The Drownlands Cutoff was the most isolated of the running-wagon stations. Because of its remoteness, the station-master was rotated out once every two months. “Stay longer than two months at the Cutoff,” Burwell had often been told, “and you risk going stark raving mad.” Passengers and cargo came through only once a week and other than that, the station-master seldom saw any other visitors. So, when the wagons came, the night was filled with talk. News was exchanged, stories told, lies and gossip created, and contests held to see who could tell the biggest whopper. Burwell knew that on these nights at the Cutoff, you never could tell where truth left off and whopper began. But that did not bother him, because he always learned enough new tales to last him until the next trip through the Cutoff station.
That night, Burwell heard a story he knew he could tell over and over again for the enjoyment of his friends. “Yep, I seen it myself,” Zeke, the station-master, was saying, “I seen Cow and Cougar travelin’ together like they was the best friends in the world...never seen anything like it. Cows and Cougars together? Friendly like? It’d never happen, unless...unless they were drugged or bewitched or something! Yep, you mark my words,” Zeke said with a knowing nod of this head, “them two’s smuggling cactus sap or they found a gold mine or something like that. It ain’t natural I say. Something fishy about a Cow and a Cougar being together like that.” Then Zeke lowered his voice as if he were afraid someone might overhear him, “and you tell me why they came from the Bone Forest...you tell me that. No creature lives in the Bone Forest. There’s no food, no water, and the sun will fry you in no time. Anyone says they’re from the Bone Forest, you know they’re liars. But they just looks me in the eye and says they’re from the Bone Forest, like it was just a nice little place you went for vacation or something! It ain’t natural, I tell you. The Bone Forest ain’t nothing but dust and sun. Nothing can live there. I tell you, it gave me the willies!” Zeke stopped and leaned forward to Burwell, looking at him with a furrowed brow. “And to top it off,” Zeke continued, “when I asks them where they was going, they says, ‘to the Mountain that Moves But Stands Still’...Now don’t that beat all? It ain’t natural, I tell you.”
Burwell filed this away in his memory for later use. His friends back home would love it—especially once he embellished it a bit more and polished some of the details, maybe say the Cow made everyone laugh telling Cougar jokes, or something like that.
Poor Burwell. King Stuppy doesn’t like jokes about Cougars. Somebody should warn Burwell. Oops. Too late...
Bad to Worse for Breister
Breister’s lungs felt as if they were about to burst. He had been holding his breath for what seemed like forever. But he dared not breathe. He was still many feet underwater, being tumbled and tossed with ferocious power by the raging torrent of the river.
He had barely caught a glimpse of the Cougar that was ambushing him before the attack began. Raising his arm, he had begun to swing his only weapon—the weighted fishing line—when the large, wild-faced Cougar flew into him. The force of the attack carried Breister backwards off of the ledge where he was camping.
SPLOOSH! Breister and the Cougar hit the water, tangled together with the fishing line that had wrapped around both of them. The Cougar, who had been swinging a machete at Breister as the attack began, now found his arms useless. The sheer brute force of the rapids slammed them into boulders in the river with such power that his arm was crushed, the machete falling free and gone forever in the surging torrent. The attack was forgotten as both Breister and the Cougar battled to save themselves. It was hopeless. With their arms immobilized by the tangle of fishing line, their bodies slammed again and again into rocks and boulders. They were at the mercy of the river. Breister could barely remain conscious to fight to hold his breath. He must hold out. To breathe now would fill his lungs with water and that would be the end. SLAM! Breister felt his body suddenly hit the rock canyon wall with tremendous force, enough to kill even a powerful Wood Cow like himself.
But, fortunately for him, Broken Eye’s body had cushioned the blow, being sandwiched between Breister and the wall. The protecting shield had saved Breister from death...but the force of the impact crushed the Cougar. Breister, and his now lifeless attacker, caught on the rocks by tangled loops of fishing line. The sturdy cord had hung up on a piece of broken rock. Breister felt the sharp fishing line beginning to cut into his body as the force of the water tore at the mass in its way.
At last, the power of the river won out. The tangled line snapped and they surged free from one another back into the current.
Battered, gasping for breath, choking on swallowed water; Breister struggled to keep his head above the torrent as it carried him down through the ferocious rapids. Then, the river became less tortured. Although the pace of the current did not slacken, the water became smoother and the boulders fewer. Breister could now keep his head above water and gather some fresh air in his lungs. But, as he was taking a breath, he saw a Skull Buzzard diving towards him. Not having time to duck, Breister braced for the impact—but it never came. The Skull Buzzard had gone for the body of Broken Eye, preferring the ease of an already dead prey. Other Skull Buzzards joined the first, and they lifted the body out of the current and carried it to the riverside where they feasted on the carcass.
Breister turned his head away. His eyes fell on a massive whirlpool that inexorably pulled him into its yawning maw...