Forrest Bryant Johnson - Trooper

Other Books by Forrest Bryant Johnson

Phantom Warrior
The Last Camel Charge
Hour of Redemption
What Are You Doing Derby Day?
The Strange Case of Big Harry
BasenjiDog from the Past
Raid on Cabanatuan
Tektite

Copyright 2018 by Forrest Bryant Johnson

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available on file.

Cover design by Tom Lau

Cover photo credit: iStockphoto

Print ISBN: 978-1-5107-2822-6

Ebook ISBN: 978-1-5107-2823-3

Printed in the United States of America.

You become responsible forever for what you have tamed.

Antoine de Saint-Exupry, The Little Prince

Table of Contents

Prologue

Summer 1987

T O BE TRAPPED INSIDE THE bright yellow blossoms of a cholla cactus has to be one of the worst ways to die. In the twenty years that Id been a guide in the Mojave Desert of southern Nevada, Id become keenly aware that animals native to the area possessed an innate sense of danger when encountering this common shrubby plant. And so, on this hot July morning, as I was exploring the Mojave for yet another scenic spot for the next days tourists, I was astonished to hear a rather odd sound coming from devil cholla, the low-growing cactus near me.

I had been walking above a wide ravine that cut deep into the desert floor by generations of fast-moving water, although it was totally dry at this time. There had been no rain in neighboring Las Vegas or across the Spring Mountains for over seventy days. I had just paused by the ravines edge to enjoy the wildernesss beauty, watching the distant peaks and the vast treeless terrain sprinkled with wild sage, yucca, creosote bushes, and variety of cacti. The world seemed utterly tranquil, promising a perfect day ahead.

But suddenly I heard a babys cry. At least it sounded like the muffled sob of a newborn. The nearest home was almost a mile away, so obviously nothing had come from there. And then who would be so cruel as to abandon an infant in the Mojaves unbearable heat? Had someone placed a baby in the ravine during the night? A sick feeling rippled through me. But then the sound came again, albeit a little different this time.

Could it be the cry of an injured animal, perhaps a ferocious coyote or cougar? There is always danger when encountering a wounded beast, especially cougars known to attack humans. Thats why I always carry a loaded pistol when exploring the Mojavealthough I am aware that such a small weapon is not likely to provide much protection from a charging mountain lion.

Still, having a gun and being an excellent shot allowed me to investigate the source of these peculiar cries. I could not walk away after the haunting thought that they might have come from a human infant. And so, disregarding possible danger, I slid down the embankment while pulling my pistol from its holster. Then I paused, waiting for another sound to determine which way I should move.

There was no breeze in the ravine, with the morning heat having reached a near-suffocating intensity between high walls. Then another cry. I began walking slowly in its direction as my eyes searched the sandy floor for tracks or disturbed earth. I moved cautiously, my footsteps making no sound in the soft path. Determination and curiosity smothered rationality and logic. Sweat began to bead on my forehead, running in little streams down my cheeks to offer some cooling.

Then I saw movement at the base of a yellow-green cholla. Something was there. I held my breath as I raised the pistol high. Then quickly I realized there was no danger, so I un-cocked the weapon, returning the pistol to its holster.

A small brown animal was trapped in the cholla, crying as it struggled to escape. Its fur was a mangled mess, dried blood and puncture wounds visible at its shoulder. A far larger beast, most likely a coyote, seemed to have decided to have the tiny critter for dinner. As I moved closer, I figured the thing to be either a small domestic cat or a large household kitten, most likely lost in the wilderness. I wondered how the animal reached this distant spot so far from its home. Who did it belong to, and how had it managed to survive such dreadful wounds? And how did it escape its attacker?

The poor creature apparently avoided death by hiding in the cholla, but now it was trapped in its once safe haven. I had a tough decision to make. If I abandoned the little cat, it would surely face a slow, horrible death in the ravine. Should I end its suffering with a bullet? I could not do that. But if I carried it back to my home, Id never find its rightful owner.

The cat moved again slightly, making pitiful sounds. I knew what I had to do. Kneeling next to the small bundle, I slowly freed it from the chollas clutches. Then I removed my T-shirt and, lifting the cat carefully, wrapped the white cloth around it.

By now a quick check had determined that I was holding a male kitten. Cradling my small charge next to my chest, I called my wife from my cell, asking her to alert the Sun Animal Hospital that I was bringing in a badly injured cat. The cat had managed to push his head slightly from the T-shirt to gaze up at me. And as one leg protruded from the T-shirt, I noticed that his paw appeared large for his body size. It made no impression at the time, focusing as I was on getting this poor baby to the vet.

Speaking softly, I muttered reassuring words to the small creature. These made me feel better, and I hoped the gentle murmur of my voice created much-needed reassurance for him. Walking swiftly back to my car, I thought I heard the kitten begin to purr, softly and very low at first, then increasing the volume. I looked down to see huge dark eyes staring at me. It was my first experience with a cat, and it felt both quite strange and sort of wonderful. In a minute I had reached the car, placing a now apparently sleeping kitten next to me. In less than fifteen minutes we arrived at the veterinary hospital.

CHAPTER 1

My New Friend

I simply cant resist a cat, particularly a purring one.

Mark Twain

O NCE UPON A TIME, NOT long ago, I had a most unusual friend. We met in the Mojave Desert near the glittering city of Las Vegas, when he was very young, and I not so young. And we remained close companions for nineteen years. And as all friends need to do, we learned many things from one another.

This friend was a cat. He was not an ordinary feline, but a kitty from the wilda bobcat, as such creatures are called in many parts of the US; they are wild animals, even when captured very young, are not easily domesticated and seldom make good pets. Keeping a wild critter is illegal in some states; others have strict restrictions or require specific permits for their live possessions.