Thorne Wilder

As told by Thorne Wilder

There’s a sound the land makes when something’s watching you.
It don’t shout. It hums. Low. Bone-deep. Like a string pulled tight between your chest and the horizon. You don’t always see what’s out there, but you feel it.

I learned that the hard way one October when the nights were getting mean and the shadows grew longer than a fence line.

Just a Simple Ride

It started simple. A check on the northern rim cattle had wandered near the sandstone drop-off, and one young steer had a limp I wanted eyes on. I took Buckshot, my mare, a rifle slung across my saddle, and a thermos of black coffee boiled just past bitter.

The canyon was quiet that morning. Sun hadn’t broken full yet, and the rocks still held onto the cold. I heard the usual: hawks above, wind scratching over the brush, the occasional skitter of jackrabbits.

But then it changed.

That Feeling

You know how the world sounds empty when something bigger is moving quiet? Like the desert’s holding its breath?

That’s what I heard.

or didn’t.

Buckshot’s ears flicked hard to the right, her body tight as a coiled spring. I dismounted slow, slipped the reins around a low branch, and crouched down.

I saw the tracks before I saw the shape: fresh, wide, padded, deep. Not dog. Not coyote. Bigger.

Cougar.

She was there I knew it. They don’t roar like stories say. They don’t growl loud. A mountain lion just waits. It calculates. You’re either a threat… or you’re lunch.

And out there, in that dry canyon bend with only red rock and dry grass for company, I wasn’t the biggest thing anymore.

The Standoff

I didn’t panic. Didn’t reach for the rifle right away either. I’ve always believed weapons are like last words you don’t use ‘em unless you mean it.

I stood up slow, looked around.

That’s when I saw her.

Up on a ledge, 15 feet above. A full-grown mountain lion tawny, long-tailed, and locked on me with yellow eyes that didn’t blink. I couldn’t tell if she was hungry or just annoyed I’d stepped into her quiet.

Either way, this was her canyon.

What You Don’t Do

You don’t run. Ever. That’s prey behavior, and you don’t want to look like prey.

You don’t shout, either. That just tells ‘em you’re scared.

I raised my arms, widened my stance, and did what old Carl Denson once taught me talk to it. Not yell. Talk.

“You don’t want this trouble,” I said, calm but strong. “You don’t want to test an old man with nothing to lose and a thermos full of bad coffee.”

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t move. Just blinked.

I took one step back. She took two forward.

Drawing the Line

Now, I ain’t got a death wish. I’m not the sort that needs to win a standoff with nature just to prove something.

But I won’t be chased off my own range either.

I reached for the rifle, slow and sure. She snarled low, guttural, the kind that rattles your insides.

Rifle in hand, I didn’t point it. I just let her see it.

I stepped sideways, still facing her. She hissed once, then paced back along the ledge. Not far. Just enough to tell me, “I could if I wanted.”

And I nodded like, “Yeah, I know.”

The Unwritten Agreement

It lasted maybe five minutes. Felt like fifty.

She finally turned, padded away into the brush above. No rush. Just done with me.

I didn’t follow. I let her win. Not because I’m weak, but because I’m old enough to know when walking away is the real strength.

What I Took From It

I didn’t tell anyone right away. Not because I was shaken though I’d be lying if I said I didn’t sit real quiet that night but because the best lessons out here don’t need retelling.

That lion reminded me of something I forget sometimes:

We don’t own this land.

We borrow it. Share it. Cross paths with things older, quieter, sharper than us.

Sometimes, all it takes to survive is knowing when to stand tall… and when to back slow.

The Only Evidence

Back at the ranch, I cleaned the dust off my boots, checked my rifle, then opened my old leather journal. Drew the print, marked the spot, and wrote:

Tuesday. Cold. Quiet.
Met someone older than the wind.
Didn’t have to shoot.
Felt like a good day.