMES.

Hill shadows sprawled darkly across the valleys when the spring moon rode the sky and lit Badoclrs towering heights. Aloft, on the rugged shoulders of the peak, Cullan, the Badocli wild-cat, drifted silently among the grey boulders and climbed nimbly to the top of a splintered wall of rock. His lithe body —from tip to tip, 4ft of swift and pliant sinew—was outlined against the stark whiteness of a snowfield where winter's deepest drift had blown. Presently Cullan turned and moved swiftly uphill. Arriving at the summit, he gazed across the sublime grandeur of misted valley and moon-flooded ranges. Then he yelled —a weird, bloodcurdling cry, unutterably wild. At the sound, a wave of terror passed through all the lesser wild folk. To them the voice of death liad called from Badocli's peak. Presently there came quivering upward to the summit a peculiar wailing cry. It was the call of Maran, the shecat; for this was the pairing season, and she was Cullan's mate of the past three years. Uttering a short, answering yell, the hunter dropped from his perch to seek the female. But, ten yards from the erect, he halted abruptly, snarling. Up on the wind from the dim, blue hills beyond came a shriH, wild answer to the female's cry, the questing cry of a male. * * • • Cullan failed to identify the eldritch scream from afar. It was not the cry of a wild-cat; but in it he read a menace —a threat to his possession of a mate. A vicious growl rumbled in his throat. He whirled around, took three swift leaps, and came clear .against the sky on the summit of rock. Poised high above the world, he glared with blazing eyes across the glen. Gleaming fangs were revealed as his lips twisted back. Then, over the moonlit peaks and into every rock-girt abyss, hurled the savage challenge of Cullan. A moment passed, then back the answer came ringing. Distant, but clear, the strange scroam shrilled on the wind, edged with a rasping note of defiance. The gauntlet of the wild was thrown —and the challenge accepted. Down the mountain sped Cullan, to find his mate gazing steadily toward a snow field on the other side of the valley. He followed her gaze and saw a dark object cross the white expanse of the drift. It called at intervals—an eerie, pleading cry, as it sought for the female whose welcome it had overheard. But, with no response from Maran to indicate her whereabouts, the interloper passed from sight, half a mile eastward. Then the she cat turned to greet her mate. The following morning old Donald Tait, head keeper on Balmorn Estate, answered a knock upon his door. He found a shepherd outside with a mutilated carcass of a lamb hanging like a rag from his hand. "Look, Donal," said the visitor, holding out his burden. "What think ye o' that?" The keeper examined the torn lamb. "The wil' cat!" lan Mackenzie, proprietor of Balmorn, had forbidden anyone to molest the cats on Badoch.

His neighbours on adjoining estates, where the wild-eats sometimes ranged viewed matters differently. Old Colonel Buchan, especially, detested them.

When Mackenzie heard of the killing he was surprised and disappointed. This was the first instance, and, of course, it must also be the last, for cats, like foxee, may wreck havoc in the flocks when they acquire a taste for lamb. Consequently, he ordered Donald to make prepartione for the destruction of Cullan and Maran. As the keeper was about to depart, a car came up the drive to Balniorn House and slid to a scrunching stop on .the carriageway. The door opened and out stepped Colonel Buchan. » * * Spluttering with rage, the fiery old warrioi 1 demanded the instant execution of the Badoch cats. They had killed five of his grazing tenant's lambs during the two preceding nights. The tenant claimed compensation, he continued, and Mackenzie would receive the claim in due course. "But," he repeated, "these infernal cats have got to go!" At that moment the postman arrived and approached the group by the door. Holding out some letters and the weekly edition of the local paper, he addressed Mackenzie: "Better hae a look at the front o' that paper, Mr. Mackenzie. There's something there that'll interest ye, I'm thinkin'." Mackenzie opened the folded journal and scanned a notice in heavy type. "Good Lord!" he ejaculated. Then: "Here, colonel, read that. You and your infernal cats!" The other man took the proffered paper and read: — WARNING TO FLOCKMASTERS, keepers and stalkers. A Siberian Lynx (male) has escaped from the private zoo of Sir Alan Gilchrist at Dingmonie. Anyone having knowledge of its whereabouts is requested to communicate immediately with the owner. - •

(SHOKT STOKY.)

Claims for the loss of stock killed by the lynx should be forwarded for attention to the undernoted address. Carcases must be retained pending examination. The crusty old gentleman returned the paper. "Sorry, Mackenzie," he grunted; "I thought it was your cats." Gallantly, Mackenzie replied: "Yes, colonel, and so did I." Realising the serious consequences attending the prolonged liberty of the lynx, the two men agreed to join forces and scour the hills on its trail. Mackenzie excused himself and went inside to telephone to Dingnionie Lodge. He acquainted Sir Alan with the facts and their prospective plans, and concluded, "We'll wait for you." Half an hour later there came a resonant drone to the ears of the waiting party, and a powerful car came swiftly along the drive. From it emerged Sir Alan Gilchrist and his head stalker. Both carried rifles, and with them was a hound. A short time was spent in arranging the conduct of the hunt. Then the seven men moved off. They hunted all day. Twilight gradually deepened into night. Heavy clouds blew in from the west and covered the moon; a brown mist crept up from the valleys and the darkness became intense, limiting the vision to a few yards. Only the usual sounds of mountain night were heard by the listening men. Grey dawn came up from the east. From the moorland far below a curlew whistled a greeting to the new day. Then came a quivering wail from the slopes of Badoch. Immediately there came the answering yell of Cullan. Then came another yell—the eerie, alien cry that the cats had heard tile night before. It sounded from a point close to the she-cat's lair.

Down the rocks that strewed the mountain Cullan pounded swiftly. Between the boulders and lidge, down dizzy crags and across the screebeds he raced, hate-driven. He clawed and slithered down 50ft of polished rock face, swept in great leaps along a little gullv, and came to the lip of a 200 ft precipice.

He skidded, stiff-legged, to a stop on the brink of disaster. Along the edge he bolted for 30 yards, then leapt over and dropped to the broad 6helf where his mate had her lair.

And, standing at the entrance, gazing fixedly at the scowling she-cat within, was the mighty Siberian lynx. The tawny brute, though of no greatei length than Cullan, stood Gin higher at the shoulder. Its legs were long and its paws immense. And its face, with great, glowing oyes, tufted ears and tufted cheeks, was the face of a fiend. » ♦ * *

His disadvantage in weight and reach did not deter Cullan for an instant. Immediately he reached the ledge he leapt liloe a bullet at the throat of the lynx. The lithe, sinewy bodies rolled over and over, interlocked, along the shelf. , Tufts of fur shot out from the melee, expelled by swiftly-striking claws. Each strove wildly to secure a hold that would bring the terrible hind claws into aetion —the last hold, the hold that slays. The fiend from the Tundra forests battled with all the savage strength and cunning at liis command. But the lowslun", yellow-eyed devil with the heavy cubbed tail was the ruthless embodiment of ferocity and peerless courage. From point to point, along the towering ledge, the fighting killers (thrashed, biting, tearing, in search of the masterhold. . _. . , , Far downhill, in the pale light of early morning, the ascending hunters halted and watched the fight. No one thought of shooting. Fascinated by the terrible display of primitive savagery, they watched, tense with excitement. Colonel Buchan appeared to _ have undergone a revulsion of feeling m the wild cat's favour. "By Cad, sir, he exclaimed to no one in particular. The little one's his match!" As the duel aloft continued, the Tundra fiend endeavoured to drive the cat over the ledge of the shelf. Twice he nearly succeeded. Then, as the lynx arose to strike again, Cullan darted beneath the upraised claws and seized the loose skin of his opponent's belly. Exerting all his strength, he reared up, and the lynx was borne backwards and over. For a fleeting moment the long-legged brute was inverted, and that moment was enough. _ The wild eat slid, forward, and in an instant transferred his hold to the wide throat beneath him. He bunched his rear paws on the upturned body, and with a quick jerk drove his keen claws through the skin. The lynx veiled and thrashed violently, but vainly, to dislodge its grim assailant. Cullan clenched his deepsunk fangs still harder, arched his body. Then with all the mighty power in his leaping muscles, he straightened his broad back and thrust. Again lie arched his back. Again he thrust . . .

again . . . and again . . . The lynx screamed madly, its hideous face contorted in a mask of demoniacal furv. The fight was to a finish. For the* last time the wild cat struck with flaying hooks. Then he drew his fangs from their hold and stepped aside.

The dying lynx thrashed convulsively about the ehelf. Nearer and nearer to the edge it flung; then, suddenly, it tipped over and was gone. The men saw the body fall 20Cft, and vanish in a pile of boulders. From the rim of the towering ledge, a great head with blazing eyes looked down. And a wild, blood-curdling scream raug out on the wind as Cullan hurled a challenge to all-comers.