We continue with Mark Banta’s story of a cowboy whose world is shaken by an encounter with an unknown creature. Pat Barker has contributed another exciting illustration to the series as well.

If you haven’t already, read the first chapter of A New Reality to find out how the story started.

Chapter II

Grady was mesmerized by John’s tale and even more so by the huge track he’d now been staring at for the better part of 10 minutes.  His eyes shifted focus back and forth between John and the track.  He could tell at a glance that John was telling the truth, and the track acted almost like a magnet, drawing his eyes back to the ground.  Grady was fully prepared to accept John’s reality, even though he was not completely convinced his friend’s perception of reality was accurate.  Whatever the truth was, Grady, like John, was keen to find it.

Grady had allowed his friend to complete the story uninterrupted, and now he was on a search for his own answers.  “I reckon you have some type of plan?”

John removed his hat and ran his hand back through his silver-gray hair.  He looked skyward, as though looking for answers.  “I don’t see I have a lot of choice at this point.”

Grady spit a large wad of tobacco juice into the swirling creek.  “And what the hell does that mean, exactly?”

John cracked a smile.  “It means I’ve either stumbled onto a hell of a discovery, or I’ve lost my gourd.”

Grady snorted a laugh as he absently ran his fingers down his silver, handlebar mustache.

“It’s just one of those things you don’t turn back from,” John continued.  “I ran it over in my mind a dozen times this morning while I studied this track.  I kept coming back to the same conclusion.  I saw something I can’t explain.  You can’t just walk away from something like that.  I made a decision right then and there that I’d find out what that thing was.

“You think you can track the sumbitch?” Grady asked.

John looked deep in thought and nodded his head absently.  There was a calm confidence in that nod.  “It’s a big bastard, Grady.  I could track it blindfolded.”

Grady nodded.  He had seen the man work in the jungles of Vietnam.  John was one of the best.  “And when we find it…?”

“I don’t know,” John quickly conceded.  “I guess we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

Grady cut straight to the chase.  “You gonna shoot it?”

The lines on John’s face tightened.  “I don’t have any qualms about shooting it, if that’s what you mean.”

“Hell, no!  That’s not what I mean.  I know damn well you don’t have any problem with shooting just about anything.  I asked if you would shoot it.”

“I’m still turning that over in my head,” John said as he turned and started walking back to his horse.

John took the lead and cut through the bottoms heading downstream to a shallow crossing.  The noon hour came and went as he and Grady backtracked upstream and intersected the trail on the other side of Swine Creek.  Neither man made mention of eating lunch.  The mood was intense, and the horses were jittery as they followed the tracks up the creek bank and through the bottoms.

The bottoms were full of oak leaves that crunched lightly with each step of the horses’ hoofs.  John stayed tight on the trail.  A few times, he dismounted Old Ned and studied the ground closely.  These moments never lasted more than a few seconds and John was quick to remount.

“He’s heading upstream,” John remarked an hour later.

“What a revelation,” Grady snarled past his chew of Beechnut.  “I can see that much.”

John didn’t acknowledge the remark.  Instead, he reached into his saddlebag and fumbled around for a bit.  A few moments later, he pulled out a Ziploc bag filled with dried meat.  He turned without a word and tossed it to Grady, who caught it easily.

Grady’s chubby, round face turned red.  “You tryin’ to start a food fight?”

“Nope,” John replied calmly, “I’m just trying to fill that big belly of yours.  You’re hard enough to get along with when you’re not hungry.”

Grady rubbed his potbelly self-consciously, but did not comment.  Instead, he spit his wad of tobacco out and began gnawing on the dried venison.  This served John’s purpose; it kept Grady’s mouth full and kept his friend from breaking his concentration. Despite John’s earlier confidence that the large animal would be easy to track, he was finding that the trail was getting complicated.  Three times now, the animal had backtracked and then headed off in a slightly different direction, as if trying to cover its trail.  John made no comment about this to Grady.  He was too content with the silence.  He did wonder silently to himself about the apparent intelligence this animal possessed.  How could it know I would follow, he asked himself.

Around two o’clock that afternoon, the pair of cowboys reached the far northern fence line of John’s ranch. They were still within 50 yards of Swine Creek and had followed the bottom to this point.  The dark bare wood of blackjack oaks and the soft green shades of young cedar trees surrounded them.  The afternoon sun had melted the crispness out of the air.  With the temperatures hovering in the mid-forties, the two men contemplated their next move.

Grady pointed across the fence at the neighboring property.  “So you think he crossed onto Kincaid’s place, do ya?”

“No,” John replied, “I know he crossed onto Kincaid’s place.”  He eased Old Ned right next to the fence line and leaned over in the saddle, pointing to the opposite side of the fence.  “See there.”

Grady eased his big chestnut mare, which he affectionately called “Ole Whore”, next to the fence line and followed the line of sight John was pointing out.  About four feet on the other side of the barbed wire fence was a clear track.  Grady shook his head in puzzlement.  He removed his round, gold-rimmed glasses and cleaned them on his shirttail before putting them back on.  “That sumbitch has got some kind of step to it, don’t it?”

“Yes, I’d say it does” John said.

“Just how tall was this thing?” asked Grady.

John looked Grady dead in the eye to let him see he was about to speak the truth. “It’s just a guess, but I’d say it was better than 8 feet tall.”

Grady’s hand involuntarily slid off the saddle horn and onto the butt of his 45-70. “Good thing I brung my elephant gun!” he laughed nervously.

“Yeah,”  John agreed.  “Good thing.”

John’s stomach was beginning to growl and he decided it was a good time to stop for a bite to eat.  He and Grady dismounted and made a quick meal of sandwiches John had prepared, accompanied by a cold can of pinto beans. 

“Do you think we’ll catch up to it before dark?” Grady asked.

John considered the question for a moment before answering.  “I think so, but I think we can count on at least one night of camping.”

“Who’s gonna watch after the herd while you’re away?” Grady asked.

“I put out round bales this morning.  They’ll be alright for a few days.”  He paused.  “What about you?  Is your brother watching after your place?”
 
“Yeah, I gave him call before I left.” Grady replied.

“Good then,” John agreed.  “We got plenty of time to hunt.”

They followed the fence line east out of the bottoms and into some rolling grass covered hills.  The closest gate was a half-mile travel and by the time they got back to the trail, it was nearing four o’clock.  John picked up the trail and continued through the bottoms of Kincaid’s place.  He had known old man Kincaid and had hunted his land his whole life.  John knew he would be okay with their trespassing.

Approximately 30 minutes later, John discovered that the trail cut east out of the bottoms, and appeared to be following a small tributary that flowed from Swine Creek.  This caused the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, because he knew a confrontation could come soon.  John was familiar with the area and knew the small stream and wood line surrounding it ran out after about a half mile.  It was a peninsula of trees that cut through open country.  He didn’t figure an animal as wary as this one would cut across open country in the daylight.

John felt a familiar knot beginning to form in his stomach.  He had felt much the same when he was coming near the end of a trail in the Vietnamese jungles.  He still had not decided how he would react to a face-to-face encounter with the creature, but his hand slid down on the butt of his Springfield 30-06 and pulled it clear of the scabbard.

As they cut east, John’s growing apprehension did not go unnoticed by Grady, who had his hand on his rifle ever since they crossed onto Kincaid’s place.  He now pulled it free and rested the butt on his right thigh.  “Are you gonna tell me what’s on your mind?” Grady prodded.

John stopped Old Ned in his tracks and turned in the saddle.  Grady saw at a glance that John was wearing his war face.  Deep creases ran from his eyes and down his cheeks.  John was not taking this thing lightly.  Rather than speaking verbally, he instead reverted to the sign language he and Grady had used in Vietnam.  John communicated through several quick gestures that he believed the creature was just ahead and they needed to be on alert.

The stream ran dry after a quarter mile of slow riding.  John cut off the trail and directed Old Ned into the soft mud of the streambed to keep down on noise.  Grady quickly followed his lead.

There was only 30 minutes of good daylight left, and this added to John’s growing apprehension.  He desperately did not want to corner this thing in bad light.  Knowing the creature was likely just ahead, he slid the safety off his rifle and quickened his pace. 

The pair of cowboys had covered only one hundred yards before John threw his hand up, bringing them to a dead stop.  Grady quickly surveyed his surroundings looking for the source of John’s concern.  It took him only a few seconds to figure out what had caught John’s attention.  Moments before, the woods had been alive with the chattering of insects and birds.  Now, the only sound was the soft hum of the wind blowing off the brim of Grady’s hat.

John moved his free hand up to the stock of his rifle, preparing to take aim if necessary.  Grady followed his lead.  The horses began stomping their hoofs and switching their tails nervously but held their ground.  The horses had no doubt detected it long before him, but when the wind switched directions a moment later, John was overcome with the now-familiar smell of death and sulfur.

“What the hell is that?” Grady snarled.

“Quiet!” John hissed.

Click to enlarge.
Copyright 2006 Pat Barker.

As if their voices had broken some kind of invisible sound barrier, the woods came alive with the crash of brush and timber.  Both horses began sidestepping away from the sound, located straight ahead of the two cowboys.  John and Grady handled the nervous horses easily, keeping them facing the source of the sound.  A second later, John’s reality was confirmed and Grady’s was shattered.

The gigantic ape crashed down out of the tree and landed in the middle of the streambed with a thump that reverberated through the bottom.  It briefly went down on all fours, just feet in front of them and then leapt at an angle away from the cowboys up the muddy bank.  In that single leap, it covered more than 12 feet and then rose up on two legs.

Instinct and fear took over the minds of both John and Grady in that moment.  In an instant, they reverted to their military training and reacted without conscious thought.  Both men shouldered their rifles and fired almost simultaneously.  The beast fell at the report of the rifles, and again, everything went silent.

Continue to Chapter 3 of A New Reality

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