house, full of excitement.
“Que le ocurre?” Maria asked.
“A lion,” Willard said.
“Yes,” said Miguel, “there is a cougar around. He killed two sheep over in San Cristobal.”
Rosendo listened to them, then stood. “You say there is a lion?”
“Si, Rosie.” Miguel caught his breath. “From the size of the tracks, a big one, too.”
“We’re just going around and making sure everybody knows,” Willard said. “You know, so people are careful and watch out for their stock and things like that.”
“Well, you boys are doing a fine job,” Maria said.
“A cat,” Rosendo said to himself, sitting again.
Maria took the basket of sopaipillas from the table. “Here, take a couple of these with you,” she said.
Each took a couple, thanked Maria, and left.
“Imagine that,” Maria said, sitting at the table with Rosendo and shaking her head. “A lion. I hope Grasa hasn’t met up with him.”
Rosendo chewed a mouthful of posole. “A dog would have little chance against such a beast. Poor Grasa.”
The old man finished his meal and went into the living room where he sat and rocked and listened to the radio. He enjoyed particularly the call-in talk shows that had people arguing about such strange things. “That there are such people,” he would say, getting up to grab a bran muffin from the basket on the kitchen table. Rosendo stayed up later than Maria, as was his custom, then went to the door and looked out over the yard. The moon was full and Rosendo sensed it more than he saw it. He ate the last bite of muffin and heard a sound. He stopped chewing.
“Rosie,” a voice called to him in a whisper.
“Moe? Is that you?”
“Si.”
Rosendo listened for movement from Maria’s room and finding none, walked out into the yard. “Moe?”
“Rosie?”
“Moe?”
It took the men ten minutes to find each other by sound, but they did. They stood by the shed.
“I didn’t hear your car,” Rosendo said.
“I parked it down the road. I didn’t want to wake up your sister.”
“Why have you come here so late?” Rosendo asked.
“I left early, but it was a very long drive. When it got dark the way became even longer.”
Rosendo nodded.
“Did you hear about the lion?” Mauricio asked.
“Miguel was here. He told us. There has not been a lion in these parts in many years.”
“Miguel and Willard and some of the other men are talking about tracking the animal and hunting it down,” Mauricio said. “What do they know about tracking lions, about hunting them? I asked them that and they laughed at me.”
“They’ve never even seen a lion. You and I have seen a lion. Remember?”
“I remember.”
“That was a big animal,” Mauricio said.
“It killed a bull, I recall that.”
“I believe it is we who have to get this monster,” Mauricio said.
Rosendo looked back in what he thought was the direction of the house. “I believe you’re right. We have to hunt down the lion. But we mustn’t tell anyone.”
“They would try to stop us for sure.”
Rosendo sighed. He then invited his friend to stay the night in his house. “It will be too long a drive for you tonight. We will rise early before Maria wakes up.”
Mauricio agreed and retired to the sofa where he slept until first light. Rosendo made sandwiches of chiles and cheese, collected some apples and other foods, filled a couple of canteens, and tied two rolled-up blankets to his knapsack. The men went into the backyard to the shed, where they took their rifle from behind the drums. They found Mauricio’s blue Datsun down the road, got in and, after a moderate amount of driving, found the mouth of some canyon.
The two men wandered most of the day, putting distance between themselves and the car by following an arroyo up the mountain. They stopped once to eat and rest, but were driven by great excitement and so moved at a decent clip through the forest. They were serious about their mission, talking little and walking