“We’re taking a big chance. What if we injure the cat? Or kill it. Large wild animals don’t always survive the stress of being hunted and sedated.” Chris fingered a small turquoise mountain lion fetish in his pocket. He let Jon Angel take the lead up the Comanche Canyon trail into the Manzano Mountain Wilderness. Behind them, Cait dragged the travois poles along the track, overgrown with cactus and sliced by rain ruts.
“That’s the risk we take,” Jon said. “But I don’t trust the feds and the state wildlife people to do the right thing for this cat. They’ll hold a press conference and try to make themselves look good. Who knows what they’ll decide to do? Let it stay in the Manzanos? A jaguar is at risk so close to a metro area. Even if they move it, word will get out about where it’s relocated.”
Cait spoke up. “Jack says Sonny Para had other wild animals in cages on his ranch. A bobcat, a mountain lion, and a black bear. There was a carcass of a mountain lion in a field near the ranch, blasted apart by automatic weapons. Para got what he deserved.”
“Black-hearted bastard.” Jon sighed. “A reserve in northern Mexico might be the best place for the jaguar. Although there’s poachers there too. I’ve met some of the biologists who monitor the Mexican jaguar population. They’re good people who are passionate about wildlife. But I wouldn’t risk trying to sneak this one back over the border. We’ll have to hope Wilderness Protectors can find a good place for it.”
They climbed for over an hour, paralleling a deep gorge cutting into the mountainside. Juniper and pinon were replaced by fir and pine as they gained elevation. The trail was overrun with scratchy brush and crisscrossed by fallen tree trunks, remnants of past forest fires.
The dogs’ behavior changed. They became jumpy, whining and straining at their leads, ears tipped forward toward the other side of the canyon. Jon kept a firm grip on the leashes. “They’re on to something.”
Cait and Chris looked at each other. The only critters in sight were birds and squirrels in the trees. They hadn’t seen tracks or spoor from larger wildlife on the trail. The dogs could be reacting to anything.
“I’m going to let them run. It might be our cat, or not.” Jon opened the bag of jaguar poop and offered it to the dogs again. “Go find.”
He unclipped the animals and they streaked down into the canyon, then up a densely forested slope on the far side. Out of view, they started baying.
“That was fast. They’ve cornered or treed something. Hope to hell they don’t get hurt.” Jon left the trail and chased after the sound, long legs eating up the broken terrain.
Cait and Chris loped after him. “Watch your step,” she called out. This was broken bone territory. Unforgiving terrain, littered with loose shale, stumps and hidden holes to trip over.
The dogs’ racket grew louder. Cait’s arm stung and burned, but adrenalin overrode the pain. Excitement sang in her heart as she and Chris stumbled through a dense tangle of Gambel oak. At the base of a lofty ponderosa pine, Jon met up with the dogs. He struggled unsuccessfully to reattach leads as they snapped and jumped up at whatever had taken shelter high above them.
Cait stopped behind Jack and Jon. Her eyes scanned up the tree trunk. Something large was partly hidden in swaying branches about twenty feet up. She could make out thick amber fur marked with black rosettes. The jaguar. It bared its fangs and issued a deep, throaty rumble.
Despite the leaping, barking dogs below it, the animal focused on Cait. Time froze. She couldn’t move, her eyes locked with those of the cat.
Jon Angel gave up trying to restrain the dogs. He pulled the tranquilizer gun from his pack. “Stay back. Way back. I’m shooting only one dart. I don’t want her completely out when she comes down. She’s too high up and might hurt herself.”
Looking for a good sight line, he circled the tree. At the start of the hike, he’d explained that he hoped to shoot a sedating dart in the cat’s hip or thigh. A big animal like a jaguar might need two or more darts to knock it out during the time it would take to drag the travois back down to the parking lot and load the animal into a cage in the back of his truck.
Jon squeezed off a shot. A great roar raised gooseflesh on Cait’s arms. Her feet were rooted to the ground, her throat dry. She stood quaking as the animal leaped from the tree and hit the ground running, a muscled blur of amber and black. One dog squealed as it was raked by a big paw and flung aside like a bunny.
Chris jumped in front of her in case the animal ran their way. Jon pivoted and fired the tranquilizer gun again as the jaguar bounded up the slope and melded into thick brush.
The dogs streaked after the cat, their cries indicating they had it cornered again. Cait’s pulse hammered as she followed Chris and Jon.
“Did you hit it?” Chris asked in a small voice.
“Not sure.” Jon panted as he trotted toward where the dogs had taken up position in front of a rocky outcropping concealed by fir saplings.
They regrouped behind the dogs. Jon pointed the gun toward the trees. “This is bad. That cat’s gonna take someone out if we’re not careful. I can’t see it, and I don’t want to go in there looking for it.”
Branches snapped in the underbrush. The boldest dog shot forward, barking furiously. Cait feared the big cat would explode from its hiding place and take out a dog or a human. It was either lying in wait or woozy from sedative.
“The clock’s ticking. Either I hit it or I didn’t. I don’t want to shoot again without seeing where I’m hitting. I’m going in.” Jon sounded panicky. He parted the brush and squeezed into the thicket cloaking the creature’s hiding place.
Cait heard the pop of the tranquilizer gun going off, then Jon’s anxious voice. “She’s out. I gave her another dose for good measure. Where’s the travois?”
“I’ll get it.” Cait sprinted for the contraption she’d left up the slope when they had first come upon the jaguar. She dragged the bundle back toward the outcropping. Chris and Jon emerged, hauling the sedated jaguar out of the brush by front paws and rear legs.
“Tell me she’s not going to wake up and eat us. Her eyes are open.” Cait’s hands shook as she positioned the travois and spread the canvas section.
“Depends on how fast you can run.” Jon managed a joke as he and Chris grunted and hefted their charge onto the travois. “Don’t worry, she’s out cold.” He bound paws and legs together with leather straps and secured the animal by nylon ropes to its padded support.
The dogs orbited the travois, drooling and woofing and sneaking in for a closer look at their catch. Jon leashed the agitated canines and handed off the leads to Cait, who pulled them away from the doped-up cat.
The temperature on the mountain was in the high thirties, but Cait was dripping with sweat. She stood agog at the sight before her. The jaguar seemed to gaze at her, its eyelids open and mouth parted, exposing a pink tongue and the dagger tips of large canine teeth.
“What a beauty.” Chris’ voice was filled with wonder. Awe overriding caution, he stuck a hand out, touched a paw larger than his spread hand. “How did she find her way across the border all the way to the outskirts of Tucson?”
“Let’s go.” Jon looked at his watch, clearly worried about the sedative wearing off. He inserted another dart into the gun and slid it barrel up into his pack.
“We’ll do the hauling.” He flexed an elbow at Chris. “Cait, hold onto the dogs and watch her. Let me know if she moves or bats an eyelash. She may need another dose. I’ve darted mountain lions, but this girl’s bigger. We don’t want her waking up and getting out of control.”
Chris and Jon put on work gloves, hoisted up the ends of the two by fours and slipped their arms through makeshift carrying straps.
“And we’re off. We have to make it across this canyon and up to the trail. Then we’re home free. It’s mostly downhill from there.” Jon bent his knees and straightened up to shoulder his part of the load. Chris took his position and they moved forward. The poles in the rear of the travois scraped and bumped along the ground, bouncing and jostling the limp cat. The canvas sagged but stayed in place.
Their progress was slow but steady. The men struggled down the slope, pausing to readjust the arm straps and their grip on the wood. Cait followed the travois, watching for any indication that the jaguar was regaining consciousness.
At the canyon bottom, they rested for a minute before starting the steep climb to the trail. Jon and Chris struggled to tow the travois and its feline load over and around an obstacle course of fallen timber and jutting rock. Cait had her hands full watching the cat and keeping the dogs away from her.
“How’s she doing?” Jon asked.
“Still asleep.” As Cait spoke, the golden eyes widened and focused on her. “Hey, she’s up.” She yelped and dragged the dogs away, watching in fascination as a large front paw flared open, claws unsheathed and ready for action.
In one smooth motion, Jon laid down his travois pole, scooped up the tranquilizer gun and aimed. He fired once, the dart burrowing into a dense thigh muscle.
They watched as the cat’s eyes glazed over, a shudder rolling through its body.
“Whew.” Jon let out a deep breath. “Last thing I want is her waking up. She could hurt herself and us. Come on, let’s go.”
Chris and Jon strained like Clydesdales as they wrestled their load up the final distance to the trail. Reaching the track, they set the travois down and took a quick breather. Chris rubbed his calves, while Jon massaged a shoulder.
“My turn?” Cait called out.
“Is that a good idea? What about your arm?” Jon sounded doubtful.
“I’m strong as an ox. Let me try.” Cait darted to the front of the travois and slipped a pole strap over her good shoulder. Chris took up the other support.
She threw her weight forward and plowed ahead. Damaged tissue pulled and protested. Her shoulders ached and burned. Scrunching her face into a grimace, she counted to fifty, over and over.
The jaguar’s body jolted over each bump and depression in the rough ground. Cait winced each time the cat’s bulk pitched over a large obstacle. She didn’t want to hurt it. Or awaken that wrath of tooth and claw.
They had made it to the trail, but the going was still slow. Each time they came to a rain rut or downed tree in the way, Jon strained to lift the rear of the travois as Chris and Cait strong-armed their way forward.
They reached the parking lot none too soon. Cait wouldn’t admit it, but she was ready to drop. Muscles pinched and cramped up. She’d towed the travois pole with her right arm, but the superficial bullet wound on her left arm ached and throbbed with every movement.
“Coast is clear,” Jon announced as he hurried back from scoping out the parking lot. He herded the dogs onto the back seat of his truck and unlocked the camper shell door while Cait and Chris lugged the travois over.
The jaguar received more tranquilizer before they wrestled it into a cage inside the camper. Once the cat was safely confined, Jon reached in and injected fluid under its skin to ward off dehydration.
“We’ve got four hours of driving. Chris, you ride in the cab and watch her through the back window. I’ll stop every half hour or so and evaluate her.”
Cait eyed the captive. “We should name her Pueblo. She wound up near Tucson, which they call the Old Pueblo.”
“I like that,” Chris said. “But I was thinking of co’ya, because she’s beautiful. A nice Zuni name.”
“Co’ya it is,” Cait said.
Before climbing into his truck, Jon called his contacts at the environmental organization, to let them know the capture had been a success. The plan was to rendezvous in Lordsburg, New Mexico, with the group’s predator specialists, who would lead them to where the jaguar was to be released.
Then they were off, Cait wheeling her Jeep after the big dually.
***
The caravan pulled into a bustling truck stop off the I-10 in Lordsburg. Cait put Jon’s dogs on leashes and walked them in a field alongside the parking lot. Jon hopped out of his truck, phone to his ear.
He waved at a man and woman who stepped out of the front door of the store. The pair approached, dressed in faded jeans, coats and scuffed boots.
“Polo, Jeannette. Good to see you.” Jon shook their hands and introduced them to Cait and Chris. Jeannette Campos, a former forest ranger, was the lead researcher at Wilderness Protectors and an expert in the biodiversity of Southwest mountain ranges. She had done extensive studies on wild cats in the Southwest, including the historical range of jaguars.
Polo Carson resembled an old desert rat with crinkly blue eyes and a network of wrinkles on his tanned face. He was an ex-rancher and a lifelong outdoorsman who had decided that conserving wildlife was more important than hunting it.
“She doing ok?” Polo peered inside the camper shell.
“Seems to be hanging in there. We’re giving her fluids and sedative when needed. The quicker we release her, the better.” Jon shuffled his feet.
“Then let’s go,” Jeannette pushed back long brown braids and crammed a weathered Stetson on her head. “Follow us west on the I-10. We’ll take Highway 80 south. Eventually we’ll head into the mountains. It should be a little over an hour. Honk and flash your lights if you need us to stop. Cell service is bad out there.”
“Let’s roll.” Jon got in the big truck. Chris slid behind the wheel of Cait’s jeep. The Wilderness Protectors duo led the way in an old Ford Bronco.
A half hour later, the convoy turned off the I-10 onto Highway 80. The road cut through the sere, rock-encrusted Peloncillo Mountains and passed through tiny Rodeo, New Mexico, before crossing into southern Arizona. The dried-out desert on either side of the road looked uninhabited, a mix of public land and ranch spreads.
They passed the turnoff to tiny Portal, on the edge of the Chiricahua Wilderness. West of the highway, the sentinel peaks of the Coronado National Forest and the Chiricahua Mountains hovered like marching giants. A small roadside sign announced the Geronimo Surrender Monument.
Cait guessed the big cat would be released in the Chiricahuas, once a domain of Apache bands hunted down and forced onto reservations. From a distance the terrain looked impassible and precipitous, a fitting hideout for a renegade tigre, making a last stand in a corner of its once-vast territory. In the early twentieth century, jaguars in the U.S. had been hunted to extinction in Arizona and New Mexico.
Brake lights blinked ahead. The Bronco slowed and turned onto Price Canyon Road. Chris swung the Jeep onto the turnoff, tires skidding on gravel.
“Sorry about that,” he said.
“It’s ok.” Cait was nervous too. They drove in silence as the graded road twisted up into the National Forest. Five miles later, the route ended.
Jeannette jumped out of the parked Bronco and trotted to where Jon had backed his camper up near a clump of juniper. “Journey’s end. Our girl’s new home,” she said.
Jon hurried to the rear of the truck and unlatched the camper door. He shined a flashlight on the caged jaguar. The cat was still dazed, eyelids slit, enlarged pupils gleaming. “Her breathing’s regular but she’s still out of it. I’m worried about her ability to recover.”
“It’s touch and go. Can we give her more fluid and put on this tracker before we turn her loose?” Jeannette handed him a synthetic collar.
“Don’t mind me, kitty.” Jon reached inside the cage with both hands and buckled the collar around the cat’s neck. Then he retrieved a plastic case from the front of the truck and took out large plastic-wrapped syringes. “Saline ready to go.”
He stuck a hand back in the cage, pinched a hunk of skin, positioned the needle with the other hand, and injected a few syringes. “She’s about to wake up. Everyone, keep your distance.”
“How do we get her out? Without losing a hand?” Jeannette stared at the captive.
In answer, Jon grabbed hold of a portable ramp stashed alongside the cage inside the camper. “We’ll slide her down on this.” He tossed pairs of leather gloves to Jeannette and Polo.
Jon positioned the ramp, fitting one end against the truck bed. He climbed into the camper and squeezed behind the cage. “Get ready. One, two, three.” He leaned on the steel framework and pushed, while Jeannette, Polo and Chris wrested the crate down the ramp.
Seconds mattered now. They maneuvered the enclosure onto the ground. Jon unhooked the ramp, shoved it onto the truck bed and slammed the camper door shut.
The jaguar’s metabolism had eaten up the tranquilizer. The tip of her tail flicked, then the entire tail flipped back and forth. A large paw spread, claws extending and retracting. Jaws large enough to clamp a human skull gaped wide in a lazy yawn.
Cait squatted by the cage. “Co’ya,” she whispered. “Beautiful one.” The cat’s head lifted a few inches. Chills ran down Cait’s spine as golden eyes pinpointed her, seemingly more inquisitive than savage.
“She’s waking up fast. Good job.” Jeannette grinned from ear to ear. She ran to the Bronco. Came back with a large bowl that she placed outside the cage and filled from a gallon water jug.
“Time to set this lady free. I’ll come back later for the cage,” Polo said. He and Jeannette waited until Cait, Chris, and Jon were safe inside their vehicles. Then Polo unfastened the cage door and wedged it open.
The Wilderness Protectors backed away, all the while using their phones to take videos of the jaguar. They stood beside the Bronco, ready to jump in if necessary.
Phone in hand, Cait stepped outside the jeep. Adrenalin zinged in her chest. Still in the cage, Co’ya rolled onto her stomach. Assumed a sphinx position, forearms and paws extended. She lifted her head and belted out a series of roars, an electrifying, primeval sound that left no doubt as to who was in charge.
The rescuers waited, spellbound. The big cat slowly got to her feet and stole out of the cage. Snuffled the bowl of water and drank deeply. Then she raised her head and sniffed the breeze. Tail moving from side to side, she took her time shambling toward the hoodoos, massive chunks of balanced rocks jutting up like pylons and turrets.
Cait came to her senses, realizing she had no photos of Co’ya. She held up her phone and recorded the jaguar slipping into the shadows of its rock fortress. Estrella and Arthur Campbell in Tucson would be thrilled with even a tail shot of the cat heading into the wild.
“Why was she released here?” Cait asked Chris, who’d gotten out of the jeep. He squinted to catch a last glance of the feline.
“There’s a male jaguar somewhere up in the Chiricahua Wilderness. Jeannette said her organization discovered it through a network of trail cams they monitor here and in other southern Arizona mountains. The hope is that the two will find each other and breed.”
“Spotted kittens! That would mean the official return of the jaguar to the US, despite all odds.” Cait gave a last look. But el tigre norteno was gone. Co’ya was now a secret denizen of that vastness of gigantic rock formations, impenetrable labyrinths and towering peaks.
Before settling in for the drive back to Albuquerque, Cait bowed her head in supplication. Let this big cat raise lots of kittens and live a long life. Thank you for letting me see her. Maybe the Gaan, the Apaches’ protective mountain spirits that existed in high wild places, had witnessed Co’ya’s arrival and would look out for her.