The Whittaker homestead consisted of a single-room adobe-covered wood building. With two open windows, the single doorway was protected by a tattered blanket hanging across the opening. Living alone, Mrs. Whittaker existed on her chickens, local game, and a small garden she kept in the shade of her home. The sod-covered roof leaked during heavy rains and required constant maintenance. As the sheriff drove up, he pondered the idea of seeing an eighty-year-old woman climbing to repair the roof. But when he arrived, the place was strangely quiet.
Buddy tied the reins to the windmill allowing the horse to drink from the cistern attached at the bottom. A gentle breeze turned the blades pumping water, but when Buddy looked up; he could see one of the blades was missing. It was lying on the ground a few feet away. Mesmerizing, the blades turned in a lopsided manner as Buddy's eye caught the space where the one blade was missing. His eye followed the space as it looped around. A rusty metallic sound vibrated from the windmill. Looking around, Buddy called out.
"Hello! Mrs. Whittaker?"
Buddy searched for any movement and cried out again.
"Mrs. Whittaker, its Buddy, the sheriff, don't shoot!"
He waited, yet there were no other sounds but the squeaky windmill. Drawing out his six-shooter, Buddy crept up to the homestead to peer into one of the open windows. He heard a cracking sound, like wood breaking, followed by a low growl and something tearing. When he gazed into the room, Buddy was aghast. A mountain lion was prone over what appeared to be a large object lying on the floor. The lion's face was bloody as it gnawed on the unseen entity. Without thinking, Buddy yelled out and fired a round.
"Hey!"
The lion looked up, eyes alert, and stared at the sheriff; deciding on a plan of attack or fleeing. Buddy fired another round at the lion and missed. The lion ran towards the door and stopped a few yards away looking back at the homestead house. Buddy fired two more rounds which sprayed in the dirt on either side of the lion. Instantly, the lion took off running. Making a last ditch effort, Buddy took steady aim and fired another round at the fleeing animal. A tuft of dusty fur tore loose from the cat's rump, and the lion sped off even faster.
His heart beating like a drum in his ears, Buddy struggled to reload his pistol. His hands were shaking. While performing his task, Buddy kept a watchful eye on the lion to ensure it continued its journey. Walking slowly to the door, the sheriff called out again.