Armed with several sketch pads, pencils, compass, and other tools of her trade, Mona rode Shaggy east on a downward slope near a stream. Rupert rode with her a little ways, and then they separated with Rupert going west and Mona following the stream. It was her contention that early explorers would use water not only as a highway, but also as a marker if they couldn’t find well traveled footpaths. Since the natives had established trading routes, Mona expected to find some trace of a forgotten path. She had read John Swift’s journal where he stated that he and his men traveled such paths to Yadkin Valley, North Carolina, where several of his crew members lived. Yet she couldn’t find a single trace of any human imprint from the last several years, let alone two centuries ago.
For several hours, Mona continued until the brush became too thick and she turned back, retracing her steps. Mona brought Shaggy to a stop while she made entries in her notebook, checking the time and the position of the sun. Twisting in her saddle, Mona checked her surroundings and took a drink from her canteen. She was in a small clearing. Mona looked to see if trees had been cut down or if plowing had occurred in the not-too-distant past. Finally, concluding this was a natural clearing, Mona moved Shaggy into the stream for a drink where something shiny caught her eye. As she leaned over in her saddle to get a better look, Shaggy snorted, nervously side stepping, which caused Mona to lose her balance and fall into the stream. Mona grabbed Shaggy’s reins but the horse reared pulling away.
“Shaggy, stop. STOP!” Mona cried out dodging Shaggy’s hooves. She let go only to have Shaggy bolt. Confused, Mona got on her knees and tried to stand up, but the weight of her now drenched clothes caused her to stumble back into the stream. That’s when she saw it.
A panther! A black, sleek cat hunched down by the water’s edge staring at her.
Mona gasped.
The panther snarled.
Still sitting in the stream, Mona slowly pulled her gun from its holster. “Little sister, I mean you no harm but if you make a move toward me, I’m gonna blow you to kingdom come.” Shaking from the cold, Mona held the gun in front of her as she scooted on her fanny out of the stream.
The panther watched intently.
Mona’s hand slipped on a rock causing her to fall backward, sending her head underwater. Mona rose from the water sputtering and flailing.
The panther, agitated by the flinging water and Mona’s appearance of being helpless, let loose a scream that sounded like a woman terrified. It sprang from its position on the bank.
Mona pulled the trigger, but the gun didn’t fire. She immediately reached for a knife in her boot, knowing her action would be too late. The panther would be upon her in the next second—not time enough to even raise her arm.
A white blur flew past Mona and engaged the panther into a frightful clash with much snarling, growling, and shrieking. It was a terrible struggle to behold.
The startled panther disengaged and ran into the woods.
Mona blinked. Mona blinked again, not believing what she was seeing. “Chloe? CHLOE!”
A bloody, matted poodle stood panting in the stream staring after the retreating panther.
“Chloe?”
Chloe turned and looked at Mona—her tail making a feeble attempt to wag.
Mona crawled over to Chloe. “Oh, my dear. You ran away and tracked me down. Such a brave girl.”
Chloe licked Mona’s face as Mona burst into tears.
Wiping tears from her cheeks, Mona struggled to stand up in the fast moving stream. “Can you walk, dearest? We’ve got to get to base camp. I’ve got to get dry, and you need medical attention. Come on, Chloe. Walk, pretty girl.”
Chloe followed Mona as long as she could. When she lay down and refused to go further, Mona picked Chloe up and carried her, sometimes with the dog’s back paws dragging the ground as Mona struggled to get back to the shack.
Together, they made a sad pair limping through the dense forest until Mona spied a horse coming toward her. She waved.