saw the pelt and coveted it. He offered twenty-five dollars. Neewah
wanted fifty. The tourist tried to beat him down. There wasn't any
argument about it. The whole conversation was a monologue. The Indian
saw that the tourist wanted the skin badly, so he just sat and stared
into space while the tourist elaborated on how much twenty-five dollars
would buy and how little the pelt had cost the Indian! The buck simply
sat there until it was about time for the train to pull out, then he
picked up the hide and stalked away. Mr. Tourist hastened after him and
shelled out fifty pesos. I expect he told the home folks how he shot
that panther in self-defense.

Ranger West did shoot a big cougar soon afterward. Not in self-defense
but in revenge.

Not many deer lived on the South Rim then. That was before the fawns
were brought by airplane across the Canyon! The few that were there were
cherished and protected in every possible way. A salt pen was built so
high the cattle couldn't get in, and it was a wonderful sight to see the
graceful deer spring over that high fence with seemingly no effort at
all. Ranger West came in one morning with blood in his eye--one of his
pets had been dragged down under the Rim and half devoured by a giant
cougar. A hunt was staged at once. I was told to stay at home, but that
didn't stop me from going. Ranger Fisk always saddled Tar Baby for me
when everybody else thought it best to leave me behind. So I wasn't far
away when the big cat was treed by the dogs. He sat close to the trunk
of the dead tree, defying the dogs and spitting at them until they were
almost upon him. Then he sprang up the tree and lay stretched out on a
limb snarling until a rifle ball brought him down. He hit the ground
fighting, and ripped the nose of an impetuous puppy wide open. Another
shot stretched him out. He measured eight feet from tip to tip. His skin