The Thinking Rocks by C. Allan Butkus Page B

he returned to his kill.
    As the big cat approached the meadow
where the calf's body lay, he noticed something strange.  There were no
vultures on the calf's carcass. Some of them were in the trees, but none on the
ground. There were vultures in the air circling the clearing, but the trees
held most of the flock.  Something must have frightened them away from the
kill.  He sniffed the air; it was fouled by the vultures, but still held
the faint scent of wolf.  Only one wolf. A pack of wolves were a dangerous
threat to all but the most fearsome of animals. He had learned about wolf packs
when he was younger and lacked experience.  He had come upon a pack of
them and attacked with little thought that they would be a threat. They were
startled and ran in different directions when he charged, and he managed to
hurt one.  They seemed to be confused at first, but then they broke into
groups and attacked him. He was amazed that any creature so small would
attack.  He renewed his attack on them, but it was like trying to fight
smoke.  One moment one was close and he attacked it, but he would be hit
from the rear.  They would hit and run, they seemed to be everywhere. The
madder he became the more effective their attacks became.  They kept going
for his hind legs.  It wasn't long before he realized he was in trouble
and there was a chance they would wear him out and kill him.  Fortunately,
he was close to the river and was able to get into the water.  The wolves'
attacks then had to be concentrated on his front, and they were not foolish to
try. Instead, they changed tactics and tried to get him out of the water. 
Some of them would lie down on the bank and roll around on their backs trying
to get him to attack. Others would rush into the water but they always broke
away before they got close enough to be hurt.  He was not taken in by
their tricks but interested to see how smart they were.  They barked at
him, and he roared at them.  He decided this whole mess shouldn't have
happened in the first place.  The only way out was retreat.  He
backed out farther into the water until he could swim, and then struck out for
the other shore to a chorus of wolf calls.  He hated wolfs.  Today
there was only one wolf, and it was payback time.
    The saber tooth tested the wind and
then moved quietly through the brush until he could approach his kill from down
wind.  He knew the wolf had a sensitive nose, but if the slight breeze
didn't shift directions he would be able to surprise it.  The closer he got,
the less chance the wolf had of escape.  Moving forward cautiously, his
huge shoulder muscles quivered in anticipation of the signal to launch his
attack. He had his ears down and his mouth open as he continued to close the
distance.
    The she-wolf had dropped her guard
and was gulping large chunks of meat without appearing to chew.  She was
completely wrapped up in eating as much as she could in as short a time as
possible.
    The big cat attacked without sound or
warning.  His charge was like a flicker of light.  He was on top of
the she-wolf before she could raise her head.  The cat caught her full on
the side with his shoulder, but before she was knocked away, his claws raked
her body from shoulder to hindquarter.  She was unconscious as she was
spun away to land in a heap on the opposite side of the calf.  The big cat
bounded over the calf and landed beside the wolf.  He drew back to strike
again but noticed she was not moving. Her side was laid open and her intestines
were visible through the claw marks; blood pulsed out of the wounds onto the
grass.  He nudged her head with a bloody paw and it just rolled around as
if it were broken.  He reached down with his long tongue and tasted the
wolf's warm blood.  Taking a deep breath, he brought forth a roar, which
could be heard for miles.  It rolled across the land like a bloody shadow
that covered all who heard it with fear.  This was the victory call of a
killer,