The mountain lion leapt forward, knocking a hound to the granite with a single, outstretched paw. The struck hound whimpered and the other hounds cleared like bowling pins. Buzz pulled the trigger and a puff of fine granite powder rose behind the lion. He shot again, hitting more rock, the bullet ricocheting off the mountain past his ear.

The lion, sensing an opening, leapt twenty feet and pounced on Buzz. The rifle clanked to the granite, useless. Buzz screamed and covered his face. The lion’s claws shredded his shirt and gouged chunks from his torso. He screamed like a child, his face contorted with shock. Without hesitation the lion bit down, catching Buzz’s left hand. Buzz pulled his arm back, screaming. But his hand did not come back with his arm. Buzz’s missing hand flopped to the granite, the fingers twitching like spider legs. Blood sprayed from the stump, staining the muzzle of the big cat.

“It got my hand—it got my hand! It’s gone! It’s gone!”

Aaron vomited when he saw all the blood. Some of the blood pooled in a rocky depression, like a miniature Black River. Buzz sat there, rocking back and forth, holding the stump with his right hand.

Aaron turned and saw the lion bounding up mountain, its black-tipped tail disappearing between two boulders. Then he slid his belt off and bent down to Buzz.

“Take a deep breath. You need to calm down. I’m going to stop the bleeding, do you understand?”

Buzz rocked back and forth, gibberish and spittle flying from his lips.

“Calm,” Aaron said. “You’ll make the bleeding worse.”

Buzz continued to rock, spouting nonsense.

Aaron cocked his arm back and hit Buzz in the chin as hard as he could. Buzz went limp and slouched to the mountain. Then Aaron wrapped his belt just above Buzz’s elbow and cinched it as tight as he could, keeping tension by pushing down on Buzz’s shoulder.

“Hang in there buddy,” Aaron said.

Leaf looked around, stunned.

“Leaf—are you with me? Leaf?”

“Need to round up my hounds,” Leaf muttered. He walked away in a daze, then regained some vigor. “Come on, boys, get back now, you hear! Get on back!” Leaf clapped his hands and whistled, but the hounds did not return. Barking came from up mountain, as if cast down from the skies.

“We need to get him back to the truck now,” Aaron said. “We can get your hounds later. They can handle themselves, right? I can get my camera gear later, too. You hear me, Leaf?”

Leaf looked up the mountain, his upper lip quivering, pipe clutched in his right hand.

“You take his legs, I’ll take his torso,” Aaron said.